I have a confession. I have a rather old cat, I can’t know her exact age but she must be at least thirteen. I’m sorry I can’t be sure of her age but that’s not my confession.

She’s been my daughter since the mildly jacked up former and still sometimes speeder warehouse guy brought her to us.  Back in the 60’s when everything was great.

She’s a Calico born in California so somehow he named her Cali but I think of her as, and call her Swirly Girl, The Gurry and variations thereof.  Once in awhile she licks my head or my hands and I’m not sure what to make of it.

She frowns a lot.

She frowns all the time.

Swirly bites and claws the shit out of me when I fuck with her but she likes it and we stay friends.

Heh.  Anyway, she’s getting to be a grizzled old meatwhistle.

I like the smell of her breath.  Meatwhistle breath.  This is my confession.

Her exhale is sweet and stinky.  She’s an old sod.  I love her.  My confession.

She snores and it warms the cockles of my cardiopulmonary.

The Fish and I contemplated the smell of cats.  We discussed it and agreed.  What we agreed was there was such a thing as kitty perfume.  A natural essence.  Rest In Peace my beloved Bean.  Tondaleo Bean The Negress.  Thinking of you still makes my chest constrict and my eyes water.  I loved you.  I would go back there, to that time, if I could, I surely would.  A simple and perfect life for us all.  I would, I really would.  Right now.

I would bring you two with me though.

“Wish I may
Wish I might
Get the wishes I’m wishing tonight”

Swirly frowns a lot but she always smells flowery and musky.

I don’t know how she does it.

I enjoy the stink of her yawn or hiss.  Sometimes I make her spit because it cracks me up.  All I have to do is pick her up gently, hold her gingerly and kiss the side of her head and face while her ears fold back, she rumbles and growls and pretty soon she’s a hissing fracture in the earth’s crust even though I’m loving on her.

This amuses me to no end I believe that’s what makes me do it.

I giggle and put her down.

She always walks away flapping her head in that feline way, frowning and shaking the experience of human dad love off like I’d blown mosquitoes into her ears.  Oh, the culicidae!

She’s over it seconds later.

I am also father to the complete opposite.

A muppet of a string bean of a furry post adolescent sorority hopeful.  Very feminine but with garish lipstick, zinfandel stained teeth and little social grace.  Beddy.  Yep, Beddy.   Short in truth for Bedhead, dubbed thus by The Fish.  Rescued from behind our warehouse and a community of feral cats when she was days old.  She’s a mutt.  Her coat is a mess.  She can’t help it and probably wouldn’t if she cared or could.  She does not.  I adore her.  She has no temper, no anger.  Sweet, curious and willful.

Petite black kitty.  Hair always a mess.  Barely beyond kitten size and not ever getting any bigger.

I can’t teach Beddy to comb herself, but she opens doors.  Literally.  She’s kind of opposed to my mother.  She counters her.  It appears deliberate.  When I think about it I must admit that one of the biggest conflicts on the books is between Beddy and my mother.

The sequestering makes them both indignant.

Beddy figures out how to open the bedroom door and mother devises the simplest of devices, literally a stick and rubber bands to defeat Beddy.  It impressed me.  It was so simple.  I’d imagined a wide wedge I could pull from outside the closed door with ropes.

See, Beddy likes to open the door and pee on my mother’s walls.  This is too much for all of us.  No one keeps house like my mother.  No one.  The amber stain of drizzle is an anathema to my mother.  I don’t blame her, my mother.  She has a nose like a toucan, my mother.

My poor girls.  Whenever they escape they end up within a few feet of me in not much more than a few minutes.  By my side.   They just want to hang with me.

It is necessary and it reminds that Beddy needs the surgery.  I’ve been reluctant for reasons not the least of which I’ve been a broke ass motherfucker.  Well, that’s pretty much it, but I really hope her personality doesn’t change much.  She talks a lot and what she has to say is pretty funny.  She bitches at me.  She wants the surgery.  I’m a bad dad.

Mom raps awesome tuna melts in foil.  Proof right there.  Sheezus. My queen cat has orange fur that never fails.  She leaves white and black all over.  Never orange.  My youngest leaves her black at the door.  All over in front or behind it depending on your polarity with respect to the door.  Get it?

Hey Otis, don’t gotta worry about no polarity on no cow.

“Wish I may
Wish I might
Get the wishes I’m wishing tonight”

Drinks for my friends.

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