You are a cat

You are a cat
And I am a person
You can’t wear a hat
And I’ve got no fur on

You are a cat
And I, a human bein’
When your ears go flat
I wonder what you’re seein’ 

You’ve got little claws
Upon fuzzy paws
For you are a cat
And those are the laws

You chase a little mouse
All around the house
For you are a cat
As opposed to a louse 

You are a cat
Not the same am I
Even when you’re a brat
You’re the apple of my eye

You are a cat
As for me, I am not
But despite all of that
You’re the best friend I’ve got! 

You love to eat meat
And to people you’re so sweet
You’re the best little cat
Yes, we all agree

You say meow meow
Of course, you know just how:
For you’re a little kitty cat
Meow meow meow meow meow! 

*Images aren’t mine. I don’t really know anything about them other than the painting is by Louis Wain.

Oh look!

The good folks over at The Kosmopolitan have made the bold and unprecedented move of recognizing a poem of mine as something slightly better than complete and utter rot.

Hails to the Chiefs

1. George Washington
ugly, bad hair

2. John Adams
fat, cherubic

3. Thomas Jefferson
bad hair

4. James Madison 
would love to have seen him make out with Alexander Hamilton

5. James Monroe
looks like a Disney character

6. John Quincy Adams
Ebenezer Scrooge

7. Andrew Jackson
John Kerry, looks perpetually freaked out

8. Martin Van Buren 
ridiculous hair

9. William H. Harrison
even more ridiculous hair, looks like sea creature

10. John Tyler 
lipless, bad hair

Fat Like Me

I wish that you
Were fat like me
I’m just as fat
As fat can be

How very fat
We two could be
If only you
Were fat like me!

In which I debunk cat food propaganda

Cats are hardly a new thing in my life. My parents have had more cats over the years than I’ve had hot dinners. Consequently, it’s not like I was stumped when J and I adopted a cat from the pound two months ago. But because we were only having the one cat, and because it was the first cat we had ever personally owned, we wanted to give her the best we could afford in all aspects of her life. In particular, this meant high-quality food. The gut impulse was Fancy Feast, which Hazel has been greatly enjoying thus far, and which was easily obtainable, not prohibitively expensive, and allegedly fancy.

An internet acquaintance encouraged me to join Catster, a website which is half people who are into cats and half people who are, like, really into cats. I did, and that first night that Hazel was home I browsed the internet for general feeding guidelines — though I might as well have been trying to find general guidelines on whether god exists, because, as you will soon see, people take cat food really fucking seriously.