Personally, I don’t understand this writing business, but then I don’t understand humans. Mine goes out every day, but what could be of interest out there? I’m here! Then she comes home covered in strange smells, and then falls on the couch in that sprawly, leggy way humans have and grumbles endlessly about…well, I don’t know because I don’t really listen.
Then she stands for ages with her head in the big cold box, I suppose wondering what to put in her food bowl for dinner. I just about have to tear her leg off to get her fill mine up. I mean, how long does it take? I have to go into the bedroom and beat up on the other cat just so she notices there are felines needing attention. I mean—sheesh—it must be like five minutes before she gets around to feeding us!
Then comes the endless bore of watching my human sit around and click endlessly at the box on her desk. Humans don’t know how to play. How does all that clickety-clack compare to a rousing game of chase the laser dot? So I drop toys on her feet to get her to pay attention to me and then if that doesn’t work, I’ll hang by my claws from the back of her chair. That usually works. If not, it’s on to knocking things off her desk, like the coffee mug. Hee. That makes her move pronto.
I have to be careful, though, because once I get her attention she might try and CUDDLE me—I mean, ew. That’s about as disgusting as all those stooopid compooter sitez where animuls tok like brane damadjed babeez. Ugh!
Now as to this writing business, I think the world needs to know that all vampires, dark heroes and, well, any man worth writing about are actually cats. Dress them up how you please, but all that grace, agility, composure and panache have to come from somewhere. Not to mention the slow, sultry stare. I mean, forget all that getting-to-know-you conversational crap. Who else but a feline hero can walk in, take what he wants, and consider an affectionate swipe of the paw sufficient reward for your admiration?
I leave the subservient tail-wagging to the dogs. Unless, of course, I want my ears rubbed.
Oh, yeah, and about the other cat who lives in the bedroom. She’s the one who actually likes to get petted and squeezed and baby-talked. And she likes to read, or at least sit on books (frankly I prefer to eat them. Jennifer Cruisie’s Dogs and Goddesses was delicious).