It might be folk art. If folk art had a huge white ball of goo dangling from its muzzle like some sort of horrible fruit. It might, I’m not judging. Maybe I should.
So I’m in a weird headspace right now. I spent a good chunk of the morning working on another blog entirely, writing about a strange sex toy that simulates the experience of being eaten by a dragon. You probably don’t want to click that link, FYI. And now, I can’t get the imagery out of my head. So I turn to the blessed solace of the thrift store, and…this.
I wish I hadn’t. I also wish I didn’t have to imagine the experience of the happy little bird, staring into the face of pure, feline madness, thinking…”was I drunk when I built a nest in there and laid three eggs? Do I really need those three eggs?”
The noise this cat-thing must make. An endless, howling primal scream that carries for miles, across the entire subdivision and over the interstate one suburb up. “Oh, hells. Sounds like Dan’s caught another purple-tufted warbler. Guess we’re not getting any sleep this week.”
Also, any perfectly round and heavily textured orifice fails to look like a mouth, and really ends up looking like a butt. Somebody had to say it, and I said it. And the little chickadees fluttering in and out of a howling butt-mouthed drooling cat is just too much for me to handle right now. Wooooooooooooooo.
Goodwill on 2222 and Lamar, Austin