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Stroke me, honey, I'm all squeaks and fluff.May 04 '04 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line Cleo.. a lore unto herself...
I've shared 4 years of my life with the strangest creature ever to inhabit the earth. She looks like a cat, she sounds like a cat, but she's no cat. Not quite human either, she lives her lives (yes lives) with the confidence and independence you'd associate with a cat, but with all the wit and attitude of an uberbítch diva. To celebrate the oddity that is my little feline friend, I have taken it upon myself to submit her mini-autobiography on her behalf (since she's not a member) Stroke Me, Honey, I'm All Squeaks and Fluff By Cleopatra Jezebel Johansen "I was born in a box in June 2000. A BOX! Not a lavish hospital room, with diamond encrusted wallpaper and silk sheets, 20 doctors in attendance and The Queen of England as my midwife. No, no, no. A box. Not even a box that once held Gucci shoes or a Prada handbag. An old tatty box that used to house laundry powder, well, at least it smelled good. One has to be thankful for these small mercies. Actually, the box was a Godsend after sharing a womb with 3 brothers, and a sister that insisted on taking up 2 thirds of the damn space. Those first few weeks of my life are a bit of blur, it was all teats and milk and coos and awwws from strangers come to ogle us. So anyway, this guy comes along one day, tall fella, weird accent, but he didn't seem cheap so I figured he'd have to be the one to take me. A girl's gotta have her priorities right, right? Besides, 2 of my brothers and my sister (the witch), had already been taken away, I was getting desperate. So this dude takes me home. The first thing he does is put down some water and some food. Water? no honey, you got it all wrong. Show me the milk and i'll give ya some purrs. I eventually get my milk. Now, on to the food. Yeah, I'm fussy, and there was no way I was going to eat some mushy crap that looked and smelled like horse shít. And definitely not out of a purple bowl with kittens on it!!!!. Sheesh, Gay guys, they're sooo predictable. So I sit and stare and flatly refuse to eat. Eventually he gets the hint and dishes me out some biscuits, much better, but I'm still not eating out of that bowl. To be really awkward, I took out a few biscuits and put them on the floor.. then ate them. After a few frustrating meal times with this biscuit ritual, he eventually took away the bowl and put them on a saucer instead. That's better, a plate I can do, I'm worthy of a plate. So I play my part, I chase balls of paper, I purr a lot, I sit on his lap, I squeak and meow with contentment. But that shít gets boring as you get older. When I was 8 months old, the bítch finally started letting me out. I'll show him, I thought. So I got myself knocked up within a few weeks, by this really cute half persian from across the street, he was nice, but not the type you'd spend you're life with. Besides, he'd already knocked up half the others in the neighbourhood. Including that minx from the next street, he was a manslut. 9 weeks later I gave birth to 4 SPAWNS OF THE ANTI-CHRIST!!!. All boys, damn, and what a handful, kids are so hard work. So I do my duty, yeah, I was a good Mum, and finally they all leave. I was kind of sad, but frankly, I was tired of saggy boobs and breaking a nail every 5 minutes. So what does the bítch do? Send me hospital to get my insides ripped out! Which meant I could no longer have anymore kids. Actually, maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, I mean, the swings have been taken away, but the playground is still there, right? I invent a few games to wind him up. One involves standing by a door that's ajar, easily enough room for me to slide my lil petite body through. But no, I sit and stare at it until he gets up off his ärse and opens it properly, afterall, I am a lady. Another thing I love to do is lie on him when he's asleep, so he can't move (yeah, I sleep on the bed, I wouldn't degrade myself by sleeping in a basket, what does he think I am? an animal? sheesh) I guess I copped the 'tude from one of my parents, but it's a harsh world out there. To be fair, he's very patient with me, but it's so cool to wake him up at 5am and yell to go out. He stumbles around half asleep to the front door, Haa! It's a riot. AND he has the audacity to leave me all day most days, lord knows where he goes, but he always comes back with something for me. He knows which side his breads buttered on, keep the kitty sweet and she'll play nice. Sometimes it's funny to ignore him when he comes home, FOR LEAVING ME!. But then again, it's nice when he comes home, I dish out the purrs and rub up against his legs sometimes, just to show I give a shít. Though it's great to sit on his lap and kneed with my nails out, but i'm not stupid, I stop and lie down just before he's about to put me down. I love it when he takes pictures, I pose and everything, just to make sure he gets my best side. I'm so pretty. I take great care of my appearance, I preen and give myself a makeover at least 20 times a day. Well, a girl's gotta do what she has to do to maintain her looks. You know one of the things that really pees me off more than anything? What is WITH the babytalk? He says the weirdest things sometimes. My name is Cleo, bítch, not "Clee-Clee", though he does call me pretty a lot, I have him well trained. But God, he should get a grip, I'm a grown up now. Ach heck, I gotta love him though, he tries. Bless. I'm having a weak moment. As long as he gives me the attention I demand and buys me pretty things, I'll be nice. You should see my collar, it ROCKS! We, well, I, used to have this mouse. It was my mouse, I'd sit and stare at him for hours, hoping for a glimpse, but the mean lil whippersnapper rarely showed his face. What did he think I was going to do? Eat him :-) Anyway, it was better than watching TV. I'm such a tease. The poor thing died, I like to think it was my constant threat of making him lunch that made him give up the ghost, but it was just old age. Can't win 'em all. Anyway, It's been nice sharing my lil ole life with you folks, but I have to go preen and stare at the hunky Calico across the street. He's cute, but he did once yell at me, so I bítchslapped his äss up and down the street. What can I say? Call me Zsa Zsa. I'd like to thank my mother and father, the b*stard that knocked me up, the cute Calico across the street, lions and tigers, Friskies, chickens, the Swedish chef, IKEA, Mother Nature for catnip (oooh, now there's buzz I'd kill for), dogs (for giving me something to laugh at), and ok, my Daddy (I just let him think that) too.. If I must. Ciao dahlings." And there you have it. I love my cat.  |
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