I know. You're looking at that post title and thinking that this will be about Ann Coulter's ongoing plagarism problems, right?
While I would love to see the Queen of the Damned tied to the same burning stake as Ward Churchill and Jayson Blair (Not to mention owning the TV rebroadcast rights to that one... Yeowsa!), that's not what this one's about.
Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the first of the three-part series called "The Cats Of OC!" I finally got around to borrowing a friend's digital camera, and my cats actually cooperated with me for a change. And so, I'll be starting off with perhaps the dumbest cat ever to accidentally walk off a kitchen table.
This is Alice. Also known as Kätzchen, The Grey Daemon, Miss Alice, Malice, The World's Only Codependent Feline and, as you can tell by the above photo, The Amazing Pretzel Cat.
There are few things this cat appreciates more than being curled up with me. Whether underneath my arm while I'm trying to sleep, on my shoulders while I'm trying to cook, or on my lap while I'm in the bathroom. (I still haven't figured out the eternal feline fascination with humans while we are using the toilet. Are we a source of amusement? A source of a convenient lap? Or simply a source of "You're weird, mister"? The floor is still open for debate.) She is my cat and I am her human. And not Hell itself, much less a "I thought I closed that" door, will keep her from my side.
Oh, and she is dumb. Sack of hammers-style dumb. I've known many intelligent cats over the years, and trust me when I say that this one is on the opposite side of the spectrum by any meaningful definition. She's dumber than how President Bush is viewed by most of my left-hand-side cohorts. If there was an intelligence competition between Alice and the dumbest Labrador retriever puppy ever known to Humanity, the puppy would win in a landslide. She's so dumb, she makes the commenters over at Eschaton sound like Nobel Prize physicists. If stupidity was the equivalent of gravity, she would have her own event horizon.
Yes. She's that bad.
Should anyone ever come over for a visit, don't plan on seeing this cat if your stay is shorter than 5 hours. When I said that I am her human, I mean it. Antisocial does not begin to describe Alice's general outlook to the human species. Any human that does not already have her seal of approval will be fortunate to view a single ear as she peeks around the corner, wondering if it's safe to dash for the food dish.
Of course, this is all readily explained by the fact that she was a pet-store cat. She was purchased for me by a now ex-girlfriend as a birthday present, and has never wanted to leave my side since she first arrived in my life four and a half years ago. Most of the pet-store cats I've known have been neurotic to a fault, and more than half have had under 10 working neurons available to them.
And really, I wouldn't have it any other way. For she is my cat. And I am her human. Ad infinitum. Ad astra. Forever. World without end. Omayn.
Now, if you will excuse me, it's time to go and curl up with my cat. She's been glaring impatiently at me for a while now, as purr time is a-wasting.