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Sunday, May 15, 2011

Fat Cats And Fast Cars

As my dates usually are, this one was not a success. Ben turned out to be enormous, with a dominating personality to match. I picked him up as his mistress mentioned that at his last checkup he’d weighed “fifteen.” “Kilos?!” I guessed, hefting his fuzzy bulk. “Pounds,” she clarified. I think the scale must be off. Ben had some matting and was obviously too lazy to groom his own back, where the long thick black fur was a little greasy. And then he bit me several times—not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to show that he was a bossy male animal despite his missing gonads and removed front claws. Apparently he’s intimidated his smaller feline companion to the degree that the vet is recommending kitty Prozac for the other’s anxiety. Ben’s like a tuxedo-colored sofa cushion, but clearly not as chill as I like, and his sheer girth is intimidating. So I had a legitimate reason to turn him down. There’s always some diplomatic pressure when your bosses sister sets you up with somebody, be it man or cat.

On the fun, successful night out front, I took myself out Saturday evening to see Fast Five. I flirted briefly with the idea of calling a friend to see if she’d meet me at the theater, but I realized that I’m probably one of the few girls I know who’d want to go to see this action flick, and what did I need company for? So I bought myself a ticket, a large popcorn and a “medium” drink (so much liquid you could have drowned an entire litter of puppies in it), found a perfect seat, and kicked back to enjoy the show. Had a fantastic time—it was nice being able to chortle loudly at the great cheeziness and admire the high-speed daring-do without the subconscious urge to make sure a companion was reacting the same way. I was so happy and relaxed afterwards, despite the fact that my bladder was on the verge of explosion. Vin Diesel and Paul Walker are a great onscreen team—I hope they make some more B-movies together…

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