I hate to fall into blogger cliche, but I have to talk about the cat.
We've met the cat before. Black cat, white cravat, kind of paunchy? She had a name at one time, but it's been lost to antiquity, so we'll call her "Cat," or "the cat," or "Kitty" if we're feeling saucy.
Yes. The cat. Have I got one for you.
Cat has a passion for British television. I am not making this up. Right now, I'm on the couch upstairs, in front of the Cash in the Attic marathon on BBC America, and --even though it's currently oven roasting temperatures -- the cat is pressed up against me, purring, and watching the telly.
"Watching," in her case involves being curled up on her haunches, her face up, her eyes keenly fixed on the screen, and her tail flicking back and forth. And being pressed up next to me and purring. Eventually, she collapses and falls asleep, but any move to silence the television, she rouses with a "mew?"
Adam didn't believe me, initially. "Yeah, right. The cat does not watch the telly."
"She does. She likes the antiquing programs best."
"Uh huh."
"But really, anything with an accent? She happy."
He mocked me for a few minutes, going so far as to flip on a saved episode of "Spaced" on the Tivo to prove to me the cat didn't care about television. "See? Cult British television, and the cat's nowhere to be found."
Which is when the kitty wandered in and made herself comfortable and started watching.
For about ten minutes, Adam stared at the cat with his mouth hanging open. "She's, um. She's watching."
"The television."
"I thought you were making it up."
"Now switch it over to something more American."
He found a rerun of "Overweight Shlub and the Hot Wife Show" and the cat decided she had better things to do. She hopped down from the sofa and wandered off to lick her butt or hork up a hairball, or otherwise engage in charming feline behavoir. He flipped back to "Spaced."
She wandered back and made herself comfortable.
It's the damnedest thing. If she's cold or lonesome, she'll cuddle no matter what we're doing, but if we're switched over to the Beeb, she's there, man. She's there.
Anyone have any therories as to why my kitty's an Anglophile?
We've met the cat before. Black cat, white cravat, kind of paunchy? She had a name at one time, but it's been lost to antiquity, so we'll call her "Cat," or "the cat," or "Kitty" if we're feeling saucy.
Yes. The cat. Have I got one for you.
Cat has a passion for British television. I am not making this up. Right now, I'm on the couch upstairs, in front of the Cash in the Attic marathon on BBC America, and --even though it's currently oven roasting temperatures -- the cat is pressed up against me, purring, and watching the telly.
"Watching," in her case involves being curled up on her haunches, her face up, her eyes keenly fixed on the screen, and her tail flicking back and forth. And being pressed up next to me and purring. Eventually, she collapses and falls asleep, but any move to silence the television, she rouses with a "mew?"
Adam didn't believe me, initially. "Yeah, right. The cat does not watch the telly."
"She does. She likes the antiquing programs best."
"Uh huh."
"But really, anything with an accent? She happy."
He mocked me for a few minutes, going so far as to flip on a saved episode of "Spaced" on the Tivo to prove to me the cat didn't care about television. "See? Cult British television, and the cat's nowhere to be found."
Which is when the kitty wandered in and made herself comfortable and started watching.
For about ten minutes, Adam stared at the cat with his mouth hanging open. "She's, um. She's watching."
"The television."
"I thought you were making it up."
"Now switch it over to something more American."
He found a rerun of "Overweight Shlub and the Hot Wife Show" and the cat decided she had better things to do. She hopped down from the sofa and wandered off to lick her butt or hork up a hairball, or otherwise engage in charming feline behavoir. He flipped back to "Spaced."
She wandered back and made herself comfortable.
It's the damnedest thing. If she's cold or lonesome, she'll cuddle no matter what we're doing, but if we're switched over to the Beeb, she's there, man. She's there.
Anyone have any therories as to why my kitty's an Anglophile?
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