Paris Diaries: The Divine Miss P's Magical Cat Hair Cure
One of the things I enjoy the most about being in France is that I get to enjoy a cat hair free two weeks. I don't realize how much the Divine Miss P sheds or how much time I spend dealing with her cat hair-lint brushing clothes, vacuuming every other day, and picking up cat hair tumbleweeds that gather in corners of the couch. When I go on vacation, I suddenly realize what a relief it is to live a cat hair free life. When I return I have forgotten how annoying and time consuming it is living with a long haired cat, but I am very quickly reminded. I remember the day that the young French mover hit on me, and I unfortunately demurred instead of saying "Have cat, will travel." When I return to the divine Miss P, I often wonder if a cat free life would be preferable.*

However, when I returned to the US this time, I was still a bit ill. My cold cleared up within two days of returning to the US making me wonder if maybe my illness had been caused by cat hair withdrawal or if my cat secretes some sort of panacea in her fur. Perhaps her constant shedding is merely an attempt to ensure that I and my guests remain healthy. I thought I might be able to bottle some of her fur and, ala Sears White Stair Liquor Cure (The Road to Wellville reference), and market it.

Soon, I was back on American time, cleaning the apartment, spraying room freshener, unpacking my new clothes, managing the mountain of laundry generated by a prolonged vacation, preparing my syllabus and typing notes on Paris all thanks to my cat's magical cat hair cure. As the early winter twilight fell, I sat on the couch next to her as I fixed myself a pot of fleur bleu earl grey in my mariage frere teapot. The divine Miss P curled up next to me-her gynormous white ass towards me. I draped an arm over her and said, "Well, I guess we are just two fat bitches against the world."

And Miss P, purring like an outboard motor, looks over her shoulder and narrows her yellow eyes as if to say "Who the hell are you calling fat?"

I took a sip of tea and thought, "It's good to be home."


* When I was with Eric, he often encouraged me to get a cat, but considering how much time I spent in Las Vegas I refused. He thought it would help me be less depressed when he was away, and I thought he should just try and a better boyfriend. In the end, I suppose he won the argument in a way. I bought the Divine Miss P about a month after he left.

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