Hey, if you want to call at 11:30 p.m. to chat, that’s cool. It’s not like I’m doing anything better. Now that I’m not going out to bars every night, the boredom is absolutely killing me. Even though I haven’t had a phone buddy since I was fourteen, I’m actually glad to hear the phone ring. Anything that gets me away from the internet or the television is a good thing. As I fight the urge to call the cable company, your voice is a welcome distraction.

All I’m doing at that time of night is sitting around in pajama bottoms staring at the clock and waiting to fall asleep. Me in pajamas? I know, that a far cry from my customary routine falling asleep face down on the floor of my foyer with my pants around my ankles, but I’m a new man now. I wear pajama bottoms and brush my teeth before I fall asleep. Nowadays, I piss in the toilet instead of the alley before I drift off.

But, if you do decide to call me at 11:30 at night for an extended conversation, for the love of God, please please please don’t spend half of the time talking to your cat in baby talk or telling me how cute he is. I’ve seen your cat. He’s not cute, he’s old. He’s missing hair in places a cat isn’t supposed to be missing hair. He’s missing hair in places a human isn’t supposed to be missing hair. He’s older than I was the last time I had a phone buddy. Although his isn’t as old as I was when I got my license, he’s certainly older than I was when I had stolen my first car (hi mom! Don’t worry, it was only your car.). That’s just too old for a damn cat.

When you complain to me that the cat seems to be urinating four times more often than he ever did in the past, and you ask me what I think the problem may be, and I answer that it sounds like diabetes, please don’t ask me how to cure an old cat of diabetes. Although I’m no veterinarian, the only cure that I know of for an old cat with diabetes involves a burlap sack, a rock and a river.

But, I’m not a cruel person. I get no pleasure pointing out the solution to your cat’s woes, and it’s getting more and more difficult to change the subject when you ask. Hell, I have a cat too, but our relationship is different. My cat and I are both dudes, and although he is a fag, we have more of a roommate relationship than you and your cat. We usually sit around on the couch and fight over the remote control. I want to watch Nova or Frontline, he likes to watch Queer Eye; but I have the opposable thumbs, so I usually win out.

When the day comes that my roommate is too old to shamelessly flirt with my male guests, or be all bitchy and competitive with my female guests, I don’t think that I’ll have the same problem facing reality as you. Actually, there’s a one hundred foot drop outside my window, so there won’t be a need for a burlap sack, a rock, a river OR an expensive vet bill. I like him and all, but when he gets to the age that dry cat food is his only reason for living, it’ll be time for his first flying lesson.

So please, feel free to keep calling, but no more about the damn cat. Please.