Tell me how you really feel, Min

[pjthompson]

I was standing between the bed and the dresser this morning, getting ready for work. Min laid on the end of the bed just behind me. I had my back to her while I put on my rings and my watch, and the radio started playing something groovetastic. So I started dancing along with it—shaking it like a white girl, to paraphrase the old funk song.

I finished up and turned around. Min stared at me all bug-eyed. "Wow," she said, "that was really disturbing."

That's what I love about cats. They really know how to realign your self-image.

Comments

[will-couvillier.livejournal.com]

True.

[pjthompson]

Zen beasts, all told.

[geniusofevil.livejournal.com]

it's not a tumor!

[pjthompson]

Well, no, just my butt waggling in her face.

[merebrillante.livejournal.com]

My cats never comment on my dancing. Or maybe I just never notice their comments, since I'm usually a couple sheets to the wind when I'm dancing at home. Dylan, however, is profoundly disturbed by my attempts to sing.

Everyone's a critic.

[pjthompson]

Oh, Min won't allow singing or whistling. She's been known to stick her head in my mouth to shut me up. :-(

[merebrillante.livejournal.com]

Oh, and (inspired by the subject line of your post), I'm going to do a .wav file of myself singing Chaka Khan's "Tell Me Something Good." Play it for Min and see how much she likes it. Then remind her that her life could be worse.

[pjthompson]

lol. Hey, she can't stand Dinah Washington, either, so she's really got no taste.