fifi

Five songs i sing out loud upon hearing but will never admit to :::

1.) 'Part of Your World' / from Disney's The Little Mermaid
2.) 'Stop' / Spice Girls
3.) 'Fushigi Songu' (shigi-shigi song) / from Shaider
4.) 'My Favorite Things' / from The Sound of Music
5.) 'Goodbye Girl' / Bread

Ah, what a predicament! Now you know! And i know you know! And now that you know that i know you know you must either: a.) tell me your five OR b.) shut this browser window and pretend you never read this abominable piece, and wait for your doom as I send the armageddon cat to commit unspeakable acts of terror upon you... *

feles

   

Perched on my window is a black cat. Happily plopped, lazily wagging her long black tail is this creature so irredeemably vilified by popular culture and superstition that they still elicit some perfunctory response of unease from any and all they encounter.

This is not to say they don’t deserve it. Cats are some of the most self-obsessed, selfish, drama queens you could ever encounter. They are largely oblivious to things that don’t involve them, and can hardly be bothered to read a newspaper or peruse a research journal. They don’t care about the environment and don’t feel an ounce of social responsibility.

(A lot of these can be said about dogs too, but dogs can hardly be blamed because, well, duh, dogs can’t read!)

This specific cat, the one sitting on my windowsill is worse. For instance, she will me-ow at you incessantly (and oh-so-cutely) until you agree to play with her. Something you must agree to at all hours (they are nocturnal and sleep in small intervals) or she will decide to find her own fun (which translates into destroying anything she can get her happy little paws on). Other times, she will just plain ignore you. This cat also happens to know her name, but will only come when she wants to.

This is also the only cat I know who demands that her tummy and coat be rubbed while she is eating. Refuse to participate in this strange ritual and she will follow you and me-ow at you until you agree to go back with her to her food dish and be her subservient tummy-rubber.

She will never fetch. Or sit. Or roll over.

But she will chase after crumpled pieces of paper. And demonstrate feats of remarkable immobility followed by sudden bursts of seemingly caffeinated bouts of play. And, quite recently, seems to be learning one command, the most important command of all:

‘Destroy.’

Which makes up for everything.

She’s spoiled, she’s bratty and callous to sharpened perfection. But she's perfect that way. And even as I watch her rip through my thesis notes I find myself helplessly beset by bemusement and awe-- ooh-la-la; we have an armageddon cat.