Out of his extraordinary peripheral vision, Simon Bagley, no relation to Jim, glimpsed a grey kitten peeking out of the shrubs. Upon closer inspection, he had discovered a litter of four and a half kittens (Maybe a third. It’s hard to tell without knowing the original mass.) They were mewling madly. Being a genuine “cat” person, he was terrified, for he knew the mother must be nearby and hell hath no fury like a mother cat.
“A cat has nine lives. For three he plays, for three he strays, and for the last three he stays.” Ancient proverb
That’s right. I’m a cat. Got a problem with that? Tough Purina Party Mix Crunch Friskies®. To set things straight, cats do have nine lives. I am currently on my ninth, and there’s nothing you can do about it. In my next reincarnation, I will be a human. I will finally be able to use your damn Bic® lighters.
2010 was a weird year for me. I had just adopted a kitten and he looked a lot like a certain führer. I was warned over and over again by all my friends, but in a classic typical me move, my cartoonish pride made me deaf to all those fucking idiots, and I went ahead and named my cat Adolf Hitler, Hitler for short. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have.
I cannot think of a better way to celebrate National Cat Appreciation Month than to share the reasons why my cat is better than the current president of the United States, Donald Trump.
Before I proceed, my cat’s name is Puppy. She is almost three years old. Like her name implies, she can sit on command, and she fetches and returns plastic rings from milk gallons. Beyond that she is useless.