The Inevitable Truth About My Cat's Ass
I was looking for a book last night. I knew I had taken it off the shelf so I could prep for class today, yet five minutes later when my tea was ready I couldn't find it. Not on the coffee table, not by the computer, not on the bedside table, not on the kitchen table, not on the couch. Sure enough it was under my cat's ass. Inevitably when I need something, the remote, a book, the Wall Street Journal, my keys, it is under my cat's ass. Now why is it she can't do something useful like park her tuchass on a single straight male millionaire with a weakness for short buxom chicks?

This is pretty typical cat behaviour in my experience, only to be surpassed when they insist on sleeping on your head, as my old cat used to when she wasn't lying on everything I was reading. Think of it as a loving exercise in passive aggression, cats are so much more elusive than dogs who wear their hearts on their sleeves. Or maybe it's because they have about the same level of intelligence as an octopus.....
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