Booney, besides being the best cat EVAH (more later), looked on centipedes as fancee people look on Beluga caviar and black truffles. The day or two a year when one made it into the house were like Christmas to him. Though he was not a cat with the propensity to hunt--no Evil Kitty, that's for sure--and never one to get too excited about trying to catch shit, he somehow had the instinct to pounce on those gross mofos and slurp them right up. It was disgusting, and yet useful. ('Cause, like, do you think squishing those things with a paper towel *isn't* also disgusting?)
The story of how we got Booney is thus: when I was twenty, my cousin A who was two years younger than I, lived at home, was a frequent guest at our apartment and thus very close to me and my future ex-husband, was moving and her parents said she could NOT take all 3 cats with her to their new apartment. S stopped by their house and, already charmed by the best kitten EVAH, brought him home, because there was no way that cat was going to the shelter on our watch. Booney, who had recently been bought by my cousin at a pet store (probably when she was high to be honest), was unfortunately flea infested and so soon was the wall-to-wall carpeting in our apartment. It was horrible. I remember calling my *other* uncle who was an exterminator in tears, asking him what kind of flea bomb to use. He talked me out of it. I don't remember how exactly he told me to get rid of the fleas without dangerous pesticides, but eventually we did. My point being, this cat was so friggin' lovable, even infesting my house with parasites did not lower our opinion of him. I can't explain exactly what it was about him, but even people who didn't particularly like cats loved him.
He was a spazzy little kitten, but unlike Evil Kitty, he was not destructive. He just ran around a lot. One day while I was at college, I got called out of class to take a phone call about a family emergency. (Remember the days before cell phones? Yeah.) Needless to say, I was freaking out, thinking someone had died. No. It was S. He was at the vet with Booney, who had a broken front leg. Supposedly from trying to jump up onto the top of the refrigerator, though I always had my doubts. (When my ex woke up from his coma and was having his brief moment of repentance for all the shit things he'd done in his life, I shoulda gotten the real story. Alas, I was a little too freaked out at the time to think of it.) The vet was giving him three options, which is why he needed me to tell him what to do. We could have a pin put in the cat's leg for, like, $600. We could have a cast put on for $200, but there was no guarantee he'd walk right after that. Or we could put him to sleep. For reference as to how much money this was in 1983 dollars, the rent on our apartment was $450 a month. (I have no idea why I remember what my rent was in 1983 when I can't remember wtf I did yesterday, but it's just one of those numbers that stick in my mind, like the fact that I weighed 118 at my first prenatal visit.) We picked the cast, as that was as much as we could afford, and even that was stretching it. The cat healed perfectly without the extra $400, by the way. This was my first clue that vets, much like dentists and auto mechanics, are thieving bastards who will happily try to fleece you out of your life savings by trying to convince you that unnecessary expensive procedures are absolutely crucial.
But while Booney had the cast on, he provided many hours of entertainment to visitors, even those who weren't high!, because he would run spastically around our apartment on his three legs, the casted leg out to the side, and get the cast stuck on door frames. Then his little legs would be moving a hundred miles an hour, but he wouldn't be going anywhere. Like a real life roadrunner cartoon. If only there were youtube in 1983, that cat would have been the fucking celeb he deserved to be. If only.
I could tell you many other stories about how awesome this cat was, but we'd be here all day. Let me just say, I had him from the age of 20 till the age of 37, he died on my lap on the way to the vet's [from a bad heart], and I still miss him. Especially when there are centipedes about, but y'know, otherwise too.
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And now the seasonal randomosity! You guys know what I do every freakin' October, right? I buy a Dunkin' Donuts pumpkin muffin, I eat it, it sucks, I bemoan the fact that I haven't learned from previous sad experience and the fact that I wasted 600 calories (really! look it up, it's crazy!) on something that sucked, and then I tell you people I'm not going to do it again. Well. Yesterday was that day.
And then today I got some mini pumpkins and put them on my centerpiece on the dining room table. (The weekend before last, I changed up my dining room table stuff and my foyer stuff for the season. After I'd had a little wine. I was telling someone about this in email after I did it, commenting that I thought it looked good, but I probably had to wait till the next day after I hadn't been drinking to be sure, and they said "rearranging furniture after you've been drinking:...wait for it...wait for it...Feng Sway." And you people think *I'm* the only one. Ha!)
But there it is, with added pumpkins. Festive, no?
And if it's time to decorate with mini pumpkins and eat crappy calorie-bomb pumpkin muffins, you know what time it also is, right? Time to peruse my amazon wishlist and figure out what you're getting me for my birthday which is T minus 30 days. Don't wait till you have to pay for expedited shipping, is all I'm sayin'. You're welcome! No, no, no, your friendship and lurve is all the present I could ever want. (Believe that like I believe that cat really fell off the refrigerator, bitches. Kiss kiss.)
xoxo
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