See, not only are cats self-absorbed, which they are, but cat people are equally self-absorbed, even, frankly, the cat people who have no cats but who should or would, had they exposed themselves to cattitude.

But this has nothing to do with what I am saying.

It has only to do with what the people at the Starbucks or Tim Horton’s you frequent are saying.

What I am saying is: The Cat Is Back.

This, my friends, is The Cat:

And that, my friends, is the raincoaster. And there is a tale wherein the raincoaster purchased the cat, and it is this:

raincoaster was coasting through the Hastings Street Value Village, as was and is her wont, when she came across something so glam-tastic it seemed as if Grace Jones herself should have manifested and dragged that bitch up to the till, but lo, Grace kept to her place and it seemed as if raincoaster would have free reign on all sparkly marabou stole territory. But, alas, it was not to be.

The raincoaster stood, pondering, for some time. Some, apparantly excessive time.

A drag queen grasped the trailing end.

“Are you all done here?” she asked.

“No, sorry,” replied raincoaster, thinking in practical terms about rights but not quite willing to give up on this particularly cool version thereof.

“Honey, if you don’t want it, Aye, you crazee, Bee, Ai take it.”

“Okay, I’m taking it.”

The tale of the naming of the Cat is for some other time.

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