Blister Doesn't Live Here Anymore
Actually, this title should read that Blister does indeed (maybe) live here still, but Laura and I decided that “Blister Doesn’t Live Here Anymore” sounded like a good short story title or bad after-school special. So the title stands.
The Blister in question is not the gross image you all have, by the way. And let the story begin.
So yesterday I had to run out to the store because, in Steve Carrell fashion, I was really craving an egg-salad sandwich but I lacked the bread, mayonnaise, and celery to make said sandwich (oddly, I had the eggs). As I was pulling out of my driveway, I saw a black cat run by and in my rear-view mirror I saw my cat panic. My cat sometimes gets her ass kicked by other cats, so I thought I should toss her inside.
Since she was outside when I first left, I had left some food sitting out. Once I put her inside, I thought I should put this food away. I left my front door open and when I glanced up there was that black cat, just sitting on my couch. After chasing the thing for half an hour, I decided my hunger took precedence over the cat so I left it in while I ran to the store.
By the time I got home, she was completely happy in my house. She (as I ascertained) had eaten some of my cat’s food, politely used the litter box, and had curled up on my bed. I thought she was hurt, so I didn’t want to toss her back outside. She also appeared under-fed, so I thought maybe she was a stray. But I didn’t want her. I don’t like owning pets. I still couldn’t catch her (slippery little bastard) and I was tired and my solution to the cat problem was to take a nap.
When I woke up, the cat was curled up on top of me, purring away. So I might have bonded with her. I threw her outside and told her to please go home before I got too attached. But not before I gave her a name (which signified the beginning of the end).
Now, when I was telling my friends this story, they all assumed that I named her Elvis or ‘Cilla. Again, I didn’t want to get attached and naming a cat after a member of the first family of rock and roll would definitely do that, so I didn’t. She was pretty annoying at first, but then I got used to her, hence her name.
Blister. Blister the Cat.
It fits, I swear to God. Don’t judge me. I know that it fits, because she came back a few hours later, scratching at my door, meowing, and looking kind of cute in a Blister-y sort of way. So I let her spend the night inside. She comes to her name, by the way. What did you think I was going to name her, Cuddles or Miss Whiskers? Have you met me? Do you know me but at all?
I put her back outside this morning, so I guess I’ll see when I get home if I still have Blister.
The Blister in question is not the gross image you all have, by the way. And let the story begin.
So yesterday I had to run out to the store because, in Steve Carrell fashion, I was really craving an egg-salad sandwich but I lacked the bread, mayonnaise, and celery to make said sandwich (oddly, I had the eggs). As I was pulling out of my driveway, I saw a black cat run by and in my rear-view mirror I saw my cat panic. My cat sometimes gets her ass kicked by other cats, so I thought I should toss her inside.
Since she was outside when I first left, I had left some food sitting out. Once I put her inside, I thought I should put this food away. I left my front door open and when I glanced up there was that black cat, just sitting on my couch. After chasing the thing for half an hour, I decided my hunger took precedence over the cat so I left it in while I ran to the store.
By the time I got home, she was completely happy in my house. She (as I ascertained) had eaten some of my cat’s food, politely used the litter box, and had curled up on my bed. I thought she was hurt, so I didn’t want to toss her back outside. She also appeared under-fed, so I thought maybe she was a stray. But I didn’t want her. I don’t like owning pets. I still couldn’t catch her (slippery little bastard) and I was tired and my solution to the cat problem was to take a nap.
When I woke up, the cat was curled up on top of me, purring away. So I might have bonded with her. I threw her outside and told her to please go home before I got too attached. But not before I gave her a name (which signified the beginning of the end).
Now, when I was telling my friends this story, they all assumed that I named her Elvis or ‘Cilla. Again, I didn’t want to get attached and naming a cat after a member of the first family of rock and roll would definitely do that, so I didn’t. She was pretty annoying at first, but then I got used to her, hence her name.
Blister. Blister the Cat.
It fits, I swear to God. Don’t judge me. I know that it fits, because she came back a few hours later, scratching at my door, meowing, and looking kind of cute in a Blister-y sort of way. So I let her spend the night inside. She comes to her name, by the way. What did you think I was going to name her, Cuddles or Miss Whiskers? Have you met me? Do you know me but at all?
I put her back outside this morning, so I guess I’ll see when I get home if I still have Blister.
posted by Ace | 10:19 AM
4 Comments:
Love the name. It is better than dog food.
Loves it. You must adopt Blister the Cat. I think that she must be Dewie the Cat's Pullman doppleganger. Maybe you should get one of those laser beams. I hear cat's like those . . .
How well does she fit in with your other interesting animal?
Congrats on your new pet. I don't consider cats to be very cute as a general rule, so I think Blister is a cool name for a cat. Just make sure she doesn't belong to anyone else before you have her spayed.
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