Why I am a bad sport (not really)

So there is this contest called Mango Minster. It is run by a dog, but there are some cats there as well, and I suspect they are really the brains behind the show. Anyway, last year two of the idiot dogs in this house entered and did not win. Why would they? No self-respecting cat that is playing a game of shadows with dogs would let two of the most slobbery creatures in existence win. So I decided I would enter myself this year. The cats controlling Mango Minster have wisely decided to let us enter as 'bad sports', preserving the illusion that the dogs are running the show when they are really just chasing their tails. So I will play along and tell you why I am such a bad sport (wink wink).

I'm a bad sport because I have never even tried to be friends with idiot dog 1, idiot dog 2, or supreme idiot dog 3. I would rather just growl and hiss and swat at them if they get within 10 feet of me. I'll tell you why - they have taken over my house. That and they want me dead. One of my favorite things ever is to eat my favorite food - Ocean WhiteFish and Tuna (the pureed kind, not that disgusting gravy stuff). But those stupid slobbery dogs are so frightening that I can't eat with them in the house, and even when they are outside I find it is best to stay near the safety of a bed so I can escape their dumbness if I have to.

This is the only viable option I have

Bunsen may find this acceptable but he is an idiot

... I remember the good old days, when it was just me and mama and those other cats that are beneath me.

I was such an adorable little tyke

The other cats were truly blessed to have me

Mama and I had such a special bond

All that changed one day, when idiot dog 1 came to live with us. At first he was tiny and I thought perhaps he would just live in a box in a closet somewhere. But as he grew older I realized that he had my death on his mind.

I should have known from the start

At first I was OK with being a basement cat. Then we moved to a house where the dogs got into the basement. So I had no other choice. I did what any self-respecting cat with idiot blogging dogs would do.

I took over their blog. There, I said it, and I'm not sorry. Whiskers of Fury was the best thing that ever happened to the internet, and it would've worked too, if not for a twist of fate. I have laid low for awhile, but I decided I would use my winnings from Mango Minster to send the dogs off to Siberia or somewhere, and then order a truckload of Ocean WhiteFish and Tuna to share with myself after my glorious achievement.

If that makes me a bad sport so be it.

Sweet, sweet victory.

I was just thinking the other day how dogs 1 and 2 need to be knocked down a few notches, when fate delivers me the sweetest of surprises: a cone of shame. A few of us cats have had to wear one in the past - they tried with me when my foot was operated on (THREE TIMES, WHAT IS THE VETERINARY PROFESSION COMING TO THESE DAYS!!!???), but that didn't fly. I haven't seen dogs 1 or 2 wearing one yet - and then my nemesis, dog2, was taken to the vet. Monday, this was. I hoped she wouldn't come back, but she did. However, the next day, she was gone at the vet's all day, and when she came home she was wearing the cone of shame.

Sweet, sweet victory.

The waiting is the hardest part

I miss my dad. He's fun; he lets me walk on his shoulders, where I can look down on those dogs. He also fights with me, and we play Attack of the Shirt, which is where I jump at a shirt he throws over the back of a chair and kill it. I hope he comes home soon, he's on a mountain or something right now. Plus, my litter box needs cleaning. Also my food dish is getting less than 90% full.


He also sometimes lets me go outside. Outside is the best. That's where I met him and convinced him to bring me home. I even threw up on the seat of his truck on the way home to let him know he was mine. I know he appreciated it. But I'd like to go outside again.






I hope he comes home soon.

Disgusted and sickened

My life was once perfect. I had the house to myself - the bed, couch, arm chair, floor, toilet lid, spare bed, desk, and anything else I could reach were mine. All I had to do was knock one of the other cats off the spot I wanted. I got moist cat food (Ocean White Fish and Tuna, you had better believe they figured that out when I turned my regal head away from any other garbage they tried to serve me) all the time, I got cat nip regularly, and I got to play with my toys wherever and whenever I wanted. I didn't have to run the gauntlet between a stupid baby gate and the basement - there were no "dog-free" zones because there were no "dogs".

I was a happy cat.

Then came dog 1. I call him dog 1 because I do not feel he is worth dignifying by the name Mama gave him, the one that she says with love and affection like she says my name. In fact, I'm not entirely comfortable calling dog 1 a "him". Gender implies some level of being, and being implies some inalienable right to existence without persecution. If I weren't so much smaller and stumpy-footed than dogs 1 and 2 I would persecute with extreme violence.

dog 1 (see? He doesn't even deserve uppercasing) got ALL the attention for awhile. Away went the moist food - dog 1 will eat ANYTHING (seriously. He eats kleenex if they aren't watching him. He even tries to eat my cat poop out of the litter box. How stupid can you be?). He eats my toy mousies. He even pooped a dead toy mousie once. Mama got mad but that doesn't stop him.

So dog 1 moves in and up go the baby gates, away goes the moist food, and my Mama time decreases dramatically. It was a hard transition, but I eventually got used to it. dog 1 and I came to a tense cease-fire. I felt I could come out in the not-dog-free zone without fearing for my life. He was too little to get me on the couch for awhile, but things changed again. Regardless, I put what was beneath me beneath me.

Then came dog 2. dog 2 is worse than dog 1. dog 2 chases me - CHASES me. She isn't afraid of my hisses and swats. She wants to kill me. The only reason she can't is because she is bigger and slower than dog 1. I hate her. I haven't had moist cat food in a long time. My mousies might as well not exist. My only Mama time is at bedtime now, but now that there are 2 dogs they have to sleep on the floor on Mama's side of the bed, and they pop up like sharks every so often and try to eat me. They are big enough to jump on the bed and couch now so nowhere is safe. I live in the basement, where my glamorous body gets basement dirt all over it and so *sob* bathtime comes more often now.

Then I find this online.



SICK SICK SICK SICK

Excuse me I have a hairball or two I need to deposit.