Mocha here. Still a bit grumpy today. My mom and dad dumped me in "camp" again for a week while they went to play in a big, sandy cat box. I spent the week in jail.
Don't get me wrong. The girls at Smith Mountain Lake Animal Hospital treat me really nice, but they keep me in a cage. They give me scratches behind the ears, plenty to eat and an upper cage, because they know I like to be up high.
One of my favorite perches in my house is at the top of the stairs. I look through the bars down at the living room. I can also see outside from here. The front of the house is all glass, so I can watch the birds at the feeder. I complain, but I really like this perch. Besides, it's close to my dishes and my litter pan, too. All is goodness when I'm up here.
But, back to Mom and Dad. THEY LEFT ME FOR A VACATION. My cage is not camp. It is a cage. I listen to Mom when she's fussing over the right word for her story. Calling my cage "camp" is like calling Rush Limbaugh a wuss in touch with his feminine side. Jeez. Who do they think I am? I ain't stoopid. I listen. I learn. What I want to learn, that is.
So, yesterday they brought me home. I got even. I pushed the shed button and left piles of me all over the green carpet. Mom groomed me twice, but it wasn't enough. I was a Velcro kitty. I went everywhere they went. I lay on my mom's lap at night. I reclaimed every space of the house. It's my house. I pretended I was starved in jail and demanded more food. I rubbed up against any available leg, leaving blond hairs behind.
Must go. Time to pretend I'm starving. Maybe Mom will give me more food. If not, I'll press the shed button again. Meh.