Shakes here...
My cat—here's how you can get fooled. My cat comes to me when she wants to be fed. I have learned this. I accept it for what it is. Many people in my position would think my cat's coming to me because she loves me. Well, she likes me, and she is attached, but she comes to me when she wants to be fed. And after I feed her—guess what—she's off to wherever she wants to be in the house, until the next time she gets hungry. She's smart enough to know she can't feed herself. She's actually a very smart cat. She gets loved. She gets adoration. She gets petted. She gets fed. And she doesn't have to do anything for it, which is why I say this cat's taught me more about women, than anything my whole life. (Link.)
Including his three ex-wives, none of whom evidently managed to successfully impart that being offered a bowl of tuna by a horny hillbilly heroin junky, reeking of cigar smoke and sporting a chemically-induced hard-on, isn't technically foreplay. One suspects that Rush's idea of The Perfect Woman includes a Pavlovian response to the sound of the can opener.
