Showing posts with label Cats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cats. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

I am confused.

I invoked the demon of bad humor to possess me about five minutes ago. But I do not feel that evil tingling in my stomach and spine that tells me the demon is here yet. Perhaps s/he is busy helping lawyers worldwide. Therefore I will busy myself too and burn some more incense and frilly underwear later.

I am stranded at the net cafe right now, and though I want to go home and take a nice hot relaxing shower, lie face down on my bed with my fat cat purring next to me and a book placed on my pillow, I can't. My mother is at home. It is amazing; she can turn me from a disjointed, if harmless human being, to a curse-spitting sonar-screech emitting flailing berserker in milliseconds. So the net cafe it is. I don't go home before one in the morning that she's gone. I suffer from continual sleep deprivation thanks to her and my own stupidity. Because when I finally go home, instead of dropping dead on my bed, I do such things as shower, enjoy long luxurious craps with my nose stuck in multicoloured magazines stashed in the sink for this exact purpose, squeeze pimples, try to understand why there is an empty box of pizza under a manga under some CDs under my underwear under some other books on the bed with my cat sleeping on them, etc. I have developed amazing juggling skills. I can retrieve items from the pile I just described without disturbing the pile or the cat. I can even locate things after the appropriate ass scratching and pondering and sacrifices to the appropriate demigod. Usually this involves me ritualistically upturning heaps of items and throwing them at all directions while using colourful language and special gestures, such as pulling at my hair, banging my head on walls and closets -accidentally or otherwise-, pretending I have three legs in order to walk on the sea of items I have created without the tell-tale crunching sounds informing me I have just stepped on a limited edition CD, balancing on tiptoe of one leg while using both hands to hold onto place a avalanche of CDs intend on surfing on my head AND holding some books with the other leg, etc. So after all the struggling usually it is very late and I sleep at 03:30 am instead of 01:00. Needless to say, the next day I have all the intellectual capacity of something that's been dead for four days and the fluidity and graceful movement of a pregnant elephant. I am sure that one of these days my mother will come home early in the morning and will find me sat on the toilet, dead asleep, with my head resting on the sink, slowly drooling on the pages of the magazine I will still be holding, and with my cat sleeping on my back.

Monday, February 09, 2009

Like beating a cat with a bagpipe.

Talking about bagpipes... I don't know what kind of wrong food combination I've made today, but the results are spectacular, to say the least. Watching people's faces around you blistering, melting and falling off because of a single fart can only be described as spectacular, right? Then again, girls are not supposed to be capable of farting. Yeah, right. I bet that when I meet the man of my dreams he won't believe that someone as sweet and endearing as I am is capable of producing such nasty results by the simple procedure of processing food. Well guess again- this woman is an exception. She hides a nuclear waste unit inside her ass to match the brothel inside her head. Even worse, if he has the romantic idea to sleep by my side at nighttime, he's as good as dead. I mean, save for the fact I toss and kick like I'm struggling against the armies of Darth Vader, what about my food byproducts? I do have an idea what I'm capable of when I'm awake and have some control over what's going on (or should I say, what comes out?). I'm sure that when I finally fall asleep and let go of control fully, I am transformed into a one (wo)man orchestra, with my ass performing all kinds of sounds, from strings to percussion. I'm serious. Imagine that in the morning, the first thing I do when I wake up after a particularly productive night is pick up my cat that sleeps next to me and shake him, to make sure he's still alive. If I do the same to that future boyfriend, his head will probably come off, together with the arms from their sockets.
[This one is for Danie- she knows how to make me smile.]

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Cat gone wild...

I think Mr. Adolf, one of my oldest male cats, has gone stone deaf. Every time he sees someone entering the room, he makes the mewing equivalent of an obese person accidentally landing on a bagpipe.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

My sweet tooth

Once there was a wisdom tooth that like most teeth resided inside a mouth. That mouth happened to be a dirty mouth accompanying a mind just as dirty; my own. Then the poor tooth died and the good dentist plucked it out. Now there is a hole at the back of the dirty mouth, and I am irritated as fuck. This has not stopped me from taking my regular amount of chocolate; about two per day. I need to sniff one of my cats sooon. It helps.

Friday, July 20, 2007

Biological warfare…

Second heat wave in Athens. My house looks like a bomb fell in, but the type of bomb that kills only cats. No matter where one looks, there are cats lying flat on their backs, sprawled like butter onto the floor, four legs stuck in the air and slowly turning into pools of hairy goo. It is a disaster of biblical proportions: so many tummies to rub, so little time.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

My new career as a fan


See the expression, "when the shit hits the fan." My father who used to live in Corfu alone (Corfu is a lovely Greek island both my parents come from) with a nurse who took care of him is now in the house with my mother and me. The one who was taking care of him left and he can't really stay alone or take care of himself, so here he is. Take my non-existent free time and make it shrink even more.

I have a new cat added to the swarm of cats that we have in my house: she is a white Persian I found on the stairs of my building, obviously abandoned. I am still struggling with her ear and eye infection, she is months old (and not spayed), and small in size. I have the strong suspicion she is an albino. She, on the other hand, is convinced she is my tail, and therefore follows me everywhere, even to the bathroom, and "talks" to me all the time. She has the type of flat face an animal would acquire after a collision with a wall at a hundred miles per hour: looks like a crossbreed between a goldfish and master Yoda. Not pretty, but certainly ugly enough to be lovable. She also ignores my mother and everyone else in the house. Bloody Persians. Never had one before. Such attitude!

I am going crazy as I practically have no time to myself. My mother is not doing too well either. The second day my father was in the house, he was running a fever and also had a few seizures (he is epileptic.) So my mother come to the kiosk in a rather flipped out mode and I ask her if everything is OK. Her answer?

"Oh, everything is fine. Your father is lying on bed, pissing himself from the seizures, I have a house full of pissed underwear and sheets, the cats are meowing because they are hungry as I had no time to feed them, the dogs are barking cause they want to get out but I can't take them out because during the power cut the fat lady from the other floor was stuck inside the elevator and now the elevator is out of order, and I ask your father if he wants to eat and he tells 'not now, I am fixing the car.' So I ask him, 'what car?' and he says, 'the Renault. My hands are very dirty, I have to wash them first.' " 
 
The polite reader can hopefully understand the situation and forgive my long absence. Or, as an old guy with Alzheimer's put it, "since we don't smoke anyway, what do we need the fridge for?"
 
Needless to say, all these are happening while Greece is in the middle of the worst heat wave (of the month June) of the last 150 years... We get such temperatures as 43C (110 F) daily. Straitjacket, anyone?

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Hyacinths

(Image by Yang Fan, http://jiuge.deviantart.com)

The smell of hyacinths brings death to my mind.

There is something about the smell itself, its oily sweetness that reminds me of a rotting substance. And something about the flowers themselves when they start to wither and lose their suppleness. Then the finger touches them and feels no resistance. They give way under one’s touch in a rather unsettling manner. Like a dead body after a few days. I love hyacinths, but just like human beings, I want to see them for small periods of time. Beyond that, I start to feel put off by them.

Everything has to have a special meaning. Everything has to be dissected and analysed. Magic needs to be trapped and explained using test tubes. Happiness measured by machines and explained in wavelengths. Each and every one of us so certain he or she is right. Each and every one of us eternally craving, eternally thirsty for something we can’t put our finger on. The water given for free and yet it never quenches our thirst, meat and bread set out for each of us on the dinner table and yet we trace patterns in the dust and ash instead of eating. That is the nature of humans, judging where they should simply accept and finding fault in all people but ourselves.

I am tired. I am exhausted and feel like I have been nothing but pushed around by howling winds. And the worst is yet to come. There is no time to rest. In order to break free, the butterfly must tear the cocoon. The bird must break the egg. The being we call human must tear apart his or her reality. All the things we take for granted are just the first layer. Layers over layers.

Oh how I miss the sweet taste of blood of the freshly killed pray, and the times killing was the most honest and justified thing in the world. We got civilization and added more layers, we mummified reality under false laws and false values, while once there was a time of innocence. If you did not like someone, he was the first to know, by face-to-fist contact. And if you craved someone he was also the first to know because you asked for pleasure. Children had no fathers, or rather, a host of fathers but only one mother and the main concern was remaining alive. Now we got laws and lifestyle and nobody eats his dead relatives, but rather digs the grave of the living by lies and hatred and half truths. And we are all civilized. Proper. Caring. Open-minded. Alternative and mainstream. We talk to those we don’t like and never say “I love you” to all those we really care about. We smile to our customers and cry ourselves to sleep. We live (?) in our little cement and metal boxes, gather stuff we can’t take with us and argue about the meaning of life. And one day we go away, one day we lie silent and still and those left behind try to understand why.

My tom-cat sleeps with his front leg wrapped around my right arm and purrs in his half-sleep. And he is happy because I am home from work and I fed him and rubbed his tummy. And I am happy because he is happy to see me.

Death is what makes everything so precious. Don’t you see?

It has come full circle. Goodnight…