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Tel Quel

je sais bien mai quand même

Yes my keyboard is layered with cat fur and all her litter-motes of goodness but she’s the only thing I have that proves that I have a heart and/or the potential to be human. Just last night she walked across my keyboard in the middle of an essay, drank from my cup, thereafter slept in the middle of my bed; and I let her. Even then, I only have the utmost fondness when I look at her making peace with my room in her own terms.

It’s possible right, that someone entirely misanthropic can put so much affection into a cat that ignores everyone else half the time except during breakfast and dinner. Logically, that’s human behaviour in the general scheme of things. Without notice, she lets herself in at four every morning and makes a bed out of my chest in spite of her weight, therefore I concur that she loves me too. Life is peachy.

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