Conversation I had with Victor about our ancient cat, who I’ve had for almost my entire adult life, and who I suspect might be immortal:
me: There’s something on Posey’s leg.
Victor: Hmm. Is it Posey’s foot?
me: It’s not a trick question. It sort of looks like he’s trying to grow an extra toe.
Victor: Why would the cat try to grow an extra toe?
me: Well, probably because he just now noticed that the kitten was born with all those extra toes, and now he thinks he needs to keep up.
Victor: That’s not a toe.
me: I’m pretty sure it is. And now he’s wasting all of his old man energy trying to grow extra toes BECAUSE FERRIS MEWLER IS A DAMN OVERACHIEVER.
Victor: You know it’s a tumor. The vet said we should start expecting this. Posey’s 16. He’s like the Keith Richards of cats.
me: In that he’s a bad-ass.
Victor: In that he’s almost entirely sinew, and no one knows how he’s still alive. In fact, I think he may already be dead.
me: Keith Richards died?
Victor: No. Posey. He’s not moving and his eyes are rolled back in his head.
me: Yeah, he sleeps with his eyes open now. It’s kind of creepy, but I think he does it to conserve the energy it takes to blink.
Victor: I love you, but you and I both know he’s sleeping with his eyes open because he’s looking for the grim reaper.
me: Posey will outlive us all.
Posey: MMMMRREOWWWWCHHSNURF.
me: See. EXACTLY.
Victor: What, “exactly”? He can’t even meow properly anymore.
me: He says he’s sick and tired of your doubt.
Victor: No, he says he’s just about ready to take a one-way ride to the vets office.
me: You don’t know what cats say.
Victor: NEITHER DO YOU.
Then Posey jumped into Victor’s lap and purred so loudly that bits of cat juice flew out of his nose, and Victor rolled his eyes and sighed, grudgingly petting Posey.
Victor: Alright, old man. Prove me wrong.
Posey: MERRRRRCH.
Victor: What did he say that time?
me: I think he wants to sell merchandise. I don’t know. It’s hard to tell with cats.
PS. Posey is fine. He’s not in any pain, and his tumor is adorable. In fact, I’m tempted to draw a smiley face on it and give it a name and a tv show. I suspect he’s probably sprouting a younger clone from his leg. I might be in denial.
PPS. I can’t tell if this post is funny or just really, really depressing. Let’s change the subject.
It’s Sunday! Which means it’s time for the weekly wrap-up. Let’s get started, shall we?
What you missed on Ill-Advised:
What you missed on my sex column (which is satirical and vaguely safe for work if your boss isn’t a complete douche-canoe):
What you missed on Good Mom/Bad Mom on the Houston Chronicle:
What you missed in my shop (tentatively called “Eight pounds of uncut cocaine” so that your credit card bill will be more interesting.):
What you missed on the internets:
This week on Shit-I-didn’t-come-up-with-but-wish-I-did-because-it’s-kind-of-awesome:
This week’s wrap-up sponsored by Oh Crap Potty Training, a business devoted to getting your kid potty trained in a single week. I’m not sure how that’s possible, but my guess is that witch doctors are involved. I couldn’t even potty train my cats in one week. You should probably check it out.
