
I have a friend. A purr-fectly adorable little guy about whom, when we have visitors to Chez Moi, they all exclaim 'Oh, but I'll hide him in my bag!' or 'Oh, but can't I take him home?'
And I say, 'But no, he is mine all mine and you can't have him!'
I'm revising my stance. Because if he bites my ankles or attacks my Hercules ( my not-so -strong potted plant, the only one I've ever kept alive for more than, oh, I don't know ~ a day) or sits on my text book again, the revised conversation will go somewhat like this:
'Oh can I hide him in my bag, can I take him home?'
'Yes please, take the fucker'.
I am Mills and no, really I am a lover of cats. Just maybe not orange ones.
2 comments:
Jimi Catt was in fact "Jimi Kitten" when I started my MPhil, and a great lover of text books, too. As if I needed further encouragement to procrastinate, then a marshmallow of a kitten obscuring the dense prose of deconstructive feminist philospohy. It's all changed now though ~ I can't remember the last time he picked up a book. Teenagers, eh?
just lurking for a bit.
rel
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