On the Litter Box: A Strange Device

I wonder about cats and litter boxes. My housemates have gone to India for a month and while they are gone I’m obliged to look over the cat. I wonder about cats and litter boxes because in the absence of my housemates, I am to clean the litter box once a day. This is a very strange task; and the concept of a litter box is even stranger. Why is there such a thing? Do we or ought we to hold other creatures to such strict and tiresome standards.

I worry that it has something to do with the creature’s nature. Unlike dogs, cats are roguish and do not respond to their master’s beck and call. We fear this feline quality. We argue and squabble over its implications for feline v. canine intelligence, which is absurd. However, I fear that our inclination to train domestic cats to relieve themselves in small rectangular boxes is both ridiculous and unnecessary.

Training any animal to defecate and urinate in one’s house is silly, no matter how clearly defined or designated that place be. Also, excrement will always look and smell like a duck, no matter how much sand and grit is piled on top of it.

It is unnecessary to train an animal to use a litter box. This does not need an explanation. It is simply the case. It is also the case that animals do not need beds to sleep on; nor do they need the warmth of a lover’s embrace; nor any other human luxury that we may be so fortunate to enjoy. Of course, the argument can be made that animals deserve some level of comfort and/or luxury. However, such arguments hinge on the notion that animals have such a thing as rights, and that those rights entitle them to certain standards of living. Animals have no rights; animals merely have the concern of those with rights.

This is a page from the most recent issue of Skull Force Comics. If you are not already, read this comic.

Experiments In Advertising

Yesterday, I agreed to a contract that allows Adsense to advertise on my blog. Adsense is an application that allows google to crawl my site and assess what products, associations, and charities my readers would respond to. Since yesterday, my first two advertisements have been for "wholesome hotdogs," and "California Nursing."

Also, for every person that clicks on an advertisement, i'm rewarded a certain percentage. After i've accrued over one hundred dollars, a check with be sent in the mail to my home address. This is very exciting. So start clicking away. Seeing as i probably get less than a cent for every click, and that i've only had 185 total views, I think this might take some time. However, between google's ability to know what you want, and your resolution to see me well off, I think the odds are in my favor.

On Mysteries and Getting Old

This week was an extraordinary week. My friend Ben and his girlfriend, Heatherly, arrived at San Francisco Airport on Saturday, and by monday they were in santa cruz. While I was at work both of them came in, accompanied by Alexander Roome. It was terribly exciting.

Now they're gone, back to New York City. Fuck New York City. This week was a great reminder. I forget just how great my group of friends is sometimes. This is a very strange post in a way, because this post is written about them as if they are not the only people who read this garbage. This perfectly illustrates my friends qualities: They are the only one's who could possibly read this tripe.

Anyway, this past week was full of severe drunkenness, nostalgia, grits, and grand schemes of eastward migration. Now my housemates are gone, and i'm writing this, with the Superman: Doomsday title screen still blasting from my T.V. I'm also drinking a 24oz. banguet beer. This is something that would happen often in my old house. Like then, I still drink large cans and bottles of beer in brown paper bags. I'm not sure why i do this. Shadow Chi is convinced that it's because i drink slowly and that i'm embarrassed. I hated Shadow Chi when i first met him.

This week was the first time in over a year that all my old housemates were under one roof (this reunion was cut somewhat short by the absence of daniel means, who is a monster and is another factor in the hating New York City). It was a great, great thing. I'm not sure how to explain why it was great. I tore a hole in my jeans, scraped up my back, bruised my arms, lost in arm wrestling, listened to slick rick, and showed up to work hungover every day last week. I guess that's pretty close. It was great. It made me realize that growing up sucks and that in someways the notion of maturity and growth is an illusion. It is recommended that after school one ought to move out and away, on to new and better things. What does this mean? It means that one should travel, seek new and alien places, situations, relationships, and experiences. Why this is the normative course of action is becoming more and more unclear. I cannot for the life of me understand why i am not in New York City. I cannot understand why all of my friends don't live in Brooklyn and why we don't spend every Monday at the Barbeque Bar, drinking free bourbon and eating pulled pork sandwiches. My friends love sandwiches. So i've learned that things in life are mysteries. Like why our values and goals lead us to live in different states, or cities or whatever.

So needless to say, it was total bullshit that this week was totally awesome. It was bullshit because it wasn't novel or exciting, but because it was every weekend no less than two years ago. It's bullshit because two years ago i live with five of my best friends and now i live with two girls, a neurotic dog, and a shitbag of a cat. This is not to say that my current situation is a problem. I'm simply saying that moving growing up and seeing your friends move away is a real drag. Also, now, I have to hang out with work friends, who are nice enough. they're fine. but they really know way too much about coffee and latte art to be taken seriously.