Tuesday, February 22, 2005

My cat is not really grayish white, but some people think he is. Here's why..

I have very poor circulation. This is caused by many things, the main one of which is the fact that I am fat and lazy.

But, having poor circulation scored me this great vibrating cushion. I'm supposed to recline gracefully on the couch, with my legs on this cushion, while the little robotic fingers massage my calves, and the heat lulls me into hog-heaven-slumber.

I keep it on the living room sofa. It's a bit of a jarring note, from an interior decorator's point of view, but then, any interior decorator who walked into my house would pass out cold from sheer horror before he/she ever left the foyer, so who cares.

Bluegrass Mama's dust has nothing on mine. Honey, the mites have CONVENTIONS on my wood floors, under the furniture. Parties. They invite their friends and all their relatives. You want dust bunnies? I've got dust elephants.

Why don't I mop it away on occasion? Well, on occasion, I do. I don't do it very regularly because, well, please refer back to paragraph one. The part about being really, really lazy.

Most days, the cat kind of mops it around when he runs in and out under the furniture.

Besides, if I wasted my time doing housework, when would I blog?

But I digress. This post is about the cushion.

And the cat.

Because, the cat has discovered the cushion. The cat has learned how to turn the cushion on to 'vibrate.'

The cat likes to sit on the vibrating cushion and dream. What does he dream about? I don't know for sure, of course, not being an Animal Psychic or a Dunk Tank Clown, but from the smile on his face, I'm guessing that maybe he's dreaming about the days before he was taken to the Vet and "tutored," as the kids used to say.

Ah, my very educated cat.

I also rubbed catnip all over his scratching post this afternoon. I did it for meanness. Remember, I'm mean. (If you don't believe me, ask Gary.) The cat enjoyed it.

Did I say "he ENJOYED it?" Hahahahahaha. . . .I thought he was going to suck the entire scratching post down his throat, in fact. He turned into a sentient vacuum cleaner on that thing. Actually, strike the 'sentient,' because he was nothing but a sucking, gasping, mindless drug addicted robot, for a full fifteen minutes.

No wonder he wobbled over to the cushion, turned it on, and sat down to dream about better days.