I Am Number 6

I’d like to think my cat ruining my driver’s license renewal papers is his way of saying ‘I love you, don’t ever leave me’. But I think I’m reaching a bit. The lines on his face, however, do make him look like he’s in a constant state of worry. But he doesn’t really give a fuck, as he licks his balls in the middle of the dining room table. He doesn’t kiss his mother with that mouth… That’s why we settle for eskimo kisses.

I read my numerology the other day. Apparently my personality is one that relates better to pets than humans. Well, I did have a mind slip the other day that would support this theory. Running through my list of errands I thought ‘and I’ll take the kids for a walk down the back paddock … oh wait, kids, I meant dogs…’

Wow. I know my biological clock has been ticking loudly at me lately, with strange compulsions to abscond with the cute four years old at my karate dojo, but hmm…

As my kitten rests his warm little chin against the crook of my arm as I write this, unfortunately he’s the closest thing I’ve got to children.

And I ask, where else am I supposed to put my overflowing reserves of love? Into some unhealthy obsession with someone I barely know? Sure, why not. I’m sure they would highly appreciate being the object of my undivided attention. Until I leave a bunny rabbit in their kitchen boiler.

Kidding. I’d never do that to a bunny. I’m an animal person, remember.

My mother told me that one day some guy will come along and make me his princess.

I said, ‘no, not princess. Warrior princess?’

Because for some reason I have this vision of myself being a badass black belt within the next five years.

Yet, at the rate I’m going it’ll probably be more like ten years.

Teenage girls, at the moment, have more strength and flexibility than I do. Am I intimidated by these confident, pubescent little fuckers? Hell yes. They bloody well knocked over that standing punching bag thingo with their flying side kicks, whilst I think I pulled a muscle.

Like I already don’t feel like an old lady, you know with my clock ticking and all.

Woman, you’re freaking 22 years old.

But if I’m going to create my own personal army of black belts, I’m going to have to start early.

Maybe I’ll just settle for my own personal army of cats.

 

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2 thoughts on “I Am Number 6

  1. 00doggerel says:

    Personally I think an army of cats is a pretty badass idea. Imagine the subterfuge and misdirection, one moment they’re licking themselves and the next they’re pouncing with claws splayed. The enemy won’t know what hit them, until they get wise and employ cat-nip as a defensive measure.
    Excellent blog, had me cracking up the whole time. And don’t worry about biological timepieces, 22 is plenty young to start a warrior brood.

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