My other half says that, if the average cat licks its bottom for five minutes or so every day, then it spends a total of about twenty-one days across its entire lifetime with its tongue glued to its asshole. He now assures me this fact is both useful and pleasant to visualise. I disagree wholeheartedly.
This is the kind of stuff I’m subjected to on a daily basis – and yes I do mean both my partner’s nonsensical rantings and cat bottom-licking. We have two – and yes I do mean cats and bottoms.
I don’t know why I chose today as the day I would resurrect my diary after more than a decade of believing I didn’t have time to write one, but it feels appropriate given the circumstances – and the silver cat is blinking at me so I must be onto something. I’m going to write the diary online this time instead of in a hardback notebook, because those just end up at the bottom of drawers (sorry, mentioned bottoms again; I’ll aim to cut this down in future posts unless there’s a specific call for it), so you are all welcome to pop along any time and read the stuff I write here if you want to. (Disclaimer: I cannot guarantee every or indeed any post will be interesting or entertaining in any sense.)
No doubt the gist of the stuff I’m going to write will be observational (I’m nosy and bored), amusing (some people say I’m ‘funny’), generally weird (plenty of raw ingredients in my life) and with a few poignant bits and bobs thrown in for good literary measure. I’ll occasionally describe the way leaves move outside the window and might touch upon a few emotions, but I promise not to go on and on about too much of that, or it might start getting a bit winey.
When I first put pen to paper, I was around seven or eight years of age, young for a diary writer – but I had my reasons. Namely, I saw my mother try to tear her own hair out in front of our bathroom mirror, I discovered my friend had died in a fire started by her own father and I’d started being bullied at school. Pretty shitty on all counts.
Then, as now, when I write anything down, my first thought is usually, who cares? Does anything I’m saying really matter to anyone but me? And the answer is always the same:
Who gives a monkey’s rump?
P.S. If anyone does wish to calculate the amount of bottom-licking a cat is likely to participate in during its lifetime, go ahead, but do be aware that we will all know that you are as sad and odd as a bag of bearded limpets.