I am currently saddled with two felines. The saddling was of my own choosing but I’m nonetheless in over my head. Not only does my feline surplus bring with it additional and unusual responsibilities – a more aggressive effort in stink control, unconditional affection, diet management, choosing matching feline sombreros of comparable color and quality to avoid petty jealousy – it also carries a certain air of ‘eccentricity’. Well, eccentricity is a word of my choosing; most others invariably choose ‘completely gay.’

My history of and adventures with housecats carries with it an enormous burden of evidence against my longtime assertion that I am not a gay man. I may enjoy some of the superficial trappings but, just as a Japanese teenager with an afro is still a Japanese teenager, I would put forth that a straight man with two cats and an unhealthy obsession with clean floors is just that.

However, in the spirit of fair play, I invite you to explore the collected evidence yourself and arrive at your own conclusions as I continue to groom my cats, fit them for knit slacks, and ask myself, “Does that make me gay?"