October 12, 2004
Payback is a B*tch
The humans, in their austeer logic, have concluded that myself and the other feline, Salem, can no longer get along.
Now, I want it understood, that I started nothing. That this calico skank has repeatedly berated and belittled me since I was but a young kitten freed from jail and set into this household for confinement. Yet I have tolerated years and years of hissing, spewing, and swiping of claws at my face, for merely walking by the testy old broad. AND I did nothing, I walked away!
Well, I finally have had enough. I have dictated in no uncertain terms that she is not allowed upstairs, where my slave sleeps. In fact, I chase the hobbled cow down the steps every time she tries to go up there.
When I come downstairs for food and refreshment, and she dares to spit in my face, I now chase her til I corner her on the hope chest and proceed to have a staring match with bristling tail to display my disatisfaction with her unappreciation of my queenlyness.
Is it my fault that Salem has taken to soiling the carpet, hiding behind the television stand and doing unmentionables? Even though the humans have put down a second box for her to use, she refuses to use it. Insipid, psychotic wretch. That cat is not all there in the head, I'm telling you this. And I am getting the blame. Yet not a single hiss comes from my mouth, not a single swipe have I taken first. I am the reactant. Perhaps a demilitarized zone needs set up.
Posted by Sierra at October 12, 2004 04:57 PMPosted to Feline Graces