Tuesday, 13 May 2008


So ... the rest of the day, the rest of the week will be filled with “discussion” about this THING that, for ages now, appears to have taken on the import of the imminent second coming of Cheeses Crust ...

... Outrage! Applause! Disaster! Prosperity! Inequality! Equality! It’s a disgrace! It’s swell! Our children are fucked! Our children are saved! ...

... “But what about the ...?” “No, never mind them, they’ll be ... ” “No, they won’t ... “ “Yes, they will ... “ “Look, I’m telling you ... “ “Don’t you tell me, I’ll tell you ... “

And so on and so forth.

I really don’t give a fuck.

Let’s see now ...

I’ve been adopted by a small, orange fuzzball.

The next door neighbour and her son recently bought a kitten. Said creature is able to wander from their balcony to mine as both balconies are connected by a ledge. It appears that, even though I have not been feeding it, or given it anything other than a pat and a scratch, it has chosen to spend more time at my place than at theirs. I’ve let it into the flat at times whereupon it plays with my sandals and likes to hurtle its way up the hallway and then hurtle its way back down it and wrap itself around my legs (claws retracted, thankfully). After which, it plops itself on my couch, shoves its head into my armpit and has a nap, all the while making a noise like a month old baby with emphysema.

I’m more of a dog person than a cat person. About 25 years ago, a girlfriend of mine wanted us to get a cat. We did. I insisted we call it “Vomit”. We did. It ran away after a few months. I wonder why?

Nevertheless, I’m ... well ... this small, orange fuzzball’s company I am finding quite agreeable.

I must be going soft in the head.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Aw, shucks. Woss has got a puddy tat!

Yes. It is true. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes even we avowed dog people find a most "particular" cat who puts our prejudices to shame.