To say he was large would be an understatement. I'm 98 percent sure he was Harry Truman's spirit animal incarnate.
Mason was so fat, the owner's would have to brush dreadlocks out of his backside, because he could not reach over his fat self to lick his fur. An ability, mind you, that every self respecting cat has.
Furthermore, you would have to carry him to his food bowl, and at that point, he would not even sit up and eat like a proper cat. He'd lied down, dignity forgotten, with his face buried in the food bowl.
I'm telling you all this because at this point in my life, I am Mason. I am a fat cat who sees the food bowl clear as day, and refuses to spend the energy to waddle over to it. And even if I did, I would just stick my face in it.
My name is Mary Early.
I should tell you that I am weird. Not like fun, sexy weird like Zooey Deschanel. It's more like an upsetting weird. Like Dwight from the office.
You can see the family resemblance.
Anyway, my life so far has been made up primarily of awkward misadventures. Most of them sexual. In fact, that's a nice way to sum up my entire dating experience: sexual misadventures.
I have a closer relationship with my netflix queue than any person of the opposite sex.
But this is 2013! A new year, a new me. Right?
Grant it, I've woken up every morning so far paralyzed with fear. I haven't bothered cleaning my room, buying groceries, or even unpacking from the holidays. BUT. I did exercise. Yesterday. For 15 minutes. So, progress there. I suppose.
