I have a cat. His name is Simon. He is paws-down the cutest thing on four legs.
He may not be so cute, though, when we have to get him a pair of those upside-down-vision glasses to flip his vision so he can see correctly during the 12 minutes per day that he’s looking at the world upright.
The rest of his day, he spends sprawled out on his back, which Stephan likes to call his “Hey, baby, check out my junk” position. It’s ridiculous; I’ve never seen a cat on its back so much.
And he is a cuddler. He kneads our down comforter for a while, and then paws his way under so he can cuddle. He starts purring like it’s going out of style and then he full-on spoons with one or both of us. Internet, it is more than I can take.
I have but 6 to 11 years before the introduction of our projected child(ren) complete the cuteness trifecta begun by Simon and Stephan, and I am rendered completely useless by my constant squealing and carrying on.
3 Comments
where did calling their junk, “junk,” originate?
Who knows where thoughts come from; they just appear.
(I don’t know; this is the only context either of us use it in.)
LOL nice use of a line from Empire Records