I was going to write a long post about a dead cat. Then someone pointed out to me that dead cats are a downer. This revelation came from someone from a dating site.
Like the dating site, the cat liked to play with my emotions. Never knowing which game or what expectations each individual cat had. One cat even told me that I played myself out of a game before it even started. Bless his heart! I didn’t know we were playing a game. Sounds like some feather-chasing nonsense to me.
The dating site also illustrated that there are some crazy cats out there. From those who just want playful intimacy to those who are willing to marry you right then and there. Dangerous Disney bullshit, my mind warned. Beware!!!
Like a cat, some of these males were very proud of their anatomy and not shy about showing it. As I do when a cat displays its butthole, I said, “Thanks but no thanks” and went on my merry way.
The dating site also proved that most men are pussies. Weird, compartmentalized, non-committal pussies. Not looking for a relationship mostly because the menu of women is vast. And the promise of the perfect woman is just a swipe away.
What none of these cats realize, is that I am the red dot. Too elusive for them. Moving in too many different directions. Scattered, as it were. Brilliant, enough to make you skid in your tracks or hit your head against a wall. It’s all part of my charm.
I have no use for people who don’t like cats. And, like a cat, the dating site can shit in a box for all I care.
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