Meow, Meow

It is hard to type with a cat in your lap. But when its just you and the cat, the cat gets attention. No complaints really, it’s actually nice. Mama Cat comes in for breakfast and starts wanking at me until I pick her up. At least I think that’s what she wants, I’m still a little fuzzy on the cat language. Although, I have managed to go several weeks without getting clawed when I pet her when she’s perched on her throne on the back of the couch. That seems a positive note.

I think what I appreciate most about her is her desire to go outside to use the facilities. I never knew a cat would make their wishes known like that, but she does, and it’s greatly appreciated. Of course, it’s subtle and I need to pay attention, but it’s not like I’m jam up with things to do. Besides, she sleeps most of the day and it’s pretty easy to notice when she starts pacing and sitting by the door. Sort of a dead giveaway. Of course, I’ve been known to miss female signals before, as my wife would well attest if she were still here, and I don’t see that the cat should be any different.

Anyway, it’s Friday and time for the weekend, and it is weird these days because weekends are not much different than weekdays. In fact, I have looked up on occasion and found myself totally confused as to what actual day of the week it is. When you think about it, it’s weird to work all your life to get to a point where you can be happy that you’re lost in space and time. But that’s where I am. Now if Billy Pilgrim would show up and take me to a strange planet, that would be the icing on the cake, and a fitting end to a life of endless work. And maybe he’d let me take my cat.