I inherited a shoe box full of clean but otherwise unusable (as socks) socks from an odd Portland dude who was [living?] in my house three years ago. They, minus the dude, have followed me since to two subsequent houses on something between a token and an auspice of future usefulness. Other than a short dynasty of shoe polish appliers, the promise lay dormant, which I can relate to.
One day recently my cat peed the bed and most of those socks dutifully went to their pee plus pure rice vinegar-soaked doom. This made me feel powerful, so I named the remaining socks (Horace, Horus, Horse, Ross, Chandler, Chris, Lucie, and Ghost Sock) with the intent of then using them to clean up the vomit my cat had vomited just then. But PK cleans her own vomit thank you very much, so the Fated Eight lie vigilant, named, though the cat took over their shoe box. It made me think about how different I might be with absolute power. I might write a song about it, but don't get too excited: my last big burst of musical energy resulted in this SoundCloud account.
I'm going to talk more about my cat, because she's great. Her name is PK and she has no qualms about making out with humans. If she were a human, she'd rock sweat pants with high heels, and Joss Whedon TV shows would be her intellectual tolerance threshold. For real though, she loves Angel. I love her and forgive the moderate degrees of urinated-on she inflicts on my belongings.