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.

I am packing my things and leaving

WHAT. THE. HELL.

There is ANOTHER dog in my house. A THIRD dOG. WHAT HAPPENED TO THE GOOD OLD DAYS WHEN THERE WERE NO DOGS AND A CAT COULD GET SOME PEACE.

The picture below pretty much sums up my life now if I go upstairs where the dogs live. I'm going to pack my things and leave. If I decide to stay I will call her dog3. Right now she is wearing a diaper. Seriously, a diaper?

I hate dogs.