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When he got his paw stuck in my Jell-0,
that was the last straw.”
He has a body like a panther:
sleek, long-limbed, bonelessly agile.
Expressive green eyes in direct
mntraet tn hair HjitVot than i<*t
left a mark on my ear, my ankles and
my arms. To say that I can’t stand the
cat is an understatement—I have
ex-boyfriends I like better.
I’m no Cruella DeVil. Flike four
legged fuzzies quite a bit, it’s just
that I prefer the kind that bark and
lick your face to the kind that
deliberately snub you after you feed
them. Actually, in this case, a kid (as
in baby goat) would be preferable to
the terror that is Kitty.
Calling the cat “Kitty” may not
sound very imaginative, but we do it
because we’re trying to give the cat
some kind of identity reinforcement,
because, unfortunately, Kitty thinks
he’s a dog.
I’m not sure how that happened.
My aunt found Kitty at a grocery
store, and true to form, brought him
home, feeling sorry for the little bag
•of bones. Not even Mother Teresa
could love this cat, but somehow,
Aunt Bunny found a way. I wasn’t
there the day Kitty came home, but
he must have thought he’d hit the
jackpot when he met our four
goldfish and the bird—our house
must have looked like a kitty combo
plate.
Like any good canine, Kitty
enjoys drinking out of the toilet. And
if that doesn’t work, he’ll get in the
tub. Imagine my surprise to step into
my nice, relaxing bubble bath and
see a big fluff of dark hair sliding
around in the water. Kitty, you’re no
Dean Cain.
The rest of my family seems to
love that cat—even my cousin who
currently has a long “love bite” down
her right cheek, but I personally
torture the cat whenever I get the
chance. Besides, he started it.
When he ate my lunch from Taco
Bell, I was upset but understanding
—after all, I’m the human, and I
shouldn’t have put temptation in his
way. When he tore a chunk out of my
tuna sandwich and put a snag in my
favorite J. Crew sweater, I said “Bad
Kitty!” and put him outside.
But when he got his paw stuck in
my Jell-O, that was the last straw.
I’m not really mean to Kitty. We
just have a love-hate relationship. He
seems to love me for no reason
(probably because I’m allergic to
him), and I hate him for plenty. So,
when he jumps into the kitchen sink
to try and lick the bowl after I make
pasta salad, I just turn on the water
—oops! Just a butterfingers I guess.
My new best friend in Kitty
warfare is the spray bottle. He hates
that even more than he hates it when
I spray Glade Lasting Fresh scent by
his tail. I even put him outside on
Halloween. I figured, a black cat on
Halloween—what could be better?
We only got two trick-or-treaters.
Talk about your plans that backfire.
* '
Every now and then, when it’s just
Kitty and me at home, I’ll slip him
some tuna, or his favorite: macaroni
and cheese. Sometimes I’ll pet him
—but only after I pull my sleeve
down over my hand. I have secretly
dubbed him “Kitty, purveyor of all
evil” and I put him outside every
chance I get.
Deep down — I mean really deep
down, in the caverns of my heart—
Kitty and I are pretty good buds.
We’re kind of like siblings. It’s OK
for me to torture him, but if you mess
with him, I’ll be mad.
But, if you’re nice, I’ll show you
how to play “Spin the Kitty.”
£
Hollimon is a senior broadcast
ing major and a Daily Nebraskan
columnist.
Anthony
NGUYEN
the covers i<
Some friends are nearer, dearer than others
u
No, this isn't about any of my perversions
or predilections to sex and whipped
cream. No, these friends of mine are very,
very special. Who are they? Books.”
I’ve noticed as of late I’ve had
little time to enjoy the company of
some of my closest friends. Not the
friends who I go out with who enjoy
the machinations of the “Low
— --—■-—=i Tolerance Man
Defender of the
Stupid”—sorry,
long story. This
isn’t a story
about those
friends.
This is a story
about the friends
of mine who
share my bed,
my kitchen table, my bathroom, my
car, my living room, and sometimes
—if I can manage—my shower.
No, this isn’t about any of my
perversions or predilections to sex
and whipped cream. No, these
friends of mine are very, very special.
Who are they? Books.
Right now, you’re probably
thinking one of two things: “Wow,
how did Anthony know to write
about such a timely and informative
topic? He must have his finger on the
public pulse!” Or “Soooo this is what
a no-significant-other-not-even-at
the-station-let-alone-ride-the-train
less person thinks about on Friday
night, huh? Next thing you know;
he’ll be talking about self-stimulation
(the big M-word) and eating cheese
cake!”
Well, stop thinking bad things
about me.
But you’ve read it correctly.
Books. And I’m not talking about the
50-pound variant you lug tobiocbem
or your lit classes. But the kind you’d
like to open and read. I know, books
are the last thing you want to talk
about with a break coming up and
./' -
finals just a short time a way. But this
makes it all the more appropriate.
A few weeks ago, my friend Sean
and I were at Barnes & Noble
perusing the shelves. (I just love that
word... perusing, not shelves,
sheesh!) Well, it’s not a regular thing
we do, but we end up going there
once or twice a month — if not to
buy something, then to waste time
productively. Usually we check out
the latest magazines, then we move
onto The Aisle. You know, the
corridor down the middle of the
store, where the latest fiction and
nonfiction paperbacks as well as
some themed tables are arranged.
We’re both seniors, and although
he has nuke power school and I have
grad school next year, we’re both
looking forward to some respite from
the daily grind of a university
education. I can’t stress the number
of times we’ve complained about not
being able to read a particular book
because of a lack of time. But, like I
said, a big break looms on the
horizon, and during that break 1 plan
(Hi catching up with §ome of my old
fnends.
1 consider books my fnends
beeause, like friends, they don’t see
or care about the color of your skin,
they don’t care about how rich or
poor you are, and they certainly don’t
comment on your appearance. Weil,
OK, sometimes I do look hideous
(unlike the photo that accompanies
this column—not !), and my human
friends will make sure I’m “aware”
of it. But all in all, with books you
can share one of the most endearing
and everlasting forms of friendship
you can have.
So what bugs me is that, during
school, I am unable to keep in touch
with these friends on a regular basis.
Whether it’s exams one week or lack
of sleep the next, I seem to come up
with or am burdened by the excuses
from hell.
TVuthfully, it’s partly my fault. I
still remember the summer when I
went through the blank verse
translations of “The Odyssey” and
“The Iliad,” read all the Michael
Crichton novels through “Congo,” as
well as dissected literature cm
Schrodinger’s Kittens (no pun
intended, ask your physics prof).
Why, I even read “Don Quixote” on
my volition. But now sleep seems
more important—or sitting around
watching television. And that makes
me scared.
But don’t let me mislead you
about some bodes you might
encounter here on campus.
I still remember “Pamela and
Joseph Andrews,” “Catch-22” and
“Room with a View,” and “Even
Brook Trout Get the Blues” (a good
book, but overkill on fly-fishing). I
read all of those during the context of
a course.
I really enjoy reading, and I have
an unnatural zeal for gathering
information that complements this.
Unfortunately, this zeal only mani
fests itself with topics I'm interested
in—fortunately I’m an eclectic
person.
But being in school has taught me
that a number of authors out there "
need to get a grasp on writing—
especially ones in the scientific
disciplines. For those of you who
have the misfortune of not taking a
science class, you won’t really
comprehend what I’m about to say:
Most science textbooks are dry
enough to be used as kindling.
Then again, you’ve probably got
some candidates for “Dry Book of
the Year.”
But this isn’t about those bodes.
What I hope to get across is this: If
you don’t want to lose these friends,
make sure you take some time out to
“talk” to therii. Because on cold
wintry nights, theycan take you
places you’ve never been or will
neverbe—all in the span of a few
hours. In a few pages, they can tell
you things that you know or weren’t
even aware of. But best of all, they'll
always be there as long as you have
the desire to read. So take time out
after finals week and catch up with
all your friends.
Nguyen is a senior biochemistry
and philosophy major and a Daily
Nebraskan columnist.
