I believe in reincarnation. Well, maybe. I hope it’s true anyway. It would explain a lot of things; it’d explain me. I hate authority; like hate it. If it were my way, the sun would come up when I’d want it to come up. I have a low tolerance of people telling me what to do, even if they’re right. I want to be a god (lowercase ‘g’). Not the god of you; just the god of me. In my world, everyone is the god of them. You see, cats understand this shit. They live in an introvert realm with introvert rules: I’m not here to tell you what to do, just count on me when you’re having a bad day and I’ll understand and make it feel better.

Dog people are weird. They’re okay; but they’re weird.

They live with hierarchy logic, using words like “owner”, “trained”, “obedient”, “master”. You should like me because I’m me. Being me is awesome enough; don’t throw me a ball and tell me to fetch it. You fucking fetch it, you’re the one who threw it, okay? Responsibilities, man. I don’t need people patting my head. They don’t need to like me; I suck at service industry jobs. Oh, someone’s mad ’cause they want Coke but our establishment only serves Pepsi? Fuck that shit. Accept Pepsi or go to the gas station where they sell five different flavors of Coke. I’m a cat, man.

I love sleeping. Louis needs minimum seven to eight hours of sleep a night; preferably ten. People who barely sleep and live off coffee are weird. No A-type personality was ever a cat in their previous life. Fuck A-types. Always going around telling people to be just like them; like, “look at me I drive a lambo because I work 80 hours a week and live of sugar, why can’t you be like me? Why can’t you be like me???” ‘Cause I fucking like sleep, asshole. I’m a cat, man.

Cat people are nice; I’m nice, you just gotta rub me the right way. Yeah, I find it hard to love unconditionally, but that’s because I have logic. If you hit me with a two-by-four, I’m not going to say “I love you. Please more?” No. End of love. Fin.

I’m just going to end this with a picture of my late-cat Booey. She passed away November 2017. No creature on Earth ever understood me more than Booey. She cried the day the vet put her to sleep. My cat never cried except that one time. I’ll miss all the times Booey knew I had a shitty day and sat on my lap, purring away that everything will be okay.

R.I.P. Booey.

If you like my loose thought diarrhea, consider giving my organized thought diarrhea a chance. I’m a novelist and I write stuff. Consider reading my novel, Asians Don’t Date. More snark and smartass than you can shake a stick at!