| |  | | "Work of a guy" | |
Hmm. What's there to tell you? Consider this intro a work in
progress. My automatic response to this sort of thing is
the "Playboy Model". But I don't think you want to hear about my
turn-ons or turn-offs, let alone my measurements. The important
stuff will have their own categories.
"...(has) a shock of hair on him, red as the fires of hell."
"That guy's about as organized as a turd fight at the Monkey House"
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| Welcome to this Researcher's Journal. If you'd like to comment on anything they have written here, just click the relevant 'Discuss this Entry' button. Fenchurch...
May 22, 2001
...is my Hemingway (as in Ernest) Cat. She has six toes on each paw,
and is basically a patchwork of parts that manages to fit the
Platonic Model of "Cat". That means she meets the biological and
metaphysical definition of a cat (except for the thumbs) but exhibits
none of the behavior that one would normally attribute to the species
(except for perhaps sleeping and an irrational attraction to the can
opener). I bought Fenchurch as a companion for Sable; a most regal
black mouser and my wife's familiar.
She's just about the most skittery, burrowing, 'fraidiest feline
mutant you're ever going to meet. You might wish to visit her -- I
am a firm believer in the drawing power of the Freak Show -- but
she'll be hiding under the bed when you're here.
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Last posted: May 25, 2001
