I have been known to refer to cats as all-orifice-face rapes. That’s how it feels after two hours in a house with a cat in it, especially a house with carpeting or more than one cat. I am lucky. I have two hours. My mother stops breathing after 1/2 hour. It’s not like I have a problem with cats in general. When I was a kid I had nine of them, all outdoor cats. They all disappeared after 6 months except for one. He was a bad-ass. When the other feral cats beat him up, he fought back and returned home bruised, but alive. In retrospect, I wonder if the fact that I had named him Magenta had anything to do with it. Maybe he had to prove himself more. Anyway, I had a bit of trouble writing this month’s Postcard Fiction Collaborative because of the cat theme. However, after writing this post, I wish I had written about Magenta. He was such a bad-ass.