Exhibit c010: CAT LOVE

Apart from a couple days of head-smacking role-enforcement, Ble and Coleman have gotten along swimmingly - maybe too swimmingly. They sleep together and if one wakes up before the other, she walks right over and begins bathing her sleeping friend. Sometimes Ble will pad over to me, still in a sleepy daze, and I can usually tell if she’s just been treated to a Coleman tongue bath because her fur will smell like Coleman’s filthy mouth. I haven’t the heart to tell her that she’d be better off without such personal luxuries, considering the net effect.

Initially this brand of love was staggeringly pleasing to me. I set up one photo shoot after another, shocked that two cats could behave so sweetly toward each other. I called friends and family and boasted of my excellent judgement. I posted ads in the Village Voice, offering pay-per-view peepshows to feline perverts. I made a pretty penny – then the demands began.

The cats started requesting wigs and fancy garters and perfumes. They wanted essential oils and threw ridiculous parties with K.D. Lang’s cats. I would have to stay out of the apartment if a leather stocking was hanging from my doorknob. It was humiliating, suddenly, to discover my cats were really in love in ways I couldn’t really control.

One perquisite has come out of all this love. If Coleman is peacefully resting, one can grab Ble and just place her in front of Coleman’s face to get her to start applying a tongue bath. It’s become a reflex. This has had its advantages, not the least of which is that I no longer need to clean Ble’s asshole with toilet tissue. I have found another means. It’s all about mastering the approach, really.