My cat is cheating on me, my mailman knows a lot, and the good shows I haven't been watching.
And how to eat pan de espana.
Image by Fat Cat Art.
Yesterday my mailman, Drew, asked me if I had seen two gray cats around the neighborhood. I knew exactly the cat he was talking about, but I had assumed they were just the one. I said yes, that I had seen them but not for a while. I lied. I had actually chased one of them out of my front yard recently and even more recently, off of my back deck. Then Drew asked me if I knew Randall, from down the street. I said no, I don’t know Randall, why? Really? he said. He lives just four houses down from you. Next to the new neighbors? I asked. Yea, he said. Right there. I said no, that I didn’t know him. Then Drew said, So Randall asked me if I know of any orange cats in the neighborhood. Did you tell him about Tommy, I asked. Then Drew said, Well, I asked him about the other cat, your neighbor cat from two houses over. The fluffy one, I said. Yea, said Drew. Then Drew told me that Randall said no, not that cat. So Drew said, then I told him I knew another cat, your cat. Ok, I said, so you told him about Tommy? Well, Drew said, Randall told me that he was sitting at his desk and he looked over and there was this orange cat on his bed with his two gray cats, licking one of them. My cat is cheating on me, I said to Drew. He said, So I guess he has some cat friends. Then Drew told me about how Randall leaves his front door open for his cats, and now my cat, to go in and out as they please, and that Randall’s wife calls my cat Jasmine.
This whole time, I thought Tommy was meowing at me to go chase squirrels every morning, but really, he’s sneaking over to Randall’s house where he lives a double life as a girl cat in a polyamorous relationship with the gray cats. I feel betrayed. You think you really know someone and they have a whole secret life.
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Early on in the pandemic I decided that I was gonna be one of those wives that said yes to her husband every time he wanted sex. It was my wifely duty, I reasoned. I figured that if I couldn’t get him to communicate with me, having sex would keep him from getting pent up, and then we wouldn’t need to communicate.
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