I keep my cats around in order to remind me that I'll never live up to my full potential.
This photo was taken in March of 2000. Willie, on the left, is the son of Gwen (on the right). They are native New Mexicans both.
Gwen (short for Gwendolyn) was a stray and had kittens in the tiny room of the house I lived in in Santa Fe, with Blake and Bill. She's dumb as a post, but somehow she always lands on her feet. Like myself, she goes by many names. Her first name was Greedy, but the Montez daughter called her Musty. She's also known as Birdy by some of her friends, because she chirps like a bird. Gwen was once briefly owned by two rottweilers.
Willie is the son of Gwen. He's quite the crafty one, and he generally complains about whatever it is that he's thinking of at the moment. He loves to steal my car keys for a joy ride with his pals, and I've had to bail him out of jail more times than I care to count. Although he's infinitely smarter than his Mom, he's generally incapable (or unwilling) to keeping himself out of trouble. Typical teenager! Willie only has one name, but he has two leather jackets. I'm certain he stole money from me to buy them (either that, or it's drug money), but I'm still trying to gather enough evidence for a full trial.
On Willie, every part of white is connected to every other part. Topologically, we refer to this as "simply connected". On Gwen some white parts exist alone, in glorious isolation.
(April 26, 2000) Last night I dreamt that Willie's nose had to be replaced. The veterinarian tried to make me feel better, telling me that prosthetic cat nose technology was advanced enough that I needn't worry about his self-esteem, and so on. The replacement nose was made of copper, but it looked white just like his current nose.
(August 19, 2002) Today when I woke up Willie's right pupil was dilated; the left one appeared normal. No brain damage, though. He still has to wear his cone when I'm not here for a week or so more. View the cat with eyes of Shaitan. The vet told me to put cologne on my cats every time one of them returns from the vet or from a party at which alcohol was served.
"Most people don't know that Nietzsche was a cat." —Keith Ellis
"I hate you. I love you. I hate you. Do you have a problem with that?" —Simone the cat
WARNING! CAT-LIKE TYPING DETECTED!