Mother Cat and Too Many People

You know… I may get kicked out of the He-man Woman Haters Club for saying so, but I love my kitty. And I’m starting to believe that she may see me as more than a walking food dispenser.
To set the scene… for the last couple weeks, Pixel has been sleeping on the far corner of the bed… most of the day. And once she’s comfortable, she won’t move for anything short of a flock of seagulls swooping through the apartment. Day or night you can find her on the far corner of the bed.
I woke up about 7 this morning feeling like absolute shit. Pixel was, of course, at the far corner of the bed. I sort of hobbled into the bathroom and sat doubled over for a few minutes. I finally collected myself and went to wash my hands, and found her sitting on the sink waiting for me. It’s all sweet and nice, of course, but I still felt terrible. So I wandered back and collapsed on the bed, determined to sleep it off. About ten seconds later, Pixel hopped up next to me and curled up against my chest. At the top of the bed.
I woke up late this morning feeling fine. She has returned to the normal cat mode of ignoring and abusing me.
Anyway…
I am not the most sociable person in the world. (If you know me, you may need to stop now and compose yourself before continuing to read.) But somehow I know what seems to me to be an inordinately large number of people.
I’ve always had people in my hometown who remember our childhood together better than me, (my recollection usually being: not at all). It hurts when they’re cute women.
College was college, and a seemingly never-ending stream of people flow through your life. Just recently, there was a girl’s name I couldn’t remember, right up until I started writing just now. (Sally… though I knew her as Odie).
The Internet has only made this problem more severe. People who are bad at names should avoid at all costs an addiction to IRC. You will form interesting relationships with dozens of people, none of which is likely to last longer than 2 or 3 months, (the average productive lifespan of a channel). But these people will keep popping up. I know I know them. I’ve talked with them for hours. I have their pictures. But damned if it isn’t all sort of a blur. (The fact that most of it took place at 2 or 3 in the morning may be a possible cause for the distortion).
Well… I’ve also now been working professionally for seven or eight years. God help me when they call up telling me how wonderful our previous project went and they can’t wait to work together again. (When they bring up the project, I’m fine. I could tell you the details and evolution of every piece of art I’ve ever touched.)