I Like Fat Cats and I Cannot Lie
It’s September, so it’s that time of year when I sit in front of my light therapy lamp every day (if I remember). It helps me along with some other things to stay off the damn ledge during winter in Saskatchewan. I used to get drunk a lot to stay off the ledge, but getting too drunk to crawl to the ledge proved to be a less healthy alternative to eating my greens, turning on a special lamp, going for walks, and taking appropriate pills. In hindsight, everything can seem obvious.
The best thing about the lamp so far this year is that Augie has become a giant fan of it.
I hadn’t closed the windows between May and a week ago when the weather got too cold, so Augie has been feeling sorrowfully deprived of his blessed windowsills. He loves sun and spent half the summer standing with his head stuck between two sets of glass panes so he could cook the hell out of his brains. He’s already the dumbest cat I’ve ever owned, so I was a little alarmed at first, but I finally decided that when you’ve got a cat who gets OUT of the litter box to poop on the floor no one has that much to lose.
He nuzzles the lamp affectionately and gives it little licks. He head-butts it, claws at it, and leans into it with his whole body. Basically, he wants to get inside it. Today, he eventually satisfied himself with lying next to it and blinking slow love morse code at the bulbs.
So, Augie and I are going to be light therapy lamp buddies this winter, and, frankly, I think he ups the effectiveness of the whole thing. His pure love of that blue light drops a hit of serotonin powerful enough to have me singing I like fat cats and I cannot lie / You kitty lovers can’t deny / When a cat walks in with a giant fuzzy gut / And a tail up in your face / They gets pets…
Look, people with cats, I know you do this, too. I know you make up terrible lyrics for your iddy biddy cuddwy wubbums.
Anyway, we’re very happy together, Augie and I, and he happens to like my singing.