The Politics of Dirty Socks

The Man is no longer yelling at the Television. Every morning for the last few weeks, he was yelling at the Television. Now, the noise has ceased. It appears what was angering him is no longer happening.

This is strange.

Usually in this household, someone is up in arms about something. Even The Felines have opinions about mundane issues of no relevancy. I am like Mussolini. I make sure that all trains run on time within these four walls.

As the autumn leaves tumble, I can smell the decay. I can also smell the dirty socks after The Man and The Woman gather these leaves (they seem to enjoy collecting them- they make huge piles of this debris and then keep them safe in bags- go figure).

So I have been thinking. Up until Wednesday morning, The Man was yelling at people on the Television. Then The Woman and The Man go out and collect leaves. Then they leave dirty socks on the floor which I get to smell.

So the people that The Man was yelling at obviously don't collect leaves or have dirty socks. And now that he has stopped yelling at the Noisy Box, there must be people who collect leaves and have dirty socks on The Television.



I Am Shiba. I Like The Smell of Dirty Socks. And Sweaty T-Shirts.