December 18, 2007
I ain't believin' this
Originally published January 2, 2006
I don't like cats. I don't like a damn THING about cats. Cats are haughty, rotten, selfish, cold-blooded killers that ALL need to be dragged off and shot.
I don't think cats really like people, either. They just USE people for free meals and a warm place to sleep. Piss a cat off and it will shit in your bed. On purpose, the no-good bastard.
That's why I have a problem believing this story. A cat might call 911 to save its OWN ass, but it ain't gonna lift a paw to help anyone else. That's just the way cats are, kinda like the French. Ungrateful shits.
A dog probably made that call and the cat just took credit for it.
THIS is more like a cat:
A Cat's Diary
(sent to me by Ruth Moran)
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from ruining the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant.
Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded. I must try this at the top of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repel these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair... must try this on their bed.
Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body, in an attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was. Hmmm... Not working according to plan.
I am finally aware of how sadistic they are. For no good reason I was chosen for the water torture. This time however, it included a burning foamy chemical called "shampoo." What sick minds could invent such a liquid? My only consolation is the piece of thumb still stuck between my teeth.
There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary throughout the event. However, I could hear the noise and smell the foul odor of the glass tubes they call "beer." More importantly, I overheard that my confinement was due to my power of "allergies." Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.
I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The bird, on the other hand, has got to be an informant and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room, his safety is assured. But I can wait, it is only a matter of time...