Love, Cats

If you follow my blog, you might have noticed I am a cat lover. My cat sentiments are not simply an infatuation or an obsession. It is a kind of cycle. It’s a trap.

This cat-loving whirlwind began long ago, when I first examined myself in the mirror. First, I was scared. I tried to fight my image, slapping half-heartedly at the body I saw before me.

In time, I grew out of my self-loathing phase. I grew to love my self-image. I stared at myself all morning and all afternoon.

My parents took care of me and I grew old and fat. My life has been wonderful.

I have loved my self and my life ever since I realized how cute and cuddly I really was all along. How can you deny it? I sure can’t.

Now I am bound by this love, by this beautiful animal staring back at me in the mirror. He is so soft, so furry, and so sly. I love him. I love that he is a cat. I love everything about him. But I worry my love is distracting me from the world around me. If I were not so in love with this cat, I might find time to get rid of my housemate, George.

George is a problem. George hates cats. He hates me. I hate him because I love cats. George is loyal, but he is an idiot. I want George out of my house. I would knock that loyal smirk off his face if I could. That would be awesome.

I would do anything to get rid of George, but alas I am caught in this cycle of self-loving. It would be impossible to motivate myself to do anything about George.

George will have to stay. Maybe I will leave. Maybe later—tomorrow. Maybe not.

I’m in a real bind. Any suggestions?




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