There are two stray cats loitering around the side of the coffee shop. One is fully grown and tortoiseshell colored, and the other is a gray adolescent. I want to go outside and win them over with processed turkey or ham, take them to the vet for shots and dewormer, and bring them home to love and adore 'til they dry up.

I will not do this because:
they are feral and it's no moral contest for them to decide to murder me
B is allergic and I love him more than cats
I am not a crazy cat-lady
our apartment complex does not allow pets

Well, they allow Pilgrim, of course, but he lives in a bowl that holds about a milk-jug's worth of water, so he doesn't exactly get in the way.

Back on the vein of cats, the other day in the comic book shop where B spends the majority of his free time, I met a girl who could not stop talking about goddamn cats. I'm sure you all know one like this. She is female. She is your peer. She loves and empathizes with nothing else. The reason I don't often hold conversations with people is because I realize they probably don't want to hear what I have to say. A lot of people haven't come to this realization so they babble endlessly about their cat and what their cat did and why they love their cat and if their cat ever ascended to the heavens they would be the one true prophet of the new world religion Their-Cat-Ism.

B isn't allergic to dogs, so as soon as I can afford it and we live elsewhere, I'm getting a giant, slobbering golden retriever to love and adore us and poop on our nice clean floor, bad dog. Bad, bad dog.

My boss called in "My Dad Is Dying" today. She told me, if I'm the sort to pray, to pray for him. So I am not the sort to pray, but out of respect I offered a few words anyway.

Except it wasn't out of respect. I'm pretty sure if God is real you get sent to Hell for satirical prayers. 'Cause what I said was something along the lines of, "Dear God, please don't let my boss' dad die because that will make her sad and when she is sad she gets cranky and that makes her a bitch at work and I may deserve to go to Hell but I don't think I deserve to have to put up with that. Amen."

The reason I doubt that God exists is because I haven't ever been struck by lightning when I probably really deserved to be.

Like now.

See? Nothing's happening.

I'll stick to the wisdom of my youth, I guess. In an 11th grade "essay" that was sort of belief-themed I wrote, "There are too many questions with too many answers and, probably, none of them are even close to the truth."

I read somewhere that Agnosticism is a precursor to having sincere belief.

I doubt I'll get there. To just make something up, which is what would truly suit the way I think, seems disingenuous, and I can't fathom putting my trust in any of the world's religions.

There's something genuinely not right about faith these days.

Good thing lack of it suits me.

Today is the celebration of my little brother's 17th Spirit Journey Formation Anniversary. Yaaaaaaaay!

Update: I just bought myself a year's Gold Membership. Waiting, waiting, waiting for confirmation.