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Tuesday, January 15, 2013

Buckminster & Amber - 22

Buckminster & Amber –22

I’ve been hanging out with the houseman today. I like to snooze between his feet. They have a nice earthy smell. Bucks and I communicate a lot with scent. The bipods think I’m scratching when I rub my face against an object, but of course that’s where my scent glands are. I give the servants a shot now and then but they are totally unaware. Our sense of smell is many times more sensitive than theirs. It’s almost impossible to communicate with them. I can read and understand spoken English, but they are almost totally ignorant of Catanese which is mostly non verbal. The houseman knows Miaow means I want lunch and meuw means I would like to have a snack, but that’s about it.

I’m trying to tell him about Bucks and fleas, but it’s hopeless. He seems stressed out today. There was some conversation with the housewoman about an inspector coming to look at things. I’ve never really understood their relationship with things. I just don’t get it. Buy ‘em, climb on ‘em, sleep on 'em, smell ‘em and forget about ‘em; that’s what I say. Sooner or later you’re going to have to let them go, either by choice or not. At best you pay the rent and keep up maintenance, but of course I never have. I mean even way back, when I was in human form, in Berlin. The males always picked up the tab. I was, how should I put it, a good friend
. . . companion. A courtesan you might say. I always wore the most expensive furs and shoes. I’m barefoot now, that’s transcendental karma for you. I don’t mind. I’m still well taken care of, pampered, loved and petted.

            Now the housewoman's come in. “Bucky has fleas,” she says. “I’m pretty sure.”

            Well, duh. You think? It’s been so obvious!

            “We’ll get some flea stuff at the pet store,” houseman tells her.
            “Might as well leave now,” she says. “Inspector’s coming with the buyer soon. They want us to be gone three hours. “You want to see a movie?”

            Maybe it’s some kind of flea inspector. That makes sense. They’re probably everywhere by now and I refuse to get another haircut. This was last time. Do you blame me?

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