I am not insane. I do not have an unnatural obsession with my cat. I am fond of him. It’s only normal. He lives with me. It would be far more odd if I lived with a cat that I didn’t like. It would be like Ethan Frome as an animated feature starring Garfield. (If you don’t get that reference don’t admit it. Go to the library and look up the works of Edith Wharton. Making sporadic literary references is a very easy way to appear to be both intelligent and superior.)
Where was I? My cat. Yes. As I was saying, I’m not a cat nut. I didn’t even want a cat. I always said, "I have no pets or children. I do no want dependent life forms." It’s hard enough to take care of myself.
Barry, my boyfriend who’s perfect, wanted a cat. In my opinion he was free to get one just don’t ever think you’re going to live with me. So then he tells me that his daughter has found out that a bike story near her apartment had a cat that they were going to send away to be killed for no reason other than that they were sick of it. So Barry took the cat. Fine take it. Go ahead. Don’t bother me, I’m reading, looking for literary references to sprinkle through my conversations.
He brought the cat to my house just to show me. That was three years ago. The cat’s still here. I just thought he’d be more comfortable with me. My house is bigger. I think the cat likes me best.
His name is Beastly.
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