My cat likes to spend time with me in my room. Unfortunately, she also pukes up wads of hair. There are a few things I don’t like about my relationship with my cat, and one of them is her utterly imperial look of amused approval as she sits high up on my Fender half-stack guitar amp and watches me scrub her puke while on my hands and knees. I swear to all that is holy, she understands what is happening. I believe she enjoys puking because she enjoys watching me clean it up.
To add insult to injury, she abdicated her post as the bug huntress today. Normally she earns her keep by hunting and killing all the exoskeletal undesirables which invade our home, but today, after a relaxing morning of watching me scrub her puke, I pointed her in the direction of an invasive cricket. She chased it half-heartedly for a few moments, then cast upon me an aristocratic frown as if to say, “Not today, pleb.” She then adjourned to her post on the guitar amp where she began vigorously licking more hair, preparing her next delivery of bile-soaked social injustice.
Oh well. I suppose we are all entitled to be just a bit lazy on the weekend.