I told him someday he’ll find a nice woman, settle down; she’ll be happy to bear his children, she’ll cook for him, unthinkingly defer to him—and she’ll probably do it with a smile.
He told me: I’m the only good influence you’ve ever had.
I told him: you thought you wanted this exotic pet but what you really wanted was a housecat, something simple and soft to touch that would curl up beside you. He told me: all I want is just something that doesn’t walk around destroying things and shitting on the floor.
I’ve been pacing back and forth in this cage for as long as I can remember—hungry—and despite my best efforts, I often snap at his fingers wiggling at me through the bars.
