i cannot tell you how happy it makes me to think of having bizarre and stilted online instant message conversations with my parents. in fact, my cheeks hurt from smiling over it.

in other news, i think that stuart's become an existentialist. it would be too hard to explain what facial expressions and behavior he has exhibited to indicate that my cat has, in fact, given up hope on this world, but believe me when i say that he is wearing a beret and smoking gitanes in spirit.

i tried to cheer him up with a rousing game of chase the stick with the feathers attached to the end, and i tried to excite him with the stick with the fish-stuffed-with-catnip, but to no avail.

he isn't even trying to scratch the hell out the the closet doorframe anymore.

he just lays on my bed with a look of dejected apathy, smiling wanly when i rub his tummy, not even bothering to attack my hand as he usually does.

at first i was worried he might be sick, but i think instead he is just sick from the Anguish, as sartre described it.

i wonder what Anguish must be like for a cat that never leaves these two rooms, but honestly he just seems bored and in need of a nice green meadow to run through.

poor old bean.

i would be sick with Anguish too, but i have maker's mark and cigarettes to keep me occupied.