Belling the cat my ass; it should be pilling the cat. I've just found my little troublemaker's secret stash of drugs, and unfortunately for me, he's not stockpiling them to take them. All those claw marks on my leg and this probably means I'll have to go back to the vet for more ---- more expenditures, more frustration and pain, more chasing a little black blur around the apartment for another week. Great.
So it appears that my cats are smarter than me; why am I not making them write the dissertation for me then? Oh wait, I think I've answered my own question. Little bastards.
On the other hand, I bet my cats are more of the lab scientist types than lit scholars, anyway. If I let them loose on my chapter they'd probably produce a study of the relative fascination indexes of various bugs, the Realism Mouse, toilet paper, and the laser pointer. ("Fascination increases as wiggliness (W) approaches infinity, while decreasing in inverse proportion to stinkiness (S)...") The most I've ever gotten them to do on the humanities side was to put their pointy little teeth marks all over a draft that was conveniently hanging off the table edge (obviously they were making a sly reference to Distinction: Critique of the Judgement of Taste).
On the other hand, tonight they were licking this one library book and knocked the whole stack over, making a huge mess and scaring the bejeezus out of me, so perhaps there is a future for them in textual analysis yet. I don't know what was on that book, but I had to hide it in the closet eventually. Thinking on it, that was a bad idea, because that's where I keep their food and now they know that this book must be wonderful and edible. I'm going to have them meowing and leaping on me like when I bring out the treats when next I go to take some notes.
Here's my little Watson and Crick (Laurel and Hardy?), conducting tests with the now retired and obsolete Purple Mouse.
Why Timido always looks so startled in pictures, I don't know. He actually has other expressions. It was a guilty look as he wriggled out of my arms and the blanket that tipped me off he thought he was getting away with something --- and yes, he was stashing his pills. You can't hide from me forever; I have nieces and nephews --- I know that look!
But even when they torment me and claw me and annoy me and mug for my attention, I'm still captivated by how damn cute they are. How the hell do they manage to do that?
Now that would be a worthy experiment for the scientists.