My one true love, Bazel —the most handsome cat in the world — is a kept man. It’s true. I slog off to work 5 days a week and he stays home preening, sleeping, lounging and rolling his poo balls across the floor.
And it’s okay. Because when he’s happy, I’m happy.
I buy him the best organic food, the most exotic litter, the finest hairball dissolver disguised as fish paste; and, of course a vast collection of toys and gadgets.
He loves his toys, Bazel does.
He’s always so so grateful.
And I don’t want him to get bored or fed up and wander off to get himself noticed by someone like Madonna or Demi Moore, now do I?
So, here are some of the lovely things I’ve gotten for my toy boy cat.
These are by no means all his toys — just the ones readily available for this photo op.
There are many more toys under the furniture.
A few weeks ago, however, something terrible happened.
Perhaps Bazel has somehow gotten in with the wrong crowd or has grown weary of his bimcat status or something. And maybe he’d been experimenting with stuff before and I never noticed, but the other day I caught him — high as a kite on one of these:
Oh ya, it looks harmless enough. A little plastic jelly bracelet – found on the floor of the daughter’s junk pile bedroom.
Jelly bracelets, if you remember are those soft, squishy plastic rings all the girls used to collect a couple of years ago — the young ones just for fun, the older ones… for fun of a different sort .
Human girls seem to be able to handle the powerful, narcotic effects of the jelly bracelet. Not Bazel.
Bazel was instantly irredeemably hooked.
His eyes went wild. He drooled. He made very odd squeaking noises. He raced maniacally around the house chasing his new jones. Or was it chasing him?
He bats it around. Stretches it. Chews it. Stares at it willing it to move on its own. He hides it around the house and pretends to be surprised when he finds it again.
He has now been through so many of these things now, it’s frightening. I’ve been secretly supplying him from the stash in the daughter’s junk pile bedroom, but the supply is running low.
Bazel is single-minded in his addiction. He wants nothing to do with anything else. He’ll do anything for another jelly bracelet. When he loses one, he whines pitifully outside the daughter’s junk pile bedroom where he knows the goods are.
Or he’ll pace the house restlessly, eyes glazed, hunting, hunting for places where he might have stashed a jelly bracelet.
Ah-ha! There’s one under the closet door.
We’re down to the last junk pile bedroom jelly bracelet and I haven’t been able to find any in stores anywhere. And do I really want to keep this up anyway? Where will it end?
Bazel’s lost weight. He can’t eat. He can’t sleep. (Well, okay he still eats everything that’s put in front of him and manages to squeeze in 16 hours or so a day of shut-eye, but all the running around has trimmed him down a bit).
I know I’ve enabled this obsession and I have to be the one to help him kick it, but I don’t know if I can stand the arduous weeks of withdrawal ahead.
I don’t know if Bazel will survive.