Sunday Brevity

While getting my daily exercise this morning (going out to buy cigarettes, unfortunately) I decided that I wasn't going to talk about #3. Mostly cause there are just some thought processes and truths about ourselves that no one except ourselves need to know.

If I were to actually tell anyone then I think that all the progress I've made would feel like I did it so other people could lend their affirmation to my own.

It would make it less.... well, less.

In this case, my own affirmation and admiration is all I need.

All I've got then, this lovely afternoon is The Diary of a Psychotic Cat (excerpt below). Now, go away.

Despair! My She-Keeper has been gone for four days, having left only enough food for two (factoring in several obligatory between-meal binges to soothe the pain of our separation). Delirious with hunger, I cloud my mind with the anemic hallucinogens of a two-year-old catnip chew toy. I see a mirage of fat mice frolicking in the stale shallows of the Christmas tree water, swat weakly at their tails, and catch only pine needles and a single dead housefly in my trembling paw.

Is this the beginning of my final march toward death? What an ignoble end to such a glorious beast! Perhaps I should have been kinder to my She-Keeper. She did rescue me from that Texas death-house all those years ago, and in her own misguided way she tries to serve me well. Oh, to hear her sweet voice again, to curl up in the warm cushion of her lap, to gently bat her face at dawn until she rose to feed me – a ritual she anticipated with such eager pleasure! Have I seen her for the last time? I crawl under the kitchen table and curl around a five-pound sack of rice, but it makes a poor substitute.