Writing 101: I Know You’re Just Here for the Food (and/or Cats)

This prompt I’ll do even though it included a quote from a fortune cookie (please tell me you rolled your eyes too, Christa).

Based on my poll, all 3 of you who read this blog are evenly divided between the topics of cats, books, and food.  It’s like you’ve kept hanging on with this blog because we have something in common.

Under more typical circumstances, I would be happy to talk about books, but stress brain is making it impossible for me to concentrate on reading.  Or really anything, but at least I have reliable coping mechanisms that require little concentration:  bothering Bertha Mason (and, indirectly Joey [who now gets the dubious honor of being The Other Cat]), stress baking, and throwing things away.

I’m really tired of writing about me, though, and I don’t understand how you guys aren’t sick of hearing about me.  You must be extremely patient souls.

Let’s combine the subjects of cats and food by talking about a cat who loved food, Cowboy (named for his black-and-white spots rather than a familial obsession with the western genre or the Dallas football team).  Cowboy was the cat who was around for most of my childhood and with whom I had a love/hate relationship. He was a terrible cat, you guys. Terrible. I was afraid to sleep because Cowboy attacked my hair and liked to murder sparrows and hide under my bed growling like a maniac. Fucked up when you’re 7, right? I also lost a friend because Cowboy chased her down a hallway during one of my birthday parties. Seriously, she never spoke to me again.  Thanks, cat, but I do well enough embarrassing myself in social situations without your help.

Cowboy was a feral cat, so he never really settled down until he was too old to care (and had to have most of his teeth taken out because he would never let the vet look at his rotting teeth). Basically he was afraid of nothing and motivated only by food…which I can respect.

Action shot!

Let’s make a list of things Cowboy ate that he shouldn’t have because why the fuck not:

1. My hair (see above)
2. A plant I was supposed to grow for a science project (and really plants as a whole)
3. Loaves of bread left out on the counter
4. Brownies my friend JG made when she visited from New York
5. Barbie feet (though, in retrospect, I probably should thanked him for his hostility towards the patriarchy)
6. All things dairy even when they made him vomit
7. Cardboard
8. Rubber bands
9. Catnip (the only normal cat thing he ate, but it made him extra aggressive)
10. Basically all non-fruit objects

Truly, I admired his spirit.

One lonely person who voted for books, I will make a real effort to do another book review. I promise. Hopefully The Heart Goes Last.