For Fuck’s Sake Don’t Get A Cat
October 2, 2011 § 29 Comments
One of my oldest friends dropped round yesterday. I was in love with him when I was nineteen. He was – and still is – beautiful and brilliant and I still love him (but don’t get any ideas, alas the moment has passed and the difficulties are insurmountable…) Anyway, I was asking after a friend of his who never got married or had children.
He told me she had told him she was getting a cat. He had begged her not to, as that really was the beginning of the end. She had ignored him, and everything he had feared for her had come to pass. Now, whenever he rings her, she interrupts the conversation with, “Hey, Puss, hang on a minute, don’t worry, don’t worry, I am just talking to X, I won’t be a minute. Puss, puss, puss this, puss that.”
“She sounded like Mrs Slocombe,” said my old friend, “on Are You Being Served? Talk about Substitute. Man, child, you name it. The lot. Of course she doesn’t have a new boyfriend; all her emotional energy is going into the bloody cat and no man wants to compete with some bleeding tabby. They don’t come anywhere near her.”
I made a feeble attempt to stick up for the woman. “She never had children. I am lucky, maybe if I didn’t have children…?”
“For fuck’s sake, Plank, you’d never get a cat; don’t ever get a fucking cat!”
The funny thing is, call me catist, I want to get a cat about as much as I want to get a dog (cf. Get A Dog). Plankton With Cat is like a sign up saying, Sold.
If I ever happen to mention I am thinking of it – not that I ever will unless I become completely deranged – it is your duty as loyal readers of this blog to beg me not to and to tell me I have completely taken leave of my senses.
I think we all know that I will have well and truly thrown in the fucking towel, the day I decide to get an effing cat.