My office is freezing cold first thing in the morning and there’s also a velux window with no blind that directs light straight into my eyes for the first hour of the day. In order to counteract this, I’ve been forced to adopt a slightly out of character sartorial approach that allows me to stay warm and shield my eyeballs from the blazing sun. So far the only combination that has worked is a baseball cap with a hoodie over the top. With this in mind it really is only fair to say that the gangsta life really did choose me against my better judgment but now that it has, I feel honour bound to embrace it.
Being very middle class and British however, I shall be doing the following
- cruising in my Peugeot blasting phat tunes (but not too loudly because ear drums are precious y’all). Also with the roof and windows up because it’s a tad chilly
- googling the nature of popping caps into the asses of those who displease me but deciding that all sounds a little distasteful so settling for tutting loudly instead
- hitting up my homies for a night at the club (by which I mean drinking wine on my sofa with the cats whilst catching up on Masterchef)
- writing an edgy rap ditty entitled ‘I have at least twenty three problems and the lack of decent harissa paste at my local supermarket is one of them’
- getting my swagger on walking through my hood but apologising profusely if I get in someone’s way and then doing a strange dance whilst we both try to sidestep the other until someone jumps into traffic just to end the awkwardness
- finding a rival gang to make wars with. So far the candidates I have lined up are the people putting glass in the cardboard recycling bin, the people who park in the wrong place blocking my car in and the people at work who cook stinking fish in the microwave. I’m working on the assumption that most gang warfare is carried out through the medium of sarcastic note writing
Of course it may also be the case that gangsta crews never meant for any of these awful stereotypes to happen and actually when they said they were cool, they merely meant that it was nippy out and they were going to dress for the weather like their mums told them too. Perhaps it’s all been a terrible misunderstanding brought on by sun blindness. The thug life is tough man
Everyone who has ever been owned by a cat will know that there are any number of indignities that we just accept as being a natural part of being in thrall to our dictatorial, mercurial, fluffy overlords. We try to communicate by replicating their assorted squeaks and mews knowing full well that they find us faintly ridiculous (and always worrying that we’ve just said something unspeakable in Cat). Sometimes, however when we really want a point to be ignored, only our own language will do so here are some things only cat slaves ever really have to say:
- Get your head out of my coffee mug, I am not sitting up playing laser pointer all night whilst you’re caffeining your tits off again.
- Get out of the bathtub, I’ve only just hoovered it. Of all the places that you could chase your own tail like the Tasmanian Devil on crack, why there? Oh yes, because it makes the most noise at 2am, silly me.
- I really wish she wouldn’t sit right in front of the television. For the first week of Master Chef I thought all the contestants had cat arses for heads
- Please stop licking the Christmas decorations, you know I find glittery turds unnerving
- My sofa appears to be snoring
- You are neither a pot nor a pan so do not get into that cupboard young lady!
- Do not knock my wet laundry onto the floor, when I’ve just hung it up. No, licking it does not make it better
- Stop screaming at me when I’m trying to pee! I don’t start screaming every time you head for the litter tray do I? Afterwards sometimes, admittedly
- Seriously guys, can’t you just do kittybix and chill?
Having written this, I suspect that parents of toddlers may have some familiarity with the concepts. Cats are basically just toddlers that you can leave alone without being arrested and who are fractionally more likely to shit in the right bucket.
You can’t help but be kind of fond of the malevolent little gobshites though. Despite their insistence on taking part in every phone call I make, their uncanny ability to know when I’ve had a truly awful day and produce Exorcist levels of vomit in response and the refusal to accept that a bowl can still contain food if they can see even a suggestion of the bottom, they are kind of cute.
Also, we could learn a lot from them sometimes. Despite their insistence on total human domination and their usual desire to bat several shades of shit out of each other over lap based rights they can come together for the common good. The common good in this case being sharing the rights to the warmest spot in the flat. It’s like the Gaza strip could be if cats were in charge of war (which would only take place at 2am and involve considerably more tinkly balls)