If you’re a cat lover you’ll totally understand this. Here is
Patapuss, my four-legged feline house-friend showing off that natural talent that
all cats have for parking themselves in the one spot they’re definitely not
meant to be.
Seriously, of all the locations available to you in the not-overly-small
house that I live in, the music collection was the spot that was most singularly
comfortable over all others?
I suppose I should be grateful it’s not worse. My computer is
going in for repairs because Patapuss threw up on it the other day (when you’re
a cat owner, you no longer get angry when this happens; with a sigh or a groan you
simply resign yourself to what the world is throwing at you). It wasn’t the thick,
chunky chuck mind you, but the watery one-off after-chuck. It must have leaked
into the inner workings of my machine because the fan now only functions on
full bore and the clock has gone haywire, causing mayhem with my Last.fm scrobble stats
On another occasion, I came home to find our other cat,
Tomato, sitting on one of my turntables. I wouldn’t have minded quite so much
if he hadn’t of managed to turn the damn thing on. And talking of records, if
you were to look closely at the spines of the cardboard LP sleeves you’d notice
what looks like extensive damage. Turns out record sleeves are evidently the
perfect claw-sharpening material.
So yes, it could be worse. In fact, it’s even a little endearing,
what with Patapuss knowing good music when he comes across it (this makes him a
cat of discrimination and good taste).
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