The Infamous “Furry” Post

A couple of days ago I joked on Facebook that one of my love letter posts was going to be about furries. Though my next Valentine is for someone with fur, it thankfully is not about people dressing up as hedgehogs and bumping uglies because that would get me into a lot of trouble with my Aunty Camelia* “Hey! Do you mind? This is a family blog.”

Dear Whiskey,**

You are the nicest, best cat that I’ve ever met in the whole wide world. I think this might be because you are not actually a cat. Your adorable, stubby tail gives you a bear-like appearance so you might be a Bearcat, in which case, I have amazing news- there’s a song written about you. However your habit of meeting me at the door when I arrive home leads me to believe that you might actually be a dog. Whiskey, your assumption that everyone wants to pet you further supports this theory. It’s as though every hour I spend at home is snuggle o’clock. What’s even better is that when I’ve had a rough day, you seem to sense this and up the cuddle ante by trying to share tiny chairs with me. We’re both going to pretend you don’t do this solely to eat my dinner. Again, you might be a dog.

I must confess though, your insistent need to clean me, makes me think you are in fact a cat. Or at the very least have OCD. I’ve never known another animal to painstakingly scrub my hands and sometimes my face with their tongue. This is partially why I won’t allow you to sleep in my room- I fear waking up, to you restyling my hair after your kitty senses conclude that it is too dirty.

Whiskey, my lovable friend, even your bad habits are endearing; the way you wash your dirty paws in the toilet after hunting mice in the dirt floored basement? So cute. Almost as cute as the muddy footprints you leave all over the bathtub afterwards. We won’t even touch on how amusing it is that you also bathe your filthy paws in people’s drinking glasses. A fact I learned only after living with you for two months. Whiskey, I also believe that “a peck of dirt never hurt”, that being said, I didn’t actually intend to consume a whole peck, you’ve helped me with that significantly. Regardless of how much soil you have me unintentionally imbibing, I love you Whiskey and to show this I shall do something special.

Seeing as you’ve eaten all the mice that once called this heritage house home, (And worked off the accompanying weight gain that eating an entire colony of rodents causes. Good job by the way.) for Valentine’s Day, I shall invite the furry pets from the neighbouring houses to come party here. You’re welcome.

The Great Unwashed

This post is dedicated to my roommate, owner and fellow lover of Whiskey. But only because Whiskey can’t read.

*Names have been changed to protect the identities of family members who are regular readers, the rest of you – take heed; I could spill the beans on that awkward family picnic and publish your real name if you don’t start reading my blog yesterday. Actually last month- look in the archives.

**Names have been changed because Whiskey is so lovely and unique that he’s almost a person and I change people’s names on this blog.

Plush Love

We’re having a love-in here at the Great Unwashed, for February, every day leading up to the mass rose genocide, I will be publishing a love letter to an important person in my life. Though this next letter isn’t technically a person, it is one of the loves of my life.

Dear Marshmallow,

I love you. Thank you for adding a little sweetness into my day. Your puffy, white shape brings joy to my heart, whether you are alone or with your good friend, hot chocolate.

There’s something about you Marshmallow, that no matter where I am, or what I’m doing, eating you harkens me back to my childhood; sitting at the breakfast table, searching around the other “healthier” parts of the cereal to find you in my bowl, or next to a campfire, making the world’s best diabetic sandwich with you, graham crackers and chocolate.

Marshmallow, beyond the lifelong memories we share, you are utterly delicious. It is one of my life’s deepest regrets that you are not sold in snack size bags. But that’s my problem, not yours Marshmallow, your yumminess simply does not allow for self-control; I would eat one of those 300g bags of you in one sitting. There’s just no stopping in the consumption of such a sumptuous snack, from that first faintly powdery moment as I place you into my mouth to the gooey spring back, when I attempt to chew, and of course there’s that taste which is unique to you, Marshmallow. I must say, you are something special, and you will always hold a special spot in my sweet-tooth’s heart.

Here’s to our sugary enduring love-Happy Valentine’s Day,

From : The Great Unwashed