especially when it comes from my sister's cat.cedre.
the cutest cat that ever could cute.
he sniffs my fingers, sneers, and then walks away. he cleans himself in the spots where i was petting him. he gets scared by my tummy rumblings. he gives me dirty looks when i laugh. he narrows his eyes and twitches his tail when he hears my voice. i just can't get him to like me, no matter how pretty i make myself, or how much cleavage i let slip. he didn't even compliment me on my tight new jeans. the bastard.
diana and bob say i should consider myself lucky. he doesn't let strangers get remotely close to him, and the fact that he allows me to be within one foot of him, and shock! pet him! (even though he pretends to not like it) is truly exceptional.
according to cedre, i'm the lowest-ranking member in this household. so even though i can feed myself, clean up after my own fecal matter, and perform prefrontal cortex operations at lightning fast speed, i am still below him, and as such, he can treat me whatever way he wishes.
and the pussy doesn't even have balls!
i never thought a feline could hurt my feelings. i never thought a cat could reject me so harshly and yet so subtly... no hisses have been necessary to drive the point home. i cry myself to sleep at night, hoping that another day in this gorgeous town will award me yet another opportunity to bond with my sister's cat.
maybe i'm wasting my time. maybe i should be yearning for the croaky meows of stevie, the pussy that does love me. or maybe i should stop putting stock into feline feelings and get some more sun. smell the ocean. have some ice cream. ya know.
but while i never imagined my feelings being hurt by a domesticated animal, i also never imagined myself pissing my sevens jeans in the parking lot and leaving a puddle.
but that's a story for another time.
