It is as I feared. I have been dumped.
From now on, I shall shun human contact and become a recluse, friend only to a legion of 104* bad-tempered cats.
I will develop Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and never throw anything away, displaying a complete disregard for the Feng Shui of my surroundings. To manoeuvre from the bedroom to the toilet will take several hours as I pick my way through a maze of rubbish bags, cardboard boxes and discarded bottles of urine.
The council will come round with a television crew, clean my flat and remove all my cats whilst I dissolve into floods of tears. Some time later, I shall rebuild my mighty cat army.
Then one day my corpse shall be discovered after an absence of several weeks, the police only alerted to my condition after the neighbours spot bluebottles swarming at the window.
Clutched in the partially-eaten remains of my right fist shall be an empty bottle of bourbon. Clutched in my left, a cigarette made from butts. The cats, driven half-mad by starvation, will have eaten my face and, forever, my final expression will be a grisly, rictus grin of yellowed tooth and stripped white jawbone.
Well, you've got to have something to aim for in life, otherwise what's the point?
More hilarity next time...!
* Devotees of the Kaballah will already know that it was long ago agreed that the optimum number of cats for one to truly possess an 'army' is 104. 103 simply isn't enough. 105, on the other hand, is obviously too many - a fool can see that.