The Cats

WOW this post is overdue. My bad. But I was motivated to post today since the world is supposedly ending and I wanted to say that I had at least 1 post a month since I started this blog.

Also, for some reason, Blogger believes that this post should be double-spaced. I wasn't included in that decision-making process, nor do I agree with it, but there's nothing I can do about it. 

Anyway, on with it. 

My friends, I have a problem I need to share with you all. It's not all that serious, but it is most certainly impeding. I just need to know if anyone else suffers from this affliction, which I have taken the courtesy of aptly naming "Sicofokencatsitis". 

For those of you with normal brains, that means I see cats fucking everywhere and I can't take it anymore.

Except not usually that cute or well-defined.

I can't explain why it's cats that I see. What I have deduced is that usually, it's just that my brain mistakes everyday objects and uncharacterizable piles of rubbish for cats. And when you think about it, it kinda makes sense. I mean because cats (and other small animals) do bear a great resemblance to lumpy piles.

Anyway, this is especially detrimental when I'm driving, since the roads of Chicago are littered with lumpy piles of stuff and also hobos. But mostly the former. To me, though? All of those lumpy piles are cats. Or absolutely nothing at all. Maybe just the sun reflecting strangely off of a manhole. 

My car looks nothing like that. This is why I stick to stick-figures.

And around the house, it's even worse. I spend most of the day trying to figure out if things are cats or normal objects. It's terribly debilitating. 

All I want for Christmas is a scanner.

And, because yours truly believes dirty clothes belong on the floor, scattered in various locales, along with having issues with short-term memory, mere seconds after strewing my clothes about rooms like a talentless stripper, I see cats. And then second guess if they are cats or clothes.

The pile of clothes cat gets me every time.

 Please, dear readers, tell me if any of you suffer from this calamitous disease, Sicofokencatsitis. I need a support group. We can call ourselves (I for real typed "ourselfs" first. Damn.) "Sicos Anonymous"... Wait. No, not that. "Cat-seers Anon"... No... Not that either. I'll figure it out and let you know.