brain lint #1: singing through a tube

it's the only thing i want to do this week! helpful.

Every fourth word I say or type at the minute is about the kittens Ben and I got a month ago, so why not expand that directly into this newsletter? It’s supposed to be an extension of my brain anyway, so please imagine this edition as a blanket under a desk where Pysgod, a big fluffy black kitten, and Sglodion, a smaller grey tabby one, are sleeping now.

A minute ago they were feverishly biting each other, like the tiny fanged freaks they are. When they’re in ‘murder mode' - which lasts twenty minutes or so twice a day - they get really fluffy and manic and have dilated pupils as they try to hunt each other. They even have a horrible habit of trying to bite the other’s butthole, the sick freaks. All bets are off, babes, and they will fling their miniature claws into each other’s miniature eyes and throw themselves from as high as possible onto the other, all while defending themselves from being kicked relentlessly in the head by their opponent. I didn’t know kittens could give each other headlocks until now.

After their pressure valve is empty and their bloodlust is sated, they pass out on the floor, sometimes waking for a moment to lick the other’s inner ear or litter-encrusted paw. When this happens it’s not just funny as fuck, it’s also kind of envy-inducing. The release they must feel when headbutting the living shit out of their sibling must be intense, and I don’t have anything like that in my life at the moment, especially during lockdown. I guess the only comparable thing I had before was dancing in the club until I literally couldn’t any more - and that was rare.

However, there have been lots of smaller ways I’ve been distracting myself from the lack of choice and the overload of sorrow that’s been slowly glugging into the mossy trough of my life lately, and those are the things I want to write about in this newsletter. One of those things has been singing to the kittens through a tube Ben found in our cupboard. They looked at me like I was truly fucking mental and it made me laugh so much I felt sick and my face hurt - and it was a shock to me that I could even still do that. Here’s a twenty-second clip of me singing to my kittens through a tube:

In later editions of this written thing, I think I’ll split it into even smaller, sillier chunks of recurrent content - but the theme will remain the same. It’s going to be be about the things that keep me alive. I reckon there will be thoughts on games, and music, and other things like maybe walks and cakes, and hyper-specific things like singing to your bloodthirsty kittens. I hope you can share some of your life material that’s holding you in place like a lovely protective hammock with me, too.

Lots of love,

Sammy

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