Cats don’t have navels….
I’ve got the schizophrenic blues,
No I don’t… Yes I do.
There are days when I question my mental health, but then I realize the true problem is I think entirely too much. By that I mean my mind is constantly processing every moment, analyzing each detail, calculating the probability of a positive outcome or checking my list of disaster recovery options in the event of a some unforeseen accident.
Thank God for Yahoo’s gaming site. Sure my European counterparts have marijuana (O the envy), but after playing Collapse for six hours straight I get the same zoned out look and the need for pizza & beer.
I envy my cats. They must sleep at least 16 hours each day. They get two meals a day guaranteed, in-house gym equipment, luxurious sleeping quarters and they can have all the kitty dope they want without fear of showing up on an episode of Cops. (Back in the day we tried rollin’ a fatty out of some catnip, almost as smart as whippits)
Cats don’t suffer from anxiety (Bailey being the only documented exception). Cats don’t have to have goals. Cats aren’t overwhelmed with a sense of responsibility nor do they have neato super hero outfits.
If you or any of your friends can find the point to this entry, comment quickly before reasonable thought takes over.