I know that, to many of you, it seems like I do not give my cats equal representation on this blog. To you, I say: you're right. My cats, who spend their days home alone and their nights hunting for postcards and underwear, do not get the name time that my dogs get, the face time, none of it. Not when it comes to the blog.
And it sucks because they are such awesome cats. I guess it has a lot to do with whether I want to be known as a cat lady or dog lady. Preferably, I'd be known as neither. But if I had to choose one, I'd go for dog lady. Dog ladies are typically athletic, tanned, fun-loving gals who do admirable things like go for jogs and volunteer for worthy organizations. They have nicely decorated apartments, and can both knit and use powertools. Well. Cat ladies, while sensitive, poetic, and excellent cooks, tend to wear billowy skirts and gem stone pendants. They drink soy lattes and use all-natural hair products.
Ok, I can think of at least three friends whom I've just pissed off.
I'm lucky, however, that even though I'm not a cat lady, my cats are Deborah cats. They love me even if I rarely blog about how fuzzy their bellies are, or how we call Milhouse "Minxy" when he lies across my lap with his head down, all flat and still, like a fur coat. My cats understand, and they forgive. They love. And sometimes, they let me hug them.
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Hey! I do not drink soy lattes!
I feel I should probably stop commenting so much. I'm beginning to feel a bit like Ed McMahon. Hey-oh!
A. Scott, you're not a cat lady, you're a cat guy. Totally different.
B. Ed McMahaon? I like!
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