February 12, 2012
Is it possible cat urine may be an aphrodisiac for infected men?
After I return from Prague, Flegr informs me that he’s just had a paper accepted for publication that, he claims, “proves fatal feline attraction in humans.” By that he means that infected men like the smell of cat pee—or at least they rank its scent much more favorably than uninfected men do. Displaying the characteristic sex differences that define many Toxo traits, infected women have the reverse response, ranking the scent even more offensive than do women free of the parasite. The sniff test was done blind and also included urine collected from a dog, horse, hyena, and tiger. Infection did not affect how subjects rated these other samples.
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No. It is not possible. I can assure you.
Seems to me the experiment almost does itself.
This must be why I fuck so many cats.
Meow.
I generally can’t smell cat-pee, unless it’s freshey in the litterbox when I harvest the kitty biscuits. I have to rely on Danny who can smell things in 1 part per million.
Charlie’s made a few mistakes of late. (He’s getting a little long in the tooth.) We’ve had to throw away fuzzy bathroom rugs Charlie mistook for a place to go.
We don’t have fuzzy rugs in the bathrooms no more. Some mornings, the tile is cold, but it’s better than cold, fuzzy cat pee underfoot.
So far as I know, he hasn’t gone on the carpet. It isn’t fuzzy. If he starts, I don’t know what we’ll do.
Franklin’s been pooping wherever and whenever lately. The other day, I let him in and he promptly carpet bombed the, well, carpet.
That’s pretty much when our cats get put to sleep.
Poop is better than pee, well, unless it’s loose. I’m sorry to admit I chuckled.
For some reason I don’t find dog poop on the carpet as repulsive as cat urine, anywhere.
Oh, yeah. Poop is the tits.
Michael, you just need to get yourself an infection. Then you’ll come around.
I’m laughing again.
Speaking (as we were) of peeing, am I glad Amy and I thought to pee before watching that baboon episode of Inside Nature’s Giants. Those baboons were scary, especially that Fred!
I bet Joy Reidenberg wouldn’t pee herself if a rogue baboon broke into her house or her car or came running at her.
On the other hand, we don’t know how she handles herself around live animals, do we?
Am I drifting off-topic?
Gurll. I doubt you’re drifting off. But I may be. See y’all tomorrow.
Once that whale started moving, she got real excited.
She did. She did. But that whale was being moved. I’d still like to see how she’d respond to a living sperm whale.
Or a sock puppet.
Or a sock puppet.
Oh, I forgot to tell you one of the things I did over the weekend in Dallas — the night my friend was taken to the ER. She really really really didn’t like the hospital socks she was given to wear, and I don’t blame her. They were nasty. So I drew on the soles of them and made them foot-sock puppets.
That was Friday night. Sunday morning I did something else to cheer her up. (Together with another friend, we’d sprung her from the hospital Saturday morning.) This was in a hotel dining room where we met some people who were finishing up breakfast. One of the people was the diva whose Turandot video I posted today, and when she and her husband retired to their room, a profoundly depressing topic was introduced amongst those of us who lingered at the table, and I did not think my friend needed to hear such talk right then, so I began playing with the diva’s plate of left-over food, and that distracted my friend.
You had to be there. I was pretty funny. A lot funnier than it sounds.
Or a sock puppet.
Or that.