In a way, this may be for the best, as there is always the danger that by getting a cat, a single woman mires herself ankle-deep in the squish of spinsterish bullshit, made all the worse if she starts allowing her cat to take on some sort of an offspring role. I don’t necessarily buy into that, but it might be better to just eliminate the possibility of unhealthy codependence. He can call me Big Lady, and I will call him Little One. (I won’t say it doesn’t hurt a little, though. It’s so hard to let them go.)

To be honest, I’m a little concerned. I think one of Ziggy’s motivations behind the title change is his apparent affinity for the teachings of Mao Tse-tung. He’s rejecting arbitrary titles of authority, such as “Momma,” in favor of more equalizing, neutral monikers, like “Big Lady,” in effort to extend comradeship towards his superiors and make me aware of his own possible power. I guess I’m OK with that, seeing how I’d otherwise probably be the oppressive feudal lord in this scenario, and if I didn’t let him play Commie, I’d soon be victimized by guerilla warfare.

Ziggy’s sweet, but he’s not so bright, and I fear that he’s very impressionable. Somehow, I think someone passed him some Communist propaganda (maybe it was one of the screaming radicals who dole out pamphlets and unsolicited dogma outside my apartment) and he has just eaten that Maoism shit up, as much as is possible for an illiterate cat who does not speak Chinese.

See, as cat’s are naturally nocturnal, Ziggy keeps me up at night, and I often put him in the bathroom with his litterbox when I go to bed. My hope is that he will eventually pick up the same sleep schedule as the Big Lady, so that I don’t have to resort to such secluding measures. Then, he can curl up on my belly at night the same way he does during my rare afternoon naps, instead of romping around my apartment and bapping everything within bapping range.* I know it seems mean, but this cat must become diurnal!

I live in a studio apartment, folks. There’s nowhere I can put him except for the bathroom. Dumb as he is, he’ll learn.

Ziggy announced his newly embraced ideology on the first night I exercised my feudalistic powers. Apparently, he interpreted my picking him up, kissing him on the forehead, apologizing, and plopping him in the bathroom as an attempt to oppress, because he immediately started summoning his leader.

“Mao? Maaooo? MmmaaaoOOOooo? … Mao?”

Give it up, Zig. Mao’s not coming. Learn how to say “Tse-tung,” maybe he’ll surface.

“Mao? M-mao?” [bapbapbapbap as he locates and swats the bathroom door-stopper] “MAO!”

Stop it, cat. I'm crying.

“MmmmaaaaaaoooooooOOooooooOOOOOoo??”

He eventually gave up, as he does every night. This new Feline Cultural Revolution, so far, isn’t nearly as gruesome as the original. This is a good thing, as far as I’m concerned.

PARDON ME, BUT ISN'T ANYONE GOING TO CALL ME ON ANY OF THIS PSEUDO-INTELLECTUAL CRAP?

I wonder what Ziggy would think about Maoism if he new the various sweet-and-sour ways cats are treated in it's country of origin. KIDDING! Kidding. That was culturally insensitive.

To tell the truth, there are nights when, if a chef from Hunan Gourmet were to show up at my door looking for ingredients, I’d sell Ziggy in a heartbeat. KIDDING! Don’t get all ASPCA on my ass.

Sorry. That was really awful.

* It's partly my fault that there is so much within bapping range. I moved last weekend,** and my floor is still littered with unpacked boxes of varying shapes and sizes. It makes an irresistible playground for Ziggy.

** I've made mental a note to myself to always have my friends Steve and David help me when I move. Turns out, those lovely boys absolutely ADORE cleaning, and kept me laughing throughout the process of clearing out my old apartment, all the while ribbing me about the gunk encrusted on various unreachable surfaces therein.

Steve: Girl, could you pass me the sponge?
Me: I don't know who you're talking to when you say "Girl."
Steve: (Referring to David,) I'm talking to Heather over there.
David: Whatever, Heather.

Sample dialogue 2:

David: Girl, best way to cure a bad mood is to put on some heels, and vacuum in the nude. It always cheers you up.
Steve: How can it not?

Ha. Bless them.

And bless Ziggy, too. In a completely secular way, though, because any sort of theism is in complete opposition to his Communist ideals, and I'm trying to be supportive, as I was with the whole Drag Queen thing.

Mao?

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~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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