Don't kiss your cat.

This is the realization that I have come to.

And it is not because of the germs or society's impression of the act, your friends having wafting
thoughts of Appalachia and Monty Python sketches in their brains...no.

It is because of the rejection.

So, I was over my mother's house and I kissed the cat.

This was a big mistake.

The cat was so clearly and utterly disgusted by the experience. Just completely.

The rejection!!

It was like the time I was at a club and started hitting on this fashion model. She looked me dead in the eye, went, "Eeeewwww," and walked away.

But the cat's rejection stung much worse, because he had me going that I was, in fact, his pal. O Brutus! O Betrayal!

Apparently, I am just the "liverwurst serf."

"Oh, serf-boy, you may bring thy master, his liverwurst now. And you may pet me once, lightly, for my amusement."

But intimacy and affection are apparently not permitted.

And I am sure the cat's spies are getting this information to him as quickly as possible, so that he can make some artificial loving gesture, delude me once more into thinking he cares, while deep within he arrogantly mocks the paltry nothingness of my existence.

O Woe!