God's Powder Puffs

It's the holiday season, YAY! In my rants I usually talk about things that really grind my gears. In this case it would be things like the fact that stores have already started to put out Christmas shit. In fact they had started doing that in august. Seriously, August. There is the fact that Thanksgiving traditions are absolutely worth fuck all. Yup, and just like the blankets laced with smallpox we've been wrapped in lies. And then there is the death match that is Black Friday where the douchiest of the douches fight over a no name flat screen TV at BestBuy. Those things just really chaff my nuts. 

I could spew venom about all that but instead, per request; I am going to discuss something that fills me with joy. Something furry, fuzzy-wazzy, and cuddly. No, I’m talking about Steve Carell. Well actually he's not really cuddly, but he is one hairy ass bastard. I'm talking about tiny kitty cats. 

Have you ever seen something so cutie and adorable that it actually fills you with disdain? Have you ever seen something so lovable that you wanted to kick a field go with it? Well that is what I will be going over here, so without further delay let's begin. Kittens.

Kittens.

Rage full joy, and God's powder puffs. 

To begin, as I have done before, I'm gonna tell you a little bit about those wonderful cushy fur balls other wise know as kitties. So, this time look at the time line, take your finger and go back to ancient Egypt. Most historians believe that was the first place where cats were domesticated. There in the land of the Nile, and gauze wrapped human jerky, cats were worshipped. The felines were seen as being associated with the goddess Bastet. 

All Hail Mittens!

She was the goddess of cats, protection, joy, family and love. They were believed to be holy, so holy that they'd been mummified as well. That was a privilege that was practiced by those with means and importance. Basically it was like kneeling before Mr. Mittens who was too busy playing with a ball of yarn to give a shit. Then Mr. Mittens would do that really creepy thing that all cats do which is to start licking himself from the crotch down to the tip of his hind legs partially because he can. He also does it to make you shiver a little while his shows more interest in getting a future hairball than you. Cats, like three year olds, are assholes. Mine is, and if you have a cat you know that they're fluffy balls of affectionate douchebaggery. 

Cats have always held a special place of some kind in mythology, and folklore. In Japan for instance there was the maneki-neko cat, which was a symbol of good fortune. The Norse goddess of love and fertility, Frayja, was depicted riding in a chariot drawn by cats. Muslims see the animals as being special too. While it wasn't written in the Quran , there are legends about how much Muhammad loved cats. In other words he was that girlfriend who cared more about her pets than the status of your actual relationship. If you were bleeding to death, and her cat needed flea medication you could bet your right nut Buttons would be tick and flea free. 

Rage full joy, and god's powder puffs. 

Now on the Time line we come to the point where cats became associated with evil, and as a result were killed by the thousands. This period was the English and Scottish witch trails where cats along with other animals were seen as guides, or assistants to witches. 

That would be other wise know as a familiars. While this is some bulls shit I do have to say that when I wake up in the middle of the night to my cat watching me sleep I want nothing more than a restraining order. Then he purrs and everything is OK. He is plotting something though I know it. 

Now I love kitties. They just make me so happy. The peace and servility they bring me is unequal to just about any thing in the world except kicking a used car salesmen in the nuts. Those dudes are horrible, terrible humans who deserve it. Then again punching a mall Santa would feel just as good. I got a kid, and taking her to mall to wait in line, sit on a fat middle aged man's lap and have her picture taken isn't in the spirit of the holiday. It's creep, and it's one of the reasons why Ambler alerts exist. The only thing creeper is a white van with the words free candy spray-painted sloppy on the side. Any way, when I got my cat he was this snuggly Small thing with these gigantic paws. They were like snow shoes. He was the talker of the bunch, and made the sweetest meows that you would ever hear. Of course the catch with that was that he would never shut the hell up. He'd talk and talk and talk. Hell, he'd use the litter box, and he'd still be talking. While he was a talkative lit' bastard he talked mainly to me. That was due to the fact that I had basically raised him. My wife had this old maid, if you will, of a cat that while affectionate was only a lovey to my wife. Anyone else would loose a fucking hand. It was like sticking your hand in a fuzzy, snuggly meat grinder. You'd stick out your fingers, there'd be a hiss, and you'd pull back with a bloody stump. You'd be run around screaming like a fuckin' banshee, holding your wound as the blood spurted out all the while the pussy cat would be licking her paws. 

My wife's cat.

My little homie, who was named K.C., not the name, but the letters, was my shadow. He was my lovable sidekick with a fluffy tail. The initials represented kitty cat in case you were wondering.  Now despite being a sweetie he was slick too. He'd find all kinds of ways to sneak out of the house, and these ways were ninja style methods. He'd climb up a piece of furniture then leap off and out before you close the door for work.  I’d discover he was gone, curse him out then when he’d come back he’d look at me with such cutie eyes ,and I’d melt. That said, as I had mentioned before he is a dick. 

When my wife's cat died, my cat did everything short of cracking open a bottle champagne and snorting lines off of a hooker's breasts to celebrate.   He had no competition, and the attention would be his. If he had opposable thumbs I'm sure he would have done it. Who would have thought that opposable thumbs would be so important for performing simple yet vital tasks like writing, using tools and masturbating. 

Still K.C. was always there, in an assholish way of course, when I needed him. I love kitties for that reason they love ya, but it similar to the love of a father who is in secure in his masculinity and has some major sexual identity issues. My cat would basically give you a hug per say and push you away awkwardly before he'd actual feel feels. That could also possibly make him Irish Catholic, lower middle class Irish Catholic.  Nevertheless he was and is my friend. I love his independent, and his friendship and his humorous dick head ways. He is one of my best friends, and that's embarrassing, it almost as bad as the slowly progression into the lonely socially inept status of an extreme animal lover. The kind of person that finds animals to be better than people so why not have a whole house full of they. Why not be a cat lady. Who cares if they spray and piss everywhere because they understand you better than any real person ever will. Tell yourself that when the solution might be a therapist and antidepressants. The solution could also be alcoholism and drug addiction. I guess what I'm trying to say here is that as much as I may punch myself in the face for it, I love god's powder puffs. They fill me with rage full joy, the best kind of joy. 


Until the next rash,



Lou Ford

FIN