Just stop it.

I just told Kingston that. He just gave me this look that reminds me of the look Bill Cosby described his kids giving to him. The one where they pitied him for not understanding their need to be beaten. Because they are brain damaged. I sometimes wonder if Kingston had a fever when he was sickly little baby and that fried his brain a little. He is obviously not normal. No cat person ever has heard of a cat that loves everybody. I mean LOVES everybody. Like sits outside your window admiring you when you sleep love. Like watches you pee love. Like that I fucking lo-o-o-o-o-ve deviled eggs love. Like that “if I can’t have you, no one can” love. But with everybody.

The only problem with loving everybody, and the fact that I am the only everybody here most of the time, is that he needs to be loved all the effing time. That makes doing anything insanely difficult. Eazy is a cat. He eats, shit in a box, sleeps all day, and leaves me alone. When he needs attention he comes into the office, rubs against my leg or hops into my lap. I pet him for 45 seconds and then he’s off to go do whatever it is that he does, for the next 6 hours. Don’t get me wrong, those 45 seconds are the most purr-filled and nuzzly 45 seconds ever, but that’s it. And he definitely doesn’t need to be in my face. Not Kingston. He needs to be closer. Like, suit made out of your skin closer.

Why don’t you love me?!

Sorry. I had not intended to cat rant at you this morning. I had intended to talk about how stupid busy I am for the next 9 days. And why being so busy means that I am up before the sun. Which is stupid. But you get cat rant instead. Just know that I am a busy, busy man. And that the ladies all want to be carnal with me because I am such a premium dancer. More soon. ~SC