I am a babbling moron

At least, when it comes to animals, this is true. Maybe you’re the same way.

You know what I mean. You could be in the middle of an intellectual salon, discussing Sartre’s philosophy or sharing your views on string theory. It doesn’t matter. The minute your dog or cat walks in the room, your IQ drops about 80 points.

I think this graphic illustrates this phenomenon most clearly:

I have 3 cats (the Weeblettes). All I have to do is look at them and I can feel my neurons fusing together into a lump of putty. “Who’s a good kitty?? You are! Yes you are! Oh yes you are. Goochy goochy goochy goo!”

And that’s if I’m still somewhat articulate. Otherwise it might go something like this:

“Goooskywooskyskwitchyskwitchywoooshawoooshagoochygooocheeeeeeeee!”

Fortunately, the Weeblettes are pretty tolerant of my yatterings and don’t seem to mind. And Mr. Weebles has had plenty of time to become familiar with my work. But our Kitty Emeritus, who is no longer in corporeal form, used to look at me like I was truly the dumbest sentient on earth.

I’m not sure there’s anything I can do about this. It just happens. I can be having a normal conversation and then maybe one of the Weeblettes will show up, or maybe I’ll see someone walking a dog, or I’ll stumble across a photo of a bunny or otters holding hands or baby hippos or dolphins or whatever. Doesn’t matter. I can guarantee that my brain will go into a death spiral.

I’m glad I’m not alone—judging from the zillions of visitors to sites like Cute Overload and I Can Has Cheezburger, anyway. Can you imagine what would happen if a bunch of us got together and went to a petting zoo or something? There would be so much incomprehensible gibberish we’d sound like escapees from a mental institution.