The cats have a good gig going on here. We keep them warm. We feed and water them. Every day they get access to a clean litter box. They would receive affection if any of them wanted it (most of the time, they do not).
This has to be the only reason they stay. It certainly can't be because they enjoy the company. My roommate dances with them. We gossip about them and the outside cats. They also seem to have some issues with me on a personal level. Mostly because they have so much more dignity than I do.
They prance with some level of grace. I plod through the house like a drunken Frankenstein's monster. Most of the time, their noises are adorable and beautiful. I sing songs to them, about them, bastardized from the melodies of other songs. They go to great lengths to make themselves look lovely as they lounge for their naps. I sit on my chair and look like that goblin king from the first Hobbit movie.
They also handle their nakedness better than I do. The cats are naked all the time and perfectly fine with that fact. It is their natural state, after all, and no reason for them to display any kind of silliness. Me? Well, today I walked into the living room before I put my shirt on. All the cats looked at me. I grinned and began to shake my boobs at them. Were it not for my roommate being in his bedroom, I would have shouted, "Look, kittens! Mama's got her titties out! Woo! WOO! WOO!"
I really did want to do that. Yes, I am about to turn 43.
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