I’m seriously worried about where this strange-cat-person thing might lead. Kim gave me Dena Harris’s book WHO MOVED MY MOUSE? for the holidays. I tried to read it only in broad daylight (while Bugs was spending the 23.75 hours of the day asleep). I had a hunch that if he were to catch sight of it, I’d never hear the end of it. I could just imagine how’d he take to — not — the perfectly sensible and caring advice that Dena generously extends to those of us, humans and cats, who are sorely afflicted with modern-day angst and damaged self-esteem. And who amongst us can honestly say we’re not.
But Bugs got his paws on it anyway. Now I hear him guffawing in the other room. I fear it’s too late. He’s turned into one of those armored-type guys who mocks anybody who needs caring self-help and who’s honest enough to admit it.
I dropped in on Dena’s blog. Now I’m even more worried. Dena writes of sentimental feelings arising out of an incident involving a stinkbug, her fishtank, and a friend who names anything and everything “Phil.”
I’m calling the CDC. This thing is contagious.