My brain is pickled. It totally is. And it probably has “latent” protozoan living in it that are causing me to do crazy things like meander aimlessly through the house and shriek wildly about how no one will do anything—pick up papers, pick up books, do the dishes, bring in wood, make the beds, get dressed, blow their noses—unless I tell them to.
I’m not joking about the protozoan. Some 65-year-old dude with orange clown hair says that bugs—cat bugs, specifically—are living in our brain cells and making us do things that aren’t in our best interest, such as driving off roads and yelling at people.
And here I thought I was dealing with PMS. If only.
I knew we shouldn’t have let the cat it the house, dagnabbit. Cats don’t make us feel cozy (though I could’ve sworn that’s what I was feeling)—they make us CRAZY.
Thank you, the Atlantic, for such uplifting reporting. And for giving me a new name for my problems. I can always use a good scapegoat, er, scapecat.
You Can Call Me Jane
Okay, so I've been watching old episodes of Hoarders and many of them have cats. Watch that clutter, chica.
I was jolted rudely as I tried to drop off tonight by some cats fighting outside. It was terrible. But I've never fallen asleep and its now almost 1 a.m. Is it the cats?! or just a terrible case of jetlag like I've never experienced before- day 5 and I still can't sleep worth anything at night…woe is me in Nairobi. Sounds like New York was a blast!
I have some wicked cat stories from our time in Nicaragua…as in, there was a huge cat fight outside our window and one of the cats escaped INTO OUR ROOM to hide. Add a mosquito net to the scene, and it was a royal mess.
It is definitely related to the black cat. I have one too.
You aren't crazy. Flegr is.
I know! That article sort of freaked me out. And we don't even have any cats.