Routine

I saw the following on 4rthur and had to share. Written so eloquently by sick_boy:

"I like routines. They are comfort in a world where, as an adult, it is not acceptable to carry around a ragged blue blanket and rub it against your cheek when things go wrong. They are also a yardstick with which to measure life’s exceptions and excitement. There is, however, one part of my daily commute that renders me a little uneasy. About half way down Boyne road (a leafy terraced suburban idyll) on my daily constitutional to the station I pass a cat. It is a longhaired cat with lots of patches of colour on its furry little coat. This cat has a routine that clashes with mine. Around 7:45am Mr Cat climbs onto his pedestal atop the brick gatepost and sets about his vigorous daily bum licking exercise. He goes about it with some gusto. He is a very thorough cat.

Every morning (inclement weather asides) our eyes meet, he pauses, blinks, I nod and for one moment there seems to be perfect understanding between man and beast. Albeit a quiet, uneasy understanding where, through my anthropomorphic paranoia, we both know that I wish I could perform the same feat on myself. And so we both set about our ways, though I am sure he doesn’t post messages on a cat message board about a Scottish pervert who pauses to watch him lick his anus each morning."