A Courting

It doesn't take much to make me happy; hell, it didn't take much to make me sad, either. In fact, I react pretty well to everything that goes on. Don't see that everyday, do you?

It takes a lot to be like me, positive and easily readable. If I wasn't, where would I be today? Screwed, locked in a cage, shut away from those I love. Probably on the streets like Roxy, who has nothing better to do than beg for food, using those unfair brown eyes against unsuspecting strangers.

What a ignoramus.

Don't get me wrong, I respect all of my kind. And she has the most beautiful yellow hair with brown stripes. She always smelt amazing too, like fish and new carpeting.


Could it be possible to mate with her? I honestly don't know; mother never properly trained me for this before she died. Poor girl; the master put her in a vase and keeps her on a shelf. My masters are positively gigantic, I mean they really are quite huge. It's difficult for me to watch them reach things like food, or something shiny. I like shiny objects, they amuse me. It makes me happy, like most other things. Like Roxy. Or dry food. I love dry food; wet food is good too, although it has a horrible aftertaste and makes my breath stink like Daisy's backside.

I close my eyes, leaning my head on the sofa. My master's allow me to, because I do not shed. Not like Daisy, who sheds like mad. It's quite hilarious when she used to live here. She really was quite pathetic, she just follows them around all the time.

Now, I want to make one point clear: I do love my master. I do. I may not show my emotions like some * Daisy*, but I am devoted. I show them praise, I allow them to stroke me, I put up with their ridiculous nick names, all out of love. They underestimate my intelligence, true, but between my prayers and my hunting, I do not care much. And it is fun to hide things from them, such as car keys or puzzle pieces, and have them search. It's my playful revenge.

I do hope that does not make me naughty; I do not wish to be swatted with that newspaper like I used to be. Daisy, occasionally, still is, but it is not too often now. Age really does make one more...intellectually aware.

At least with, ahem, my kind. I honestly don't know about Humans anymore.

I close my eyes and begin my prayers. I pray often, nearly 7 times a day, and master says "Look at William, he's napping. Isn't that precious?"

Do they not recognize a prayer? I may not gather some of my kind around a kill and touch paws while chanting to God, but I pray more often than they. I open my eyes and stretch, my mood dampened slightly. They always seem to do that to me.

Ah, well, I feel a bit stressed; perhaps I will court Roxy.

After all, a cat's got to do what a cat's got to do.


Tag der Veröffentlichung: 09.10.2011

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