This can also be called: For Whom the Cat Wails Toll.
So last night the Universe conspired against me by way of feline mating rituals. Apparently, there’s a superstition from the Visayan provinces that if cats… uhm, do the act in the vicinity of a house (trust me, everybody knows when and where cats are getting it on, they’re noisier than a pair of overacting porn stars), somebody in that house is pregnant. *cue lightning flash and thunder claps*
Well, a cat couple has been using our porch as a hovel (read: sex den) for the past couple of days. The only people in the house are my nanay (menopausal) and myself (two words: el nino) and the neighbors have started getting curious. Nanay gave me the speculations over dinner last night: “I heard somebody say, ‘Baka si Ate Ester yung buntis.’ I said, ‘Asan yung bubuntis?’” She said further that it can’t be me who’s pregnant because I don’t have a boyfriend (thanks for the reminder, mom).
I replied in the words of my eloquent friend Karl: “When has the lack of a significant other stopped babies from being made?” But well, I have to admit that my mother is right; she knows me well enough to know of my serial monogamy and sex philosophy. (I have a whole set of stringent rules about relationships that therefore translates to my current state of celibate singlehood. One of the rules state: Thou shalt not share.)
All things considered, what does the cat omen mean, Universe? Are you just toying with me like Globe, you heartless bastard? Or are you trying to be biblical on me and Nanay? (For those who did not grow up with Religion as a subject for ALL of your student years, here’s a briefer: Hundred-year old Abraham’s wife Sara was menopausal but Batman gave them menopause baby Isaac. The other biblical miracle baby is of course immaculate-conception-by-product Jesus.)
So yeah. Pakyudobol, Universe.
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