My cat’s a crappy valentine.

I am single.

(I do not offer this tidbit of information as a pro or a con, merely as an incontestable fact.)

As a consequence of my singularity, I do not have a smoodley-poo of my very own to snoogly-woogly this Valentine’s day, so I anticipate that today will be unspectacular. I do not, however, have an amazing spectrum of Valentine’s days to live up to. Of the four that were worth remembering, I was broken up with, went on a Anti-date with a platonic man friend (who turned out to be not-so-platonic after all), was very, very sick and had to cancel my fancy dinner, and had margaritas and chips with my (ex) boyfriend. Although I was sent a very nice dozen of roses once from a long-distance friend once.

Awwwwww. Thanks Hubs.

Awwwwww. Thanks Hubs.

To those few who got a little upset that one of my ex-boyfriends broke up with me on Valentine’s day, I should tell you a few things. First of all, it was my freshman year of high school. Secondly, we dated from January 20th, 8:32pm, 2008, to February 14th, 11:59pm, 2008, which is such a short time period it may not even count. Thirdly, I looked like this:

Suddenly I realized why I spent so much of high school single.

Suddenly I realize why I spent so much of high school single.

God I love this photo so much. I look like Mufasa’s preppy Chola cousin pre-makeup. Note the absolute sincerity of my gazebelieved in this look.

But I digress.

In light of my recent attempt to befriend my cat, I decided to extend the olive branch to Marmaduke in the form of an invitation. Specifically, the invitation to be my Valentine. I figured since I’d be spending the night solo, Marm and I could catch up on some quality kitty time.

As if he could sense that I was looking for him, the Cat has been curiously MIA this week. Perhaps because I haven’t been in the office as much. Perhaps he has a secret lair somewhere where he’s plotting the hostile takeover of my room. I don’t know or particularly care. As far as I know, the cat food is still disappearing from the bowl, which means he’s still alive. Probably.

I finally caught him lurking outside my door on Tuesday. He saw me and started making a noise that I imagine was a re-enactment of the gurgling dying breath of the last dinosaur on Earth. To shut him up I lifted him up to my bed. I think he stopped whining out of pure shock, since the last time I let him on my bed was the middle of the summer when he peed on it. Twice.

I explained to the cat that this was my Valentine’s gift to him and that his Valentine’s gift to me would be to not pee on my things. He made this face.

Pure joy?

Pure joy?

He did not pee on my bed (yet). Tada.

That’s about it. In retrospect, I really didn’t know what I thought was going to happen. Maybe that the sun would come out and unicorns would appear from the ground like daisies and everything would be perfect forever.


PS- I really did try to take a more attractive picture of Marm… but that’s kind of just how his face looks.


  1. Hubs

    Hubs loves ya, my Africanasian goddess of words and yoga. I pray thee take a nap today as my gift to you, cause I’m broke like a joke.

    Happy befriending animals day!

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