read
write
members
about
account

 

datedatememberrandomsearch

March 9, 2008
Iím tired of empty platitudes.

Frustrated, I turn to the best psychoanalyst I know: my cat, Runt-boy.

Why is he named Runt-boy, you ask? Because when he came to me, he was the smallest of the litter. Scrawny, with bones poking out in all directions.

He was also brave, stubborn, and affectionate. The most out-going of the bunch. Heís a silly critter, and a bit fickle. But heís come a long way from the skinny runt.

Iím sure thereís a lesson in that, but Iím not ready to deal with it just yet. Instead, I enjoy my companionís contented purring.