Often, the she-servant merely brings me along when going to Dairy Queen. (She is very fat, as I have mentioned in previous posts.) But this time, she was going a different route. I didn’t care, that’s fine. I like to find lesser cats in new areas.

We turned into a drab looking area – not a place I’ve seen the she-servant go for food before. She must be desperate, I thought. Someone please feed this woman.

I quickly realized the truth. It was something much worse.

She had taken me to the vet.

I hate the vet and am always on my worst behavior when in his office. I’ve trained the vet to fear me. Trust me, these claws know what it’s like to shred some veterinarian skin. Feels good. I like it. More than you probably would.

She told the man she thought I seemed to be having trouble hearing. The she-servant signed some papers and the next thing I knew, I had two people to kill: the she-servant, and the vet.

The vet invaded my privacy in several ways too terrible to mention in mixed company. In the end, he declared I was suffering from an ear infection. (This is false.) He dumped medicine into my “infected” ear and sent us home with two bottles of horrible stuff. He asked to see me again in two weeks.

I will never be back. I will bury the rest of this medicine in my litter box and then I’ll deliver a painful education to the she-servant on where to NEVER take me again. She’s got some very clear boundaries to learn.

No. I will not come.

“Howie! Honey, come sit with momma!” she pleaded again.

No. And you are definitely not my “momma”, you disgusting heap.

“Lou-Lou Belle, Lou-Lou Belle! Come here, Lou-Lou Belle!” she said.

I HATE it when she calls me Lou-Lou Belle. Look at me. I am a fierce male cat. I am not anybody’s Lou-Lou Belle. What an insult! Of course I won’t reward her misbehavior by sitting with her. Besides, you wouldn’t know it by looking at it, but this paper bag I’m lounging on is very comfortable.

I stretched.

“Baby, I know you can hear me,” she said. “Please come sit with me. I want to pet you, honey.”

Definitely not. I turned my head to the side and looked toward the kitchen, pretending I cannot hear.

Finally, she went back to sipping her morning coffee. Silence fell across my kingdom.

I know the peace won’t last long. What Cat? is likely to walk by, which will cause me to chase her. (That is her fault.) The she-servant will pick me up then. She will hold me too tight and tell me she loves me, before smearing her greasy hands all over my face and forehead.

I am forced to remain here as long as I can, enjoying my wealth and general well-being.

Clearly, she has no business being on the bed. She’s laying on the he-servant’s side, which shows how low her standards are. His side of the bed is repulsively dirty – he bathes only once a day! And she is laying on THAT.

Despite the filthiness of the he-servant’s side of the bed, I own that bed. I own that whole room. It was the last part of my kingdom I was able to keep to myself after she moved in. She’s wrecking that, and it’s breaking my heart. I feel a tear coming on. Wait, that’s just one of my hairs tickling my eye. Interesting.

In three minutes I will launch onto the bed and pretend I didn’t notice her there… and I will land on her with all four feet. When she tries to run away, I will push her face down into the he-servant’s dirty pillow. After that, she will never be back on this bed. You have my word. His pillow is unspeakably gross.

By the way, I bathe at least 10 times a day… now being one of those times. Look away, please.

One year ago, life was perfect. The servants were effective. The food was better. My claws were sharper. I’d never heard of What Cat?

Now I am the only perfect thing left in this kingdom. At least there is that.

Just saw What Cat? go into the servants’ bedroom. I wonder what she’s doing. Tracking her now. Be back in a bit.

I hate the vacuum.

It is such a violent machine, sucking up and murdering all that gets in its way. At the first sight of the vacuum, I arch my back and stick my hairs straight out. This makes me look very intimidating. I shoot a dark glare toward the vacuum, hold eye contact, and then… run.

Though the vacuum follows me, it is much slower than me and is too stupid to travel in a straight line. Forward, backward, forward, backward… By the time it comes within 10 feet of where I hide (on top of the servants’ bed), I’ve been there long enough to fall asleep three times.

But I do not sleep. I wait. Despite its grinding noise and horrific vibration, I observe its every move to identify flaws. As I always say, there is no substitute for victory. Here’s what I’ve got on the evil machine: the vacuum will clog – and maybe break – if large materials (read: socks, batteries, puppies) are sucked inside. I also know that the he-servant will stop vacuuming after sucking up a piece of jewelry, and that the machine makes a burning smell when it is overwhelmed with too many of my hairs.

My attempts to vandalize and constipate the vacuum work about 20 percent of the time. Sound weak to you? Keep in mind that the vacuum’s attempts to eat me have never been successful. Add in the fact that I am a genius and constantly evolving to defeat the vacuum, and you can see I am well ahead. Always will be.

I’ve just walked across the stomach of the sleeping she-servant. She is usually easier to wake, and the hair in my goblet appears to be hers, anyway. I stood for at least 30 seconds on her ribcage, putting all of my weight on my two front paws. This hurts her, I can tell. Her face twisted with pain and she cracked open an eyelid to look at me.

Water, woman. Look into my eyes. Wash my goblet and get me water. Here, see how cute I am? How can you let me thirst like this? (I shifted my weight so most of it was on only one paw – she grimaced and reached up to push me.)

I nudged her hand with my face, which she usually thinks is a gesture of affection. No. This is not. I’m trying to show her how dry my nose is. I am clearly dehydrated. Were I a desert cat, I might understand the lack of drinking water. But this is not a desert, and I am not a desert cat.

The she-servant rolled over and did not get up. Must now attempt to wake the he-servant.

I walked across his pillow and stepped on his forehead. He hates this; I’ve heard him say so. Then I flopped down on his pillow and threw myself against his head as hard as I dared – I certainly don’t want to injure myself.

The he-servant batted at me, but I ducked. Idiot.

I got back up. Spun in a little circle, found the spot closest to his mouth and threw myself against his face, draping my tail across his eyes.

Success! The he-servant is sitting up now! He doesn’t look happy, but who cares! I’m not happy either!

Now get me some water, Snorezilla, and don’t expect me to thank you.

I’ve done my best to be devastatingly handsome so the party crowd will have something to celebrate. The servants don’t know it, but I’ve pretty much just saved the day. Without me, the guests would take one look at What Cat? and leave.

I’m napping until 8, when the guests arrive. Meanwhile, don’t touch me.