When I was little, I had this giant cat pillow. A pillow with a picture of a cat on it, not a pillow stitched from cat parts. It was sort of a lime/yellow green velvet pillow with white fringie stuff, and a picture of a giant tabby cat, standing up and playing a flute. Oh, and on the end of the flute was a little bird, smiling his happy bird ass off.
Ok, you know what, shut up, like any of you were just so cool when you were 7.
I used to carry this dumbass pillow with me everywhere because, well I donít know why. I wasnít cool, ok, there, I said it, what?
Anyhow, ever since then, my mom has latched onto the idea that I love cats and has bestowed upon me present after present with the image of a cat, in the shape of a cat, or on one unforgettable-in-a-disturbing-kind-of-way occasion, a life-sized stuffed animal-like paper-mache cat shaped thing covered with . . . goat hair.
Stop and ponder that for a moment
Also? It meowed when you petted it.
I donít know 1) why she felt that was an acceptable gift to not only pay money for, but to give to her only daughter or 2) how someone comes up with an idea to produce goat hair covered feline shaped pieces of crap or 3) why I cannot think of brilliant ideas, like maybe covering a diet coke bottle with hamster pelts and calling it a Diet Squooshy and making millions of dollars.
You know, hamsters are pretty cheap.
Iím just saying.
2005-12-13 at 4:24 p.m.