Sunday, 14 October 2012

The artist formally known as Hamza

I don't envy people any more. No matter how rich, intelligent, networked, good looking etc, etc they still have to face the same types of drama as I do in life. Probably more so.

But the cat that lives at my mams house. Formally known as Hamza, but I now have been enlightened to refrain from naming animals with human names. I should use an adjective as his name. E. G. TABBY, fatty, sleepy, softy you get the idea. But we've come to a consensus on this as of yet.

So the cat is living it up. He comes and goes as he pleases. Eats good. Very good, I shared some of my Haddock from the fish and chips last night with him. Once a month I give him a intensive combing to remove the lose and dead fur which fill about carrier bag and then apply the anti-flea gel which keeps him bug free. Every other month he gets a de-worming tablet.

He fights on road, chases pootang (still has all his equipment), doesn't come home for days, and when he does he comes home to a hero's welcome.

He does not have a set of morals or ethnics. Nor does he have responsibility for anything other then meeting his own needs. He is not overly greedy because he can only eat so much in one sitting.

No demands are made of him, no expectations of him. No body asks him for anything or ask him to do anything.

He does not feel he is owned, because the truth is that he is not. He chooses to stay and chooses when to go.

And when he does finally kick the bucket he will not face any reckoning for any of his actions.

I envy the artist formally known as Hamza

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