i once knew a guy and he had this cat. and his cat was pretty old. his real name was scooter, but scooter used to walk around and meow and his meows sounded more like “mow.” the e got lost in there somewhere. they were sort of insistent and slightly demanding and they were uttered as he would stroll around the house. “mow.” “mow.”
i never knew quite what he wanted, but it seemed like he wanted something. and he was gonna say so. “mow.” “mow.” he said mow so much that i just started calling him “mr. mow.” that just was my name for him. i didn’t even call him scooter anymore. that’s what i do with pets sometimes. i just end up re-naming them. not on purpose, but it just happens.
i loved mr. mow a lot. he had a sister, sophie — they were scooter and sophie, in reality (good pairing of names), but to me, he was just mr. mow. i really loved him and i knew that he and his dad went along really well, too. they just seemed like they were perfect companions in some respects. it’s hard to pin down in words right now, because that seems like three lifetimes ago.
anyway, i have always know that kittens have a meow that’s very particular to them. they don’t have a meow yet — they just mew. they haven’t picked up their o. “mew.” “mew.” that’s what mini kittens do. “mew.”
well, now i’m beginning to wonder if older cats just turn into “mow”ers. cause i feel like flan has turned into someone who says “mow” a lot. i hope she’s okay. i’m not sure what she wants. she has water. she has food. i think maybe she just wants lots of love and pets. which is fine. but it’s funny to think that i have a mrs./miss mow now. it makes me think of mr. mow all those years ago. here we go again.
mow. mow. mow.