You never shoplift anything nor choose between two choices. You live in the same house for your entire life and each day you rediscover what you discovered the day before. You sleep for 22 1/2 hours each day and take a nap before going to bed. You don’t mind being alone but love interrupting What’s his name’s computer typing. You have a name but it doesn’t matter what What’s his name calls you. You eat when you are hungry and effortlessly release it hours later. (What’s his name knows what to do with it.) You love sleeping on What’s his name’s legs as he watches a movie. He thinks you’re dead when bliss is your feeling.
Your territory is imminent domain to you but you are not jealous. You will run and chase your female counterpart but it is done in fun since What’s his name’s veterinarian took away your urges. You envy no one because you are a cat and you are proud of it. You’re on What’s his name’s lap right now purring away concerns that may bother What’s his name for days, if not months. You stare at nothing for hours, processing nothing but possessing everything. You cannot smile but your eyes tell What’s his name how you’re feeling. What’s his name uses too many words to express himself when all you need is your wagging tail that tells your many tales.
Your day is predictable because you’ve created a routine, a routine not to be tampered with. Tampering with your life’s schedule prompts you to yell out a cry that sounds like What’s his name is severely abusing you. What’s his name learned that your plea means that a schedule is a schedule and to keep his hands off of it.
You clean yourself more than any living thing What’s his name can think of. The careful cleaning of each appendage is a tribute to your self-esteem. Sleep comes easily after cleaning because you’ve prepared yourself for your next bed – is that couch where What’s his name is sitting and needs to leave or is it your special place where only you can dwell? There can be fourteen resting places in What’s his name’s place; on the floor or on any furniture but you will always, inevitably choose where What’s his name is sitting.
What’s his name no longer needs an alarm clock because, give or take fifteen minutes, your whiskers touch his whiskers and the brush on the cheek gets What’s his name out of bed. You alert What’s his name to a new sound since you hear it at least ten seconds before him. You are the cheapest to please, a simple piece of yarn periodically holds your attention for years.
The only paradox of your life is whether the home belongs to you or What’s his name. What’s his name is now wondering whether this little yarn is about him or about you or could it rather be about “us.”