star trek ds9 + text posts
I am struck occasionally, usually while snuggling the cat, with our faith in domestication.
The cat is a small, ferocious predator, twelve pounds of…well, flab and fur, frankly, in Athena’s case, but what muscle there is is strong all out of proportion to her size. I have watched three 150+ primates try and fail to subdue a ten pound cat, and consider it not at all unusual. The cat is as flexible as a snake and as strong as an ox. She has quite dainty looking teeth and claws, but there’s nothing dainty about their ability to flay flesh from bone.
If the cat and I were in a duel to the death, I would almost certainly win. I am 15+ times larger than she is, after all, and while my teeth and claws are pathetic, I have prehensile hands capable of doing terrible things. But if I had to go in naked, as the cat does, (and assuming the cat was aware that she was going to have to kill me, and not taking a nap in the corner) I can pretty much guarantee it would be a Pyhrric victory. I’d look like I’d gone ten rounds with a wolverine. I would need stitches. A lot of stitches. Possibly a glass eye. And antibiotics by the truckload. It’d be a mess, and there would even be a chance of an upset if the cat managed to go face-hugger on me.
And yet, despite the knowledge of the shocking amount of damage my small predator could inflict, it never occurs to me to worry. I pick the cat up and she tucks her head under my chin and purrs, canine teeth centimeters from my jugular, and despite the fact that I am carrying a ruthless carnivore in a position where she could, with great ease, remove me from the gene pool, I am thoroughly content with the world. Even knowing full well that cats are not even a truly domesticated animal, that Athena’s kin might best be described as “consistently tamed,” my greatest concern is that my black tank top is now coated in white cat hairs.
We have such faith in the process of domestication, despite the sheer unnaturalness of what’s happening. Small predators do not curl up on the chests of large primates and purr in the wild. And yet, every now and again, generally when my small predator is purring on the chest of this particular primate, I think How strange, how strange… that we’re doing this, and even stranger, that we both take it completely for granted, and find nothing unusual in such a completely unlikely alliance."
MY BIRD IS SITTING IN THE TOP CORNER OF HER CAGE CALLING MY DOG’S NAME AND ASKING IF HE WANTS A TREAT AND IF HE WANTS TO GO TO OUTSIDE AND HE’S TOO STUPID TO REALIZE IT’S HER SO EVERYTIME SHE SAYS SOMETHING HE LOOKS AT ME LIKE
SHE LAUGHS EVERYTIME TOO AND NOW HE’S JUMPING ON ME AND BARKING AND GETTING MAD AT ME LIKE OLIVER TURN AROUND AND LOOK IN THAT HUGE ASS CAGE AND BEG HER FOR A FUCKING TREAT OR SOMETHING.
your bird is an asshole
My ritual June post.
HOW HAVE I MISSED THIS!?!?!This reminds me that it’s been ages since I’ve watched “Jeffrey” and should track down a copy.
I just re-watched this recently, and I want to say it was on Netflix.
"reblog if you ever actually used a phone with a “rotary dial” on it"
Wi-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch, wi-ch-ch, wi-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch……
And getting your finger caught under the metal thingy.
nines were such a paain
Sometimes the rotary took so long to turn, that I’d forget which number I dialed last.
They’re pretty much gods who are also ex-boyfriends that control metal and brains — Magneto builds a special helmet just to keep Xavier from knowing what his feelings are; HE BUILDS A BRAIN CAGE SO HIS EX-BOYFRIEND WON’T KNOW HOW SAD HE IS. That is the demigod-level mutant equivalent of setting your gchat status to invisible so your ex-boyfriend can’t tell that you’re online. That is so campy Susan Sontag just sat up in her grave and texted John Waters “omg did u hear about Magneto?!!!”
JOHN WATERS DID HEAR ABOUT IT. AND IT RULED."
OH MY GOD