Bless me, mother, for I have sinned. I have committed petadultery.
Although I have a perfectly (purrfectly? No, let’s not go there) satisfactory pet, I am lusting after another pet in my heart.
Yes, I’ll tell you all about it, but first, a warning.
Words to the wise
Unless you despise cats, dislike good works, and hate humor, do NOT click any of the links in this post. They lead to seemingly innocent blog posts that will snag you in the claws of a dangerous cult. Soon, you too will be following the Leader. You will be a Disciple of Otis — no, I’m not going to make that into a link — resist, Rhiannon, resist!
Well, you see how well that worked. Let me tell you more about this insidious cult.
Ostensibly, the Cult of Otis exists to persuade people to keep their cats safely confined and try to help cats in need. In fact, it’s a snare that, using the Art of Sneaky, will reduce you to gazing raptly at photos of other people’s pets and dreaming up hilarious atrocious cat-related puns.
Introducing my pawamour
Yes, I’ve given up fighting the puns.
There might be an excuse for my petadultery if my pawamour were a waif like Oliver Twist, abandoned and in need of help. But though that was once true of Thomas, he has been adopted by the Guardians of the Cult of Otis. For cats, this is akin to a person winning the Nobel Peace Prize, the lottery, and a free lifetime supply of chocolate.
It’s useless to pretend that I would make a better owner than the Guardians. I haven’t got a Tabby Tower or a White Cloud of Eternal Comfiness. Plus there’s only one of me, and I’m often distracted by work (“bloody hell, another spreadsheet”), domestic chores (“damn, I’m out of chocolate again”), and my mystery novel (“would it be more interesting if the corpse was in drag?”).
More about my pawamour
So I can’t have Thomas. Besides, while I’m poring raptly over the Cult archives, Luna is sometimes forced to spend whole seconds in her Lying On My Back Looking Adorable pose before I jump up to refresh her water dish or give her a treat. If I’m that neglectful of one cat, I have no right to ask for a second.
But I can’t stop dwelling on photos of Thomas. He has a good build, long hair, and a wistful expression, three attributes that I find desirable in cats. (And in men, but that’s another blog post.) His muzzle is half-white and half-tan, and his whiskers are positively Victorian.
Mind you, his companions — Henry (17 pounds of tabby fury), Oliver (the Brains of the Cult), and the esteemed Leader, green-eyed Otis himself — are also come-hitherly handsome. Don’t think you’re protected just because you don’t care for long-hairs (or long whiskers). It’s still not safe to click these links!
Luna and i discuss my petadultery
“It’s not you,” I keep telling her. “It’s me.”
Luna: So exercise self-control, like me. Do I ever kill mice or birds? No! No matter how deliciously tempting they are.
Me: You can’t catch mice or birds because there aren’t any in my house.
Luna: Well, but if there were, I would exercise self-control. Maybe I should pee on your laptop. Try looking at cat porn then.
Me: I could use a smartphone.
Luna: You’re too cheap to buy one.
Me: Looking at other cats only serves to increase my love for you.
Luna: Right. Then I’m off to look at other caregivers.
I pull myself together
At this point I realize that I’m engaged in an imaginary conversation with a cat. It’s time to refresh my memory of the Ten Commandments, using Arthur Hugh Clough’s updated version, The Latest Decalogue.
Hey! Adultery is proscribed, but petadultery isn’t mentioned!
And now, since Luna has indeed gone off to look out the window, I think I’ll just mosey over to the Cult of Otis blog and look at a few more pictures of Thomas.
Aren’t you glad I warned you not to click those Cult of Otis links? I did you a favor there, eh?
Hello? Is anyone reading this?