Me and the Cat sat conversating today. The weekend will be busy. We don't spend so much time together then. I lead my raucous social life, he kills swathes of woodland creatures, arranging then in sinister patterns upon the lawn, arrayed in with unnatural prescision.
Thursdays are a time for us to reflect on the week just past.
Of course, we don't actually talk, that'd be fucking silly. Cats lack lungs of sufficient capacity and the muscle control necessary to form words or even basic syllables. Lacking the basic cognitive skills to perform speech, as well as an inability to achieve abstract thought is another boundary.
(Digression: One of the great sources of my boundless rage is some of the books that we get in at work - I work in a bookshop, observe my sensitive soul... - Books with titles like "What is my dog thinking?" FUCK ALL, it's a dog. 'Thought' Is an ability closed to it, because it lacks the relevant architecture in it's brain. A bit like Hard Right Religious Conservatives. They make do with bibles. Moving on...)
Instead, the cat and I communicate as all animals do, through subtle cues in body language.
The Cat headbutts me, purring and rubbing his head against my chin.
- I like you human. I shall spare you on the day of bloody and torment.
I scratch the back of his head and ears. Purring, he arches his back and lightly grips my chest skin through my T-shirt with his claws
- But hear me now, cross me, and you will hang skinless and emasculated from a stake, a plaything for my wives and kittens
I bat him down off my chest with the flat of my hand, rolling him onto his back and tickling his ribs. I tell him;
- You're a fool. I could snap your spine with my hand and cast you from my like a fly swatted by a horses tail.
The cat, still purring, places a warning paw on my wrist, claws retracted.
-You may try, human, you may try, but do not think that such a victory will be without it's cost. Your triumph will be less sweet, if you are missing an eye, or the skin from your arms.
I enjoy the little chats we have.
Thursdays are a time for us to reflect on the week just past.
Of course, we don't actually talk, that'd be fucking silly. Cats lack lungs of sufficient capacity and the muscle control necessary to form words or even basic syllables. Lacking the basic cognitive skills to perform speech, as well as an inability to achieve abstract thought is another boundary.
(Digression: One of the great sources of my boundless rage is some of the books that we get in at work - I work in a bookshop, observe my sensitive soul... - Books with titles like "What is my dog thinking?" FUCK ALL, it's a dog. 'Thought' Is an ability closed to it, because it lacks the relevant architecture in it's brain. A bit like Hard Right Religious Conservatives. They make do with bibles. Moving on...)
Instead, the cat and I communicate as all animals do, through subtle cues in body language.
The Cat headbutts me, purring and rubbing his head against my chin.
- I like you human. I shall spare you on the day of bloody and torment.
I scratch the back of his head and ears. Purring, he arches his back and lightly grips my chest skin through my T-shirt with his claws
- But hear me now, cross me, and you will hang skinless and emasculated from a stake, a plaything for my wives and kittens
I bat him down off my chest with the flat of my hand, rolling him onto his back and tickling his ribs. I tell him;
- You're a fool. I could snap your spine with my hand and cast you from my like a fly swatted by a horses tail.
The cat, still purring, places a warning paw on my wrist, claws retracted.
-You may try, human, you may try, but do not think that such a victory will be without it's cost. Your triumph will be less sweet, if you are missing an eye, or the skin from your arms.
I enjoy the little chats we have.
Although if im honest it's the colour i wear most. that and GREEN.
What colour is your cat? and what is it called?