fur brained fellow

When life compounds around my dear fetish-foody friend, that cat colleague of mine that I love to hate, she turns a bit odder than normal. (And lately, there has been the notorious cat-claw-cutting lady, guests on a few occasions and an upping of the construction noise. It is all a little much for her.)

And when my colleague broods, she really does brood. She is psycho-sematically nursing her brood of furballs. She purrs at matted furballs they were kittens about to hatch from eggs. She stays in the darkest corner with them except for a furtive low run to wolf back a 3/4 bowl of chow. I attend to her, counselling her in the closet.

There’s little I can do aprt from not aggravating her. She’ll snap back to her normal loud snappish self soon enough and all the affection and sensitivity I dole she won’t remember. But the good karma I release is never lost. It will be out there someone for re-release. Cattess Mror and her Consorts will see to that.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: