I can tell a lot about a person by whether they prefer cats or dogs. Cats are anarchists, survialists. They can fend for themselves with or without you. They do what they want and need. They sleep 2/3 of every day. They don’t care. You don’t choose cats. Cats choose you. Dogs are authoritarians, enforcers. Either that or they are obedient sycophants seeking your gospel of approval. Some can fend for themselves with you, some can’t. They’re kind of decorative, like a bidet instead of a toilet. They either care about you or they hate your guts. You choose dogs. Dogs don’t choose you.
No. But my pussy does.
…and considering that is the most vulgar thing I’ve said on Tumblr. Goodnight.
I literally talk to my cat about feminism all the time. I wish I was joking. But really, he seems to enjoy it (like all of our convos) and I think it’s really relevant because he’s a cat with a penis but all of his favorite things are pink.
Maybe this means I need more non-internet feminist human friends. Hmm.
