My Iphone went missing for about 12 hours yesterday which is to say, it stayed out all night without telling me where it was going or when it would be back. It finally showed up around breakfast time, nestled behind the sliding mirror door in the bedroom. That's as if it would expect me to believe it had been there all along, having landed there, perhaps on the second hop, after having scuttered away from the bedside table.
Like most people in unwholesome dependency, in my deprivation I was beside myself with panic and anger, somewhere between the second and third stages of grief when it finally stopped fooling around and revealed its demure presence. Whereupon it occurred to me to marvel as to how much cell phones resemble cats. And it's not just the occasional jarring squack in the middle of the night. No, far more general: cell phones like cats live with us only at sufferance, because (and for so long as) we attend to their needs: they only pretend to show us affection in little spasms of Turing-test mimicry that delude us into the cruelly erroneous believing that they really care. And somehow we can never begin to foresee and plan for the ungodly expense.
Now you'll excuse me while I go empty the litt--er, untangle the charging cords.
Related Question: Why is it that all the things women love in cats are the same thing that drive them so nutso about men?