It was only in 2007, which puts me at about 24, and therefore leaves me no justification for writing a novella told completely from the first-’person’ perspective of a male cat… Reading it now the whole thing seems really sick, somewhere on the spectrum between terrible judgement and mental illness.
My birthday went well. The night before, we went to a party—mediocre to boring—but I got enough beer in me—just enough—so that upon stopping at Jewel on the way home, I insisted on buying myself a GIANT stuffed teddy bear, reassuring Thomas and Christine, though I was mostly reassuring myself, that I deserved the bear. Luckily, I woke up without any buyer’s remorse. After all, I did deserve a thirty dollar teddy bear. Whether or not I needed it is debatable, but his name is Gerald and he’s sitting next to me as I write this. Gerald’s going to help me narrate this tale, which I’m extremely grateful for. It won’t be the easiest story to tell.