You should hear what they say about you

Can I just say that I hate it when a song employs a full stop mid-song in order to punctuate the moment the music returns? I think it’s the lowest form of auditory titillation ever, as though that brief pause should serve to remind us of how good the music was before it suddenly and completely disappeared. Moreover, I abhor that live audience Oooh, where’s da music gone? face of anticipation followed by the obligatory Yesss! There it is! crashing head-nod when the tune kicks in again. So yucky!

This is one reason I’m not getting along very well with the latest Broken Social Scene album. For the most part, the songs seem like filler for all the good music that was supposed to be there. Also, I’m under the (hopefully mistaken) impression that one of the song’s lyrics goes like this:

You are too beautiful to f***
You’re too beautiful

Is that so, Kevin Drew? Well, happy to be one of the lucky few that deserve to be treated kindly in bed! Good thing I had my teeth straightened back in third grade or you might be ramming me up the a** right now! But instead, we are making sweet, beautiful love. I could cry with gratitude.

It makes no difference now if I’m wrong about this lyric, or that if I’m right it’s only part of the song’s conceptual logic, because that horrible notion is forever imbedded in my brain now. The smut will never wash off!

Possibly I have moved on from Canadian Indie Emo though, because even the likes of Leslie Feist and the much less twee Amy Millan have lost the plot as far as I'm concerned. If anybody can recommend a female vocalist who sounds like she is singing through broken glass instead, I’ll give it a try.

In other news, I think I may be cheating on my cats.

Now before you get all up in arms about it, you should know that I’ve been very kind and patient and understanding about the petting thing. I would never expect a cat to grace me with its affection on the first date, or even the first week. But the fact that it’s been over eight months now and STILL their claws skitter madly for purchase on the fake hardwoods every time I reach for their furry little sides is more than a cat lover such as myself can take!

So yesterday, I was walking to work, minding my own business, when what to my wondering eyes should appear? A black cat with a white bib and half-moustache, crouching in the middle of the sidewalk halfway down Bermondsey Street!

This cat looked so much like my childhood cat that was put to sleep a few years ago that I risked being trampled by early morning commuters to bend down and try a few pats. And you know - she was perfectly amenable to this attention. It was lovely, I won’t lie.

On my way home from work, the cat was not on the sidewalk where I’d seen it earlier, of course. You’re lucky to see the same faces on your direct route to and from work, let alone the face of someone that barely reaches shin-level and has the inclinations and demeanour of a very nimble toddler.

So this morning, I was quite surprised to turn a slight bend on the path and see that same cat crouched exactly where I’d found her the day before. As I approached, I gave her my best come-hither smile and hither she came, as though she’d been up all night thinking about me too. I crouched down, and this time she placed a delicate paw on my knee and reached out with her other paw to grasp some of my hair as she pushed her nose into mine.

After a few minutes of this, I got up and continued onto work feeling a mixture of elation and guilt. Because already I like this cat I’ve only met twice better than I like my own. And I sort of want to see her again.

We’ll see if she comes back to the meeting place tomorrow morning. If so, I’m going to have to concede that it’s fated and maybe even pick up a kennel on my way home.