Showing posts tagged cats
Another part of me, perhaps more sentimental but also more truthful, had to acknowledge that the cat was undeniably another being in the world, experiencing her one chance at being alive, as I was. It always amused me to hit or elongate the word “you” in speaking to the cat, as in, “Yooouu would probably like that!” because it was funny — and funny often means disquieting and true — to remind myself that there really was another ego in the room with me, with her own likes and dislikes and idiosyncrasies and exasperatingly wrongheaded notions about whose water is better. It did not seem to me like an insoluble epistemological mystery to divine what the cat would like when I woke up and saw her face two inches from mine and the Tentative Paw slowly withdrawing from my lip.
This is the most compelling argument I’ve seen in quite some time for arts education in schools. Imagine all the trouble we would have avoided if Gee Dubs had realized earlier in life that his true calling was to paint! Or maybe all along he was just hustling like the rest of us.
This cat lives on the Beltline, has its own mailbox and is named Piper. (If anyone knows anything else about this beautiful thing, please share! Google doesn’t seem to know much.) (Also it took me too long to realize the cat was probably named after the culvert pipe it [apparently] hangs around the mouth of all day.)
Some things that, as a kid, I really really wanted my adult-self to have but that, as it turns out, shockingly, I now have very little interest in:
- A pair of Doc Martens.
- A papasan chair.
- The ability to drink and eat however much Dr. Pepper and Three Musketeers bars I wanted, whenever I wanted.
- One room in my house decorated entirely in purple and green and filled with cats.
AND FOR TONIGHT’S FINAL ACT, HERE IS A CAT THAT SOMEHOW LOOKS MORE LOVABLE IN THE HAZE OF ‘FAUX EARLYBIRD’.
A sumptuous feline with extravagant tastes and a vast sense of entitlement
I know three of them are child dude cats because they got cat balls.
I feel like this is probably fake and I also feel like I don’t care.
Just thought some of you might want to be alerted to the existence of this.
Accidental portrait of Brooke and Otto?
Otto is actually the reason The King Is Dead hit no. 1, y’all—just out of the frame is like a metric ton of jewel cases which he plans on making Brooke cart out to some storage unit in Bethesda sometime this weekend. That sneaky bastard.
PS, yes, if you grab a copy of this week’s New York (Obama on the cover) and turn to page 60 you can see a printified version of this thing! I am not responsible for the hed but very happy to have my first byline in that great magazine.
Regis Bigglemeyer, The Cat Who Thinks We Own Him
Starring Joe and my untrimmed bangs.
If there was a poster version of this, I would buy it.
One of my co-workers has this shirt and wears it rather frequently and it pretty much always makes my day, even on icky Mondays. Laser cat, y’all. Total game-changer.