Last night I pinpointed what it is about Nietzsche and Machiavelli that makes me love them so much; they're like cat versions of me. Except they get away with it cause they're cats.
They spend about 90% of their time completely in their own heads. Mac will randomly come flying around a corner, leap a foot up in the air and wrap his fangs around Nietzsche's neck. Then they'll laugh it off, and go back to whatever they were doing.
A few minutes later Nietzsche will get up on a table, pounce on top of Mac and try to strangle him to death with his paws. They love that game. It makes perfect sense to both of them. But whenever I try to play the "randomly attack you while you sit there peacefully" game, people get all upset.
They also like to pretend inanimate objects are out to get them. They'll get together and "bravely" defend themselves against the evil advances of my throw pillow. I know in their little minds, they're battling a ferocious wildebeest instead of a plush accessory form Bed Bath and Beyond.
It's kind of like the revisionist way I like to remember my past. Like when Jenny came over last night and we reminisced about the good old days...
Me: Remember that day I made a feminist statement, and came to school in a slip and the establishment tried to oppress me and force me to adhere to their standards?
Jenny: Oh, you mean the day you woke up half naked in the school parking lot and they let you go home and put clothes on because you were freezing?
Me: Yeah. Those were some good times.
Why couldn't I have been born a cat? When they act crazy, it's so much cuter than when I do.
