Gross Post Blank: What I learned from the Cat's Butthole

When I was 5, our cat's butthole was the oddest shape to me. I laughed and loved and imitated that cat's butthole. It was a forever lemon-face puckering pink into infinity. It was the bottom of a blossoming pumpkin on a dewy autumn morning. It was whispering in a room full of Opera Singers.

Staring at that cat's butthole I experienced new depths of humility, degradation, and friendship. I witnessed firsthand the limits and the possibilities of physics, the ire and rejoice of instinct, and the vivid hue and the ashen thud of brown. I put all my troubles, feelings, and lazy days into that cat's butthole.

Then other cats' buttholes happened. Cats with the same contours and shape of our cat's butthole, with the same prestige and demeanor of our cat's butthole, with the same context and liability of our cat's butthole. Our cat's butthole lost its aura, its dimensions, its purpose. Its "claws". If the same introspection I felt when I looked at my cat's butthole could be felt by looking into in any cat's butthole, then there is no point into looking into any cat's butthole.

I was innocent enough to experience the magic a cat's butthole can possess. I'd still like to think there, out there, in the vastness of cat butthole's, there is cat whose butthole is expanding its essence, evolving into new parameters of cat's buttholes, offering deeper reflections upon a curious lads wandering eye, and keeping spirits tight and pure. A pure, tight asshole of hope for mankind.

Will we ever get there, who knows. Don't let not knowing keep you from looking in your own cat's butthole.