A Letter to a Cat

**What do you do when your cat starts grooming you? And yes, Saffy is a cat.

Dear Saffy,

So I have this Siamese boss, goes by the name Prince, and he assumes he’s royalty because I call him that. Anyway, we’ve been together, or I have been his property for close to three years now, and I’m writing to you because his recent grooming habits have come to include me.

This here is the boss.

Here’s our routine. I get home at around ten in the morning, and the mere click of that lock sends him running from his room upstairs. He meezers his way downstairs to where I will be taking off my shoes, and then he starts rubbing his whole length off my legs. The Siamese are long cats. And their awful miaowing, which is to say guttural, is an acquired taste.

So I take off my shoes, deposit my coffee mug in the sink, and then go upstairs to change. He will be a foot away from me all that time, and he will be miaowing me to my death if I don’t pick him up and hold him like the baby that he is. Literally, like the baby that he is — I cradle that bothersome sweetheart for a full minute and I look at ourselves in the mirror. And then he licks my arm with that rough tongue; he uses his wet sandpaper when he’s cuddled enough. I have changed to my houseclothes by then, and then I will go down to sit on the sofa. He will still be a foot away from me.

Have I mentioned that I talk to Prince and then he miaows back? Always? Sometimes I assume that he’s cursing back, but I have come to expect that. Yes, he talks back, and I will far rather drown than talk shit in your presence.

This is The Boss when he's not in the mood.

So I sit down on the sofa and do nothing for some time; I will be reading a book or growing my Pokemon, whichever’s handy. And then this Prince will heave his weight on my stomach and curl into a ball. Have I mentioned that he’s a long cat, close to two feet, and he’s slender? Anyway, he makes sure that I’m uncomfortable enough with his hairy, curled up length before he starts to groom himself. You know how it goes — he starts with his right shoulder, gives it a few long licks, keeps his eyes shut all that time, bites himself some, and then rinses his left shoulder in the same manner. He then proceeds to fashion the small of his back with the same discipline, but he does so briefly because he’s curled up. What takes time, though, is his face. He licks his arm, whichever’s handy, until its moist enough and then he pushes his face on it two to three times. And then he moistens his arm again. And then again. And then again some more. Why, the world will have ended before he’s just about satisified with his handiwork. You’d think that he’ll be coughing up a hairball that can sink the Titanic anytime soon, but no. He proceeds to wash the right side of his face!

This feline ceremony seems to go on for hours when observed from a distance. Imagine the bother when he grooms himself while he’s lying down on you. But it gets more troublesome, though. Just when I think that he’s done and proper, he starts licking at my shirt. At first I thought he missed a spot, and then he might have over-licked or something, but he works at that same spot on my shirt, just above the stomach until it’s moist! I am not kidding you, Saffy, and I sure as hell am not imagining things. I can feel the friction between my shirt and his wet sandpaper, and it’s bothersome, but he doesn’t quit until I’ve had enough licking for the morning and shushes him. Shush! He pauses some, briefly looks at me with those deep blue cat eyes, and then continues with this extended regimen that has come to include my alarmed person. I then shove him away, and then he miaows something on his way up the window sill.

He’s done this quite a lot of times before, and I suspect he’ll be doing this again this morning when I get home.

I am writing this to you, Saffy, because I want to know — what’s up with Prince?

Licked,
Momel

Here's a Tip on What To Like in Facebook

**This is an emergency post. I am still adhering to my healthy frequency of posting once-a-week, but this was a light bulb situation.



I've had enough of people in my network asking me to LIKE some idea for personal reasons. If it was good enough to begin with, then it wouldn't need the endorsement much, it should live on its own, it should be, to a certain degree, sufficient enough to promote its own cause. I have nothing against an endorsement, but people should learn to endorse things they personally believe in. That builds character, I suppose. I have my own principles when it comes to these circumstances, my guiding rules of conduct, and I shall summarize this code with this following line --







That's what I'm saying, really, and I say that on a fucken spiritual note.

How to be Her

**This post was inspired by a real person, a goddess-variety charmer with whom I've had the fortunate acquaintance to brag about. I was washing the dishes this one day, when I happened to look at the kitchen tiles, those white, and clean kitchen tiles, and I suddenly had this inspiration to write. I'm not sure if she's aware of this, but her not knowing is alright, I suppose. I'm not dedicating this to her. What am I, straight?



First off, you will have to be very, very beautiful. You need to have skin which rivals that of snow glistening with the coming of the morning. Your hair needs to live, breathe, and be thoroughly self-sufficient; it has to have a life of its own. It could be paying taxes for all I care, but I don't know. Your face, ah that face, will be the very design of Aphrodite, or Venus, or Minerva, or whichever deity was the most inspired upon her creative emergency. Your glow should be this divine influence that could have been leased from The Almighty's vainest whims. Simultaneously, you should be statuesque, possessed of this comely figure, and you should cheat on your diet from time to time. You don't smoke. You eat fruits. You should be all that, and then some, so that calling you "beautiful" will be a criminal understatement.

Your paradise-level beauty will be so beyond illustrious that it will compel common-looking folk with uncommon insecurities to purchase rope. Or a gun. Or large volumes of rat poison and think about administration if the alcoholic pity parties should fail in their purpose.

Your smile, ah that smile, will be it's very own enchantment. This animation of your allure will be a supernatural persuasion. It will move your beholders to a peaceful trance. You will have that effect when you do. And it will move those common-looking folk with uncommon insecurities to abandon the drinking altogether and just hang themselves.

Your admirers will have their own population. And their numbers will be formidable enough to inaugurate their own municipality.

You will be so beautiful, but you don't seem to know it Or you're aware of your spellbinding influence, but you don't seem to care. That is the hard part, the insufferable consequence, but if you want to be her, then you should lose all pretenses that come with such beauty. I suppose that's a common thing with most of God's handpicked. They were divinities since birth that humoring their advantage becomes a tiring repetition. So they leave that privilege, that of flaunting, to the common-looking folk, and then it becomes a comic delusion.

The insecure common-folk, at least those that will survive their suicides, will glare at you, in secret, of course, and whisper among themselves -- "Maganda nga, pero wala namang utak." "Yes, she's beautiful, but I'm sure she's stupid." They will derive some consolatory triumph in this tired, tired attack, and they will snicker in satisfaction. You will, however, douse this weak offense with that smile -- you are possessed of a college diploma in the field of medicine. You are smart, but you will elect to dispense of your wit when you're throwing punches with the funny boys. You have an evolving sense of humor, and I call it that because you're smart enough to upgrade your comic arsenal.

You can choose to flip your preferably anonymous detractors with your dainty, porcelain fingers, but there isn't a fiber in your educated being that permits such reprehensible behavior.

This, my dear reader, is how to be her, I judge. And these requisite fortunes, from the divinity to the demeanor, are mandatory. Because she is an angel, and angels are perfection. You can, however, miss out on a detail or two, but you will be a cheap, lackluster, copper-plated angel. A two-cent imitation, really. Now, seeing as undergoing an appendectomy thrice is far more possible than to collect all those blessings in another person, not your person, or my person for that matter, we might as well give up. Get to know her, or someone like her, and then be thankful for the acquaintance.

A beautiful friend is an advantage sometimes, and I will explain that later. But don't count on becoming pretty by association. That doesn't work. You will just look ugly. Be inspired, instead.

Better Late Than Delayed: I Reviewed KAOS the Musical for Jessica Zafra

**That One Word! What heavenly music to the gay guy's ear! What promise! What rapture! What validation! Delayed! Oh fuck it.

I reviewed KAOS the Musical for The Mistress of the Universe. And my review was published in her blog dated May 18, 2011. I know, I know, but I judged you read this post's title first. I apologize for the inconvenience!


And this here is haggard evidence.


Fly's not open, and this, minus the jacket, is exactly the same set that I wore when I met with the soft spoken Powkhie.

And this here's the link. Click to read!

Eh Pano Ka Nga Naman Magmo-Move On Kung Ikaw Ang Binabalikan?

**Oo na, alam ko once a week lang ako magpo-post. Pero kinuwento ko na to habang mainit init pa. Tsaka pala tatagalugin ko muna to ha? Kunyari tropa tayo. Tsaka ang hirap ikuwento nito ng English. Bukod sa ayaw ko mag-isip eh ramdam ko na mas buhay to pag tinagalog ko. Kaya heto. Medio mahaba pala to, mga punks. Ginanahan ako eh.

Heto yung kuwento sa likod ng FB Status na to.


Naalimpungatan ako nung biglang bumukas yung ilaw ng kuwarto. Tangina naman oh. Inisip ko agad na si Hadede to. Insekta kasi yung baklang boksingerang fren ko na yun eh. Love ko yun. Pero ang pangit lang talaga sa baklang yun, maliban sa mukha niya, eh best of pamemeste yun eh. Tapos nung tiningnan ko kung sino yung nagbukas ng ilaw, kung sino talaga yung mumurahin ko eh nakita ko na Siya pala yun. Nakapulang t-shirt na body fit, blue na shorts. Nakangiti.

Nung nakita kong siya yun eh wala akong ibang nasabi kundi "'So." Garalgal pa boses ko nun, yung boses ng kagigising lang. Pero kalmado pa, steady lang kumbaga. Yun ang tawag ko kasi sa kanya. "'So." Bunso kasi siya. Pero nabigla ba ako nung nakita ko siya? Very light, oo, pero hindi ganun ka-gulat para tuluyan nang mawala ang antok ko. Chill pa ako nun.

Ngumiti siya. Tiningnan lang niya kung anong oras na tapos eh pinatay din niya agad yung ilaw. Mga 11:30 na yun ng gabi. Sabi niya kasi "11:30."

Si Joel. Naalala niyo yung kinukuwento ko dati na naging ka-live in ko ng mahigit four years? Tapos naghiwalay kami nitong December lang kasi nga nakatikim ng luto sa patis? Na hindi tinola? Si J? Yun. Siya yun. Joel. Nadale mo, batang bata.



Pagkatapos ng time check at lights out eh humiga na siya sa tabi ko. Iniwan niyang bukas yung pinto. Amoy chico si uten.

Hindi ko na tinanong kung paano siya nakapasok kasi yung mga ganung oras eh gising pa yung housemate ko, ang gorgeous na si Onath. Siya na ang kasama ko sa bahay simula nung December last year. Kaibigan ko to since 2000, at dahil never kaming nag-away eh siya ang housemate ko ngayon. Kilala niya si Joel, saksi siya sa pagliligawan namin (yehess), sa pagli-live in namin, kung paano namin binuo tong apartment na to, at andun siya nung eksenang nag-usap kami nun sa pagitan ng rehas na bakal. Na-detain si Joel dati, matagal na yun, nung 2005, kasi nga may pinakyu na mga tanod. Punks na punks lang. Kaya ayun, nag-usap kami sa pagitan ng rehas na bakal. Ahaha, tanginang yan, burat na burat ako pag naalala ko yang eksenang yan.

Kung hindi lang talaga mahina ang kapit ng akin at nakabuo kami ni Joel eh unang unang ninang tong si bakla.

Anyway, hindi ko na tinanong kung pano naka-akyat tong si Joel. Alam kong pinapasok siya ni bakla.

Dun siya pumuwesto sa kanang side ng kama namin, yung bandang nakadikit sa pader. Unang gabi namin dito sa apartment eh dun talaga ang puwesto niya. Teritoryo ba. Kanya yun. Five years ago yun. Katawang kahoy pa lang to noon, kumot lang ang sapin, tsaka may apat na unan. Dun kasi yung puwesto niya talaga, dati pa, nung wala pang mattress at nakaka-shalang sheets tong kama na to. Sa dulong kanan, yung nakadikit sa pader. Magkatabi kaming nakahiga ulit sa kamang yun, rapport rapport lang, ika nga ng mga frenship kong nasa call center.

"Ano na balita ha, 'So?" Medio nabawasan na antok ko nun. Imagine ha, alas-kuwatro ng madaling araw ang shift ko, maga-alas dose na ng gabi eh gising ako. Di ko na siya love ha, gusto ko lang makibalita. Kina-klaro ko lang. Andian na rin lang eh. Wala na namang masamang tinapay kasi nga okay na kami nung February pa.


"Wala naman, heto lasing. May boyfriend ka na ulet?" Tanong niya. Mabilisang pacing to, abrupt kumbaga.

Sagot naman ako. "Wala." Eh wala talaga eh. Zerong zero, frens.

"Sus, di nga?" Oo, "sus" talaga sinabi niya. Anlakas maka-old school diba?

Sagot ulit ako. "Oo nga, kulet neto. Puro alak lang ako dito, akala mo ba. Eh ikaw, ano balita sa yo? Buntis na ba asawa mo?" Tinatanong ko siya habang hinihimas ko yung kaliwang braso niya. Yehess, anlake ha, hindi totoo yung sinasabi nilang pumayat siya't na-haggard. Aba puta, parang mas malaki nga braso nya ngayon eh. Gayunpaman eh hindi ako naglaway, sorry.

"Hindi. Hindi buntis yun." Amoy chico talaga. Kung hindi Matador ang ininom nito eh Empy Light to. Dun lang naglalaro yun. Hindi Red Horse. Tolerable ang amoy eh. Wala mashadong singaw. "Di muna ko umuwi sa amin. Gusto ko lang dumaan dito."

Daan pala eh.

Sabi ko naman, "Weh, baka naman dumaan ka lang dito kasi inabot ka na ng ulan." Umuulan kasi, medio malakas, rinig ko sa mga bubong ng kapitbalur. Medio may hangin pa, lumilipad yung mga kurtina eh.

Sabi niya, "Kanina pa kaya umuulan yan, umiinom pa lang kami eh umuulan na yan. Edi sana di na ko pumunta rito. Dun pa kaya kami sa Santo Tomas nagi-inom." Medio malayo nga yun dito sa min. Isang tricycle na pamasaheng bente.

Wow effort. Deadma lang.

Edi tanong ulit ako "Sino kainuman mo?"

"Mga pinsan nung asawa ko."

Si Donna yung asawa niya, at may nakarating sa akin dito sa bulwagan ng ABS CBN na pangkaraniwan lang tong bilat na to. May mother of pearls lang. Na luto sa patis. Kinonfeerm yan ng ilang frens ko na nakakita dun sa bilat. At shempre, may follow up sila; maganda ako dun sa asawa ni Joel. That's what frens are for, diba? Kaya sabi ko sa kanya, "Oi, sabi nila maganda ako sa asawa mo. Magandakomagandakomagandako sa asawa mo!" Oo, kailangang i-segue yun.

Hindi siya kumibo. Alam na. One-zero, in favor of the long legged.


Heto matindi. Maniwala ka namang hawak niya kamay ko nun habang nagq-Q&A kami. Ako naman si pa-sweet eh hinayaan ko lang. Medio magaspang ang kamay niya ngayon, tsaka parang bumigat. Tapos maya mayang onti eh naka-tanday na yung hita nya sa akin, parang dati lang. Awwww (yehess, bagets), gantong ganto yung gawa namin dati eh. Leche to, kung kailan naman nasanay na kong walang ganitong eksenang yakap sa dilim eh tsaka re-rebanse ng tanday. Gago to ah. Kaya kahit feel na feel ko eh tumalikod ako sa kanya. Medio inaantok na rin ako eh. Anlamig eh.

Mababa lang boses niya, pero tuloy siya sa kuwento. Tungkol sa trabaho niya (parang may narinig akong granite, tapos layer, kesho suwertehan lang sa racket pero marami raw silang trabaho ngayon), tapos oo lang ako ng oo. Maya maya eh hinawakan ako sa balikat tapos hinihila ako paharap sa kanya. Sabi eh, "Mel, humarap ka naman sa akin." Mahinahon lang. "Naiinis ako sa yo eh!" Sabay kurot sa braso ko. Tas kurot ulit. Tas isa pa, sa bewang naman. Medio na-guilty nga ako kaya nakaharap na ko sa kanya.

Ayun magkaharap na kami ulit. Tuloy ang kuwento niya. Matador nga tong ininom nito. Confeeerm.

Tapos heto ka. Sabi eh, "Alam mo nagtatampo ako sa yo ha!" Isip-isip ko eh "Aba, ako iniwanan mo after ng ilang taon kasi nambabae ka, tapos ikaw pa nagtatampo? Gaaagoooohhh shaaa nohhh?" Syempre isip ko lang yun. Tinanong ko naman sha, "Aba bakit? Ano ginawa ko sa yo?" Nakaharap na ko sa kanya nun. Pero di muna sha sumagot.

Ano muna ginawa niya? Itanong mo, punks. Itanong moo! Heto ka, kinuha niya yung kamay ko, tapos pinatong sa unan niya. Tapos dun niya pinatong yung ulo niya sa kamay ko. Ginawang unan. Tapos pinatong ulit nia ung kanang hita niya sa legs ko. Tanday siya ulit. Sabay sabi eh, "Eh pano, di mo ko mine-message man lang sa Facebook."

Tite. Facebook.


"Ha? Di kita friend dun."

"Oo kaya. Naalala ko pa nga dati, may status ka, tungkol sa lalaki na kausap mo sa telepono ng dalawang tao. Tapos ako, nung naghiwalay nga tayo. English kasi eh, pero yun yun. Ano ba pangalan nun?"

"Ronald."

"Tapos yung picture mo pa nga dun eh yung may UST, tapos baluktot yung katawan mo. Nakaitim ka pa nga nun eh. Para kang kuyukot."

"Ha? Eh antagal na nun ah, nung February pa yun." Naalala pa niya.

"Basta yun. Di lang ako mashado naglo login. Alam kasi ng asawa ko password ko eh. Mababasa niya yun. Ikaw ba, madalas kang online diba?"

Sabi ko eh sapat lang. To be fair eh kahit yakap na niya ko nun, tas nakatanday pa yung binti niya sa akin, tapos hinihigaan pa niya yung kamay ko, kahit ganun kami kalapit eh hindi mainit ha! Anlamig eh. At anlaki ng braso nya ngayon ha. Tapos nagkuwento siya.

"Alam mo ba, Mel, nung isang linggo ata yun, lasing ako nun eh. Dumaan ako sa Sagad, tapos may nakita akong isang grupo ng mga nagi-inuman. Karamihan dun mga lalaki eh. Tapos lumapit ako dun, sumilip ako, ganito pa nga pagkakasilip ko eh." Nag demo sya, at least yung mukha lang niya pinagalaw niya. Maangas talaga to minsan. Gets ko na ibig niyang sabihin. Tuloy siya sa kuwento. "Ganun. Hinahanap kasi kita dun, baka andun ka."


Tinanong ko, "Eh pano halimbawa kung andun ako, ano gagawin mo?"

"Edi lalapitan kita, tas sasabihin ko na punta tayo rito." Dito nga sa bahay. Di niya masabing "umuwi."

"Eh pano kung di ako sumama sa yo?" Shempre, required yun eh. Nakaka-petite kaya yun.

"Edi uuwi ako sa min."

Napansin ko eh kumambyo siya. Mabilis. At heto mas mabilis, sumimple sya ng amoy sa kamay niya. Ahaha, ano to? Naninigurado? Kaya sabi ko eh "Oi, di tayo magse-sex. Gago ka."

Yumakap lang siya sa akin ulit, tapos sabi eh "Mel, mamaya gisingin mo ko pag papasok ka na ha? Sabay na tayo umalis. Inaantok na ko eh." Sabi ko sige. Tas kagaya ng dati eh nag-goodnight na ko. "Night, 'So." Ganyan. May kasamang "Labyu" yun dati. Eh shempre dati yun. Iba na ngayon. Hindi na kami eh. Ba't ko siya sasabihan ng labyu? Ano sha, chix???

Sagot naman sha, "Night, Mel." Tas pabulong, "Labyu." Shempre narinig ko yun, pero di ko sinagot. Ayoko eh, walang dating sa kin. Lasing tong kausap ko eh. Kaya nilakasan niyang onti. "Labyuu." Deadma pa rin, pero nangingiti ako. Heto ka, tinodo na ni tarantado. "LAAABYOOO!" Anlakas! Pasigaw na halos! Narinig kaya ni bakla sa ibaba? Bukas yung pinto ng kuwarto eh.

"Night, 'So. Labyu." Yan. Matapos lang. Tas yumakap na siya, tumanday na, gaya ng dati. Ayy, di mo lang alam talaga kung gaaaaaano ko na-miss tong ganito. Yung ganito! Ganitong ganito yun eh. Siyang siya yun eh. Dun ako na-ngiti talaga. Hindi ako naiyak, bakit?, pero pinabayaan ko na lang to. Anong oras na ba? Ay, di baleng puyat, masaya naman. Maya mayang onti eh ramdam ko na yung paghinga niya sa bandang balikat ko. Steady na. Tulog na to.

Sabay na nga kami umalis nung madaling araw, mga bandang 3:30. Di ko na ikukuwento lahat. Ayaw ko basahin kung ano man ang isusulat ko pagdating dun. Kung anu ano yun.

Ayokong mag-isip eh! Wag ganun. Stress yun.

P.S. Once a week na ko ulit after nito. Okay gow.

Lurk On, Love

Before anything else, allow me to say this, and I say this on a fucken spiritual note -- I really meant what I said on that loser post.

This post.


I've been on several hiatuses over the longevity of this blog, and I meant to take that last spasmic fit seriously. I had designed to commit to it's finality. It will be the Hiatus to rule Hiatuses. It will be The One Hiatus. It will be the Queen of Absences, and it will have it's own parade, coronation, and well-dressed, fashion forward, barely legal power tops. I have elected to this new found principle: my posts, then, will be my online menstruation, once a month, and I will honor that promise with every fiber in my increasingly stagnant being.

It sounded like a plan when, in the course of my blogging abandonment, I logged in to these stats in my page load counter.


Fuck. Somebody's reading me. Someone new, I suppose. But fuck.


Nothing alarms me more than a sensational surge in my page loads. Most especially when I'm not that keen in advertisement. Sure, I announce my posts in my Facebook News Feed. I sometimes shout out a pertinent post in Jessica Zafra's comments. But that's about it. Why, look at my roll. Those darlink punks, no, kindred beings are there because I know they get me. I don't add to ornament, no, I don't decorate. My followers? I don't follow on a whim, and I don't follow just because. I judge that whatever followers I have are there out of their volition and their own free will. It's a democracy, that's what it is, and I'm thankful that I have those guys out there.

Having said that, I will go Brazilian and wax my roll.

Sure, I read myself from time to time, but I rigged my Stat Counter in a way that it doesn't count my own page loads. So you'd understand why such surges in my page loads get to me. What the hell? Are there more of me out there? Because if that's the case, then I have no other choice but to save face and keep writing. I have to amuse myself, I have to keep up with the indoctrination and the miseducation.

I need to keep me reading if there's more of me out there.


I will write on a once-a-week basis, which is basically an improvement on my once-a-month basis. I will do this to keep me above water; I had several bouts with quitting, which prompted these hiatuses, and I used to not know why I keep coming back. But I understood what maligned my enthusiasm towards blogging.

Unlesss you're a professional writer who's disposed to output, or you have a payroll of writers under your belt, or you're earning from your blogging, or you quit your day job (or your kinky night job, at that) because you want to earn from blogging, I suggest that you observe healthy intervals between your posts. You will burn out, if you don't, and I say that with the certainty of a heart attack.

Comments and regulars are nice, but give yourself a life, too. I know it's entertaining, a steady validation, even, but don't get too attached to this correspondence. Unless, of course, you never had one to begin with, please live the life you had before you signed up for a Blogger Account. Go out. Drink alcohol. Get laid. Get laid again. And again. Give yourself time to masturbate.


I've been blogging since 2004, and I'm still, barely, hardly, scarcely, tolerably at it. I just realized that this is my 359th post, and I don't see a particle of accomplishment in it. But we will drink to my 400th post, and I will be buying. Or hosting, rather. Let me know if you have nothing against participation; write me a comment.