I never used a fuckin Zippo dude. Never once, in however long. How old am I, eighty seven? I filled that fucking thing twice. Lookit how many cars I wrecked and shit. How the fuck is that thing still with me?
Fuckin love, Bro. Thats why.
I feel the same way about my cat sometimes.
I was in a reflective moment about the Zippo. Still don't know how it managed to magnetically stick to me through all the various places, boxes of junk.
Cat is alike, in a furry way. Felis Domesticus, bring 'em from place to place. Set 'em down, and you say "we live here now" and they somehow get it.
I have a bunch that are in orbit outside the asteroid belt, long-time hangers. The kids cat, Salem, she's about twelve, I guess. My mom's cat, the big furry one that looks super-stoned all the time. I found him outside the other day, leisurely eating the head off a bunny. I said "Dude! What are you doing!?" and he just looked up all half-tarded, fresh in the mellow glow of a bunny-eating session, and said "Eating the head off this bunny, man." I was like, aiite. As you were.
I donno how many cats I've had.