Footcat

Boo became fascinated by my bootlaces today. I was getting dressed up. Three piece plus V neck jumper. But I’m not putting on those horrible smartshoey things we all had to polish at school. I’m very much at home to rocking an intricate suit with worn walking boots. I once was told “You can get the measure of a man by their shoes and their cufflinks.” I was told this with sincerity. The person who told me thought it would lead to me selecting excellent cufflinks at all times. It backfired. I see it because I’m looking for it, people like my old ally, looking at you from the ground up. I love that they see a fucked old pair of Brashers first. Then a beautifully tailored suit and waistcoat. And cufflinks made of Scrabble pieces. The “measure” of me is quite rightly not swept up in signalling. Spend too much time thinking about that sort of thing and you forget who you are. Constructs usually either intimidate or annoy me.

But Boo is very much Boo and she was shadowing me as I was dressing up. I was booked to go to Mayfair, fine dining and then drinkies. Yum. I have many suits. I chose an old friend of a suit, a modern one, one I have recorded many self tapes in. I’m comfy when I’m smart. I often wear fine suits at festivals. “You’re not at work now mate!” “Thank you. I kind of am. This is costume.” Festivals were work for decades and will be again. My disruption uniform is smart. And boots.

Boo just wanted my bootlace. We had been just random playing for a while before I started playing dressup. I was attempting different combos to make sure It wasn’t gonna freeze my arse off. This weather is beast.

Inches before I left the flat I realised I couldn’t find my keys. I went to the kitchen. Not there so I turned and SO NEARLY put my whole weight onto a Boo who had snuck up behind me in quest of those fascinating bootlaces.

She’s not injured thankfully. Her paw got between me and the floor. Twinkle toes here transferred weight in time, but it was a near miss and we both know it. I have since firmly touched her paw with no objection.

Her obsession with bootlaces and sneaking up behind us coupled with her apparent belief that it is impossible to step on her, it might leave to me joining the hordes of “shoes off in the house” people. Usually if I hear that rule I find it interesting just as an insight into the rulemaker. They’ll justify it a million ways but it’s pretty much inevitably a control thing. But now I’m considering it about a cat. I’m over fifty finally. I am become part of the establishment complex, oh yes. All will do my bidding. Feel the shoelessness.

I won’t do it yet. I hate imposing. I’ll get some sort of shoe rack before I arbitrate for my guests so at least it’s easy for them. But I can feel it coming. Boo is still pissed off with me, but also she is absolutely dead set on lying in pathways. It’s like she’s got a deathwish. I’ll be that guy, for Boo. I’m pretty careful, and I’m rarely not remembering about the cat. But I can think of multiple very dear friends who might step their full weight on Boo as she lies in the way.

Such a good meal. Such a posh meal. Everyone should be allowed to have a ridiculous meal from time to time. Our waiter was a clown, which both added and subtracted from the experience. He was having a better time than we were, but was simultaneously ill informed and pretending not to be. For the cost of the meal, it was like getting the work experience kid, but I’m not annoyed enough by him to name him or the place. It takes a lot for me to name and link a place for being assholes like I did the other day with the Swan’s Nest Hotel in Stratford and their £8 hidden parking charge. (It’s on the website, sir.)

So good to hang with a friend of mine that has been consistent for such a long time.

Now I’m gonna have to make peace with Boo for my galumphing.