Dear David,

I was not meant to be a university student who has to study and write exams - I was meant to be a cat. What should I do?

Sincerely, 

a cat trapped in the body of a sleep-deprived student.

Dear Miss Kitty, 

Some congratulations are in order for this revelation! You’ve achieved what many fail to realize within the brief timeframe of their existence: you are indeed kitty. This tends to be something that evades the psyche of most, as they are uncritical, and rather accepting in their standard mode of living. It takes a classical existential crisis, borne of alienating modernity, to this is a luxury most transsexuals cannot afford, so if anything, this makes us more similar than what would likely make you comfortable.

Generally speaking, university is a breeding ground for interrogating one’s pre-existing system of beliefs and principles, allowing for its further development. This particular evolution in your personal life is highly academic in nature, yet the next natural step is to forgo your studies in pursuit of your new feline dreams.

Before we explore that option, it’s important to acknowledge that being a small, mewling cat is not all perfect. Sure, you get to sleep all day, thus solving your sleep depreciation, and engage in a variety of kitty activities, like playing with garbage and eating stale treats, but you also have to deal with pesky things like shit boxes, hairballs, and being constantly judged by your human overlords. So before you abandon your studies in pursuit of a life on all fours, make sure you’re really committed to the cause.

Assuming you’re still convinced that a life of leisurely feline freedom is the way to go, here are a few steps you can take:

Find a wealthy cat lover who will adopt you and treat you like royalty. This may involve some shameless begging and/or meowing outside of fancy houses, but hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. No sexual favours, as it constitutes bestiality. We here at Arthur do not endorse that. Stop asking.

Practise your cat skills. Start napping at random intervals, licking your ass excessively, and swatting at anything that moves. The more convincing you are as a cat, the more likely you are to attract a devoted human companion to cater to your every whim.

Develop a taste for cheap fish. This is non-negotiable, and I will know if you deviate from this “suggestion.” None of these are “suggestions.” 

If all else fails, the last case scenario is starting your own cat cult. Gather a group of like-minded individuals who also believe they were meant to be cats, and lead them in daily worship of your feline overlords. Who needs a degree when you have the adoration of several acolytes? It would certainly help if your cult became a student group, but who knows? You might get your levy pulled too.

I hope that helps, my friend. While I can’t promise that a life as a cat will be any easier or more fulfilling than a life as an anguished university student, I do believe that everyone should follow their dreams, no matter how unreal they may seem. Good luck on your journey, and may the One True Cat God be with you.

Dear Gayvid,

What pieces of media are ideal for procreation? I want to set the mood with a prospective breeding mate, so that I may sow my seed, if you know what I mean.

Yours,

Big Slurp

Big Slurp,

This has to be one of the most fucked up questions I’ve received in a bit, and I just answered one from a newly converted furry. Christ, this job doesn’t pay enough for me to deal with this shit. First of all, only friends call me Gayvid. Take my name out of your filthy mouth. I’m writing this during business hours, you freak. The sun is out. 

Secondly, what kind of sex deviant names themselves Big Slurp? What kind of heathen would ask such a question? Would a loving God allow this to transpire?

Further, I only intend to entertain this to expose myself for the godless creature of lust that I am, because at the end of the day, I am no better or no worse than you, Big Slurp.

Unfortunately for Arthur’s readership, I have been sexually active in the last five years, so let me give you a general rundown of things I’ve fucked to.

The End of Evangelion

This is among one of my most notorious party stories. Two of these entries are going to be about getting freaky with a particular Trotskyist ex-boyfriend to a swath of incredibly ill-suited media. We were in his parents’ basement, watching this absolute horror-show, and I initiated sexual activity shortly thereafter.

The End of Evangelion is a 1997 Japanese animated film directed by Hideaki Anno, serving as an alternative ending to the popular anime series Neon Genesis Evangelion. The movie follows the events that take place after the 24th episode of the series, where humanity faces an apocalypse triggered by the activation of the Evangelion units. Also known as Evas, Evangelion Units are giant bio-mechanical humanoid weapons developed by NGO NERV to combat mysterious beings called Angels. Think Metal Gears, but piloted by psychologically maimed children. Hooray for war-crime media! 

Generally praised for its complex thematic, psychological depth, and stunning animation, it was also very controversial at the time for its opaque plot and graphic violence, garnering unpopularity with fans. I don’t know what about the Great Tang Apocalypse inspired me to get freaky, but it happened, and now I’m unable to watch any Evangelion media without thinking about this specific instance. Awful.

In The Aeroplane Over The Sea

Admittedly worse than the last option, this was purely by accident, having put on an indie radio on Spotify to make face in my 2007 Subaru Forester (lovingly named Red Scare) with the aforementioned Trotskyist boyfriend. Suddenly, “King of Carrot Flowers Pt. 1” just blares through my shitty iPhone speaker, and the ambiance was absolutely destroyed. 

While Neutral Milk Hotel’s notorious concept album explores related thematics, such as love, loss, sexuality, spirituality, and other encompassors of the human condition, the lyrics are primarily inspired by the story of Anne Frank in Diary of a Young Girl, working in tandem with singer-songwriter Jeff Mangum’s own experiences and reflections on life to make the horniest, saddest album ever. “Semen stains the mountain tops?” C’mon, Jeff. It’s a little weird. 

The album also incorporates surreal imagery and dream-like sequences, creating a mystical and otherworldly atmosphere. This screams “I want to fuck” to any prospect, being in a psychedelic realm of “fweeeeehrrnnnnnn” and honks and theremin bullshit.

That’s all I’m willing to share. Any media is a piece of media to fuck to, because we live in a society.