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.

2 p.m. Tuesday, June 30, 2009

I have seen the words written by What Cat? in my blog.

Her account of our run-in is ridiculous, and shame on her for touching my laptop. I will not comment further.

Servants, clean my laptop immediately.

6:30 p.m. Tuesday, June 30, 2009

I admit I have entirely stopped using my own litter box. What Cat?’s litter box is so much easier to find, since I am often stalking her. After using it a couple times I noticed how much nicer her litter box is. It clumps beautifully; there’s plenty of room for kicking and scratching; and there’s no roof, so I can kick lumps and bumps over the edge whenever I want. It’s a pleasure.

Oh dear. The she-servant is singing. Ooooo how terrible, make it stop!! I’ve laid my ears back as flat as I can, yet I can still hear her. She’s merciless! Must take cover under the futon. Be back soon.

6:42 p.m. Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Found one of my favorite toys under the futon. It’s shiny and it crinkles and makes the most satisfying “crunch” sound when I bite it. I am biting it right now.

Bleh, it smells strange. What Cat? has obviously been gumming it up. Gross. Worst toy ever!

I’m taking it so she can’t play with it. I keep my toys behind the television. This one will look good there.

12 p.m. Wednesday, July 1

Delivery man just came. He brought a large box – my favorite thing! The he-servant signed for it and took out a tiny pink laptop. Pink is not my favorite color, but if the laptop works, I’ll use it.

12:15 p.m. Wednesday, July 1

Something very strange just happened. The he-servant has given the pink laptop to What Cat? Why does she get a new laptop?! She is just a shelter cat! She doesn’t even have her front claws! She has been ALTERED!

The he-servant gave me the box from the laptop. I am not grateful, but I have accepted the “gift”. I dragged my laptop into the box and am typing from inside the box. The darkness consoles me.

Servants, order me the new Macbook immediately. And an iPhone. I know you read my blog, so do it now. And I forbid you to get What Cat? any additional electronics.

It is so good to be king.

My servants just returned from the store with an excellent new purchase. They replaced my small, outdated litter box with a gigantic state-of-the-art litter house. It’s not the Cat Box 9000 that I asked for, but it will do. This one holds much more litter! It is so big that when I kick the litter around, it echoes. I like to do this because it sounds like the cat gods are applauding my strength and agility. It’s nice to know that they’ve noticed.

4 p.m. Sunday, March 1, 2009

New litter house has been soiled. No longer any good. I hate it.

4:45 p.m. Sunday, March 1, 2009

Just discovered a new way to preserve my immortality! The she-servant is making cookies (and completely ignoring me, as you know she does) and was placing flat circles of dough on metal sheet about the size of my new litter house. When she’d placed a dozen unbaked cookies on the sheet, one of my hairs pricked me and I sensed my own ability to be evil.

I looked at the she-servant. She looked past me like I was a common alley cat. I hesitated as long as I could (ONEoneTHOUSAND!!TWO! JUMP!) and leapt onto the metal sheet, spreading my limbs as I soared. My front left paw landed squarely on a cookie. My front right paw landed half on another.

Finally she saw me! Finally she cared about where I am and what I’m doing! She screamed and the he-servant came puffing over. He chastised me, but I do not care. When the she-servant bakes those cookies, my paw prints will be preserved. I am certain the Smithsonian will want to keep the cookies on permanent display, next to my largest-ever hairball and all the shoes I’ve peed in.

5 p.m. Sunday, March 1, 2009

Bleh. I just finished kicking around in my litter house to get the gross cookie off my feet. It was disgusting and I feel unclean after touching them. I do not fear salmonella; my constitution can ward off any disease. Neither do I regret my decision to leap onto the cookies. In fact, I think this may have been one of my most successful days – ever.

4:15 p.m. Friday, August 29, 2008

Of course I can swim. I do not need a life vest. I don’t even need a canoe, except to make my life vest relevant. The real desire here is for the life vest itself. I want it badly, because it is a bold, undeniable testament to the fact that my life is valuable and should be saved at any cost. Yes, any cost. Including you and your “life.”

I would wear my life vest at all times, so all who see me respect my worth. If doubters question my life vest, I will tell them my canoe is just in the next room, and to shut up, and while they are at it, to go get me some catnip. Then I will ban them from my kingdom. They are dirty, anyway.

Ahh, the end of another weekend. The servants are preparing to head back to work and get out of my hair. Peace and quiet is just around the corner. I will not miss them. To compensate for their rampant overeating, they are on diets and are perpetually miserable. They mourn the loss of French fries as if the fries were family members. Hey – try eating dry food every day. THAT’S rough.

When they leave, I’ll be able to complete the charitable project I’ve been working on. I’ve been collecting letters from fans for nearly a year now. (That means you, faithful readers.) Correctly assuming that I am all-knowing, you sent questions, compliments, or requests for help. Replying has been difficult due to my taxing schedule of eating and napping, but there is no one better to answer your questions. Here’s what I’ve addressed thus far:

Dear Howie:
What is your favorite way to hack up a hairball?
Sincerely, Curious

Dear Curious,
Good question. I find the most comfortable spot in my kingdom and crouch there. I howl mournfully to attract attention. Then I summon my stomach to come up through my throat by retching. A few dry heaves normally produce one of my finest works of art – my own hair, molded into what looks deceptively like a Tootsie Roll. Beautiful.
-Howie

Dear Howie:
Do you ever eat so much so fast that you puke up entire unchewed pieces of food? Why does this keep happening to me?
Sincerely, Am I Sick?

Dear Sick,
Are you sick? You’re disgusting! You sound like one of my revolting servants, you fat lard! Take small bites, and chew, chew, chew!
-Howie

Dear Howie:
What is your favorite thing about yourself? I think your eyes are lovely.
Sincerely, An Admirer

Dear Admirer,
Have you seen the hair between my toes? Gorgeous! My delicate feet have long tufts of hair between each toe to perfectly conceal my razor-sharp claws. It’s hard to pick just one thing about myself to love best, of course, but my toe hair is exceptional.
- Howie

Dear Howie:
You look familiar to me. Is there a chance you are my brother? My understanding is that no one has been told who your father was.
Sincerely, Maybe Your Brother

Dear Maybe,
That’s bull. #*@( the #*($& @$$ to *$%?& #+^%@!!!!!
- Howie

Dear Howie:
How do you keep dominance over your household? Do you keep weapons on hand? And what would you do if someone sprayed you with a water gun? Would you get off the table?
Sincerely, Weakling

Dear Weakling,
My weapons are inherited and I have psychotic tendencies. Very dangerous duo. Undoubtedly you are not as clever as me, but you can at least be brave. If someone sprayed me with a water gun, I’d get off the table. But vengeance is mine. For every drop of water on my fur, I urinate in a new location – in the fridge, on the bathmat, under the sheets, or in a shoe.
-Howie

Dear Howie:
I saw a segment on the news about a new world record for the most beautiful cat. I couldn’t help but notice it wasn’t you. You weren’t even the runner up. How do you survive such a shocking oversight? Clearly you are the MOST beautiful.
Sincerely, Seeking Justice

Dear Justice,
You noticed that too, hey? Thanks. I’ve notified the Cat Intelligence Agency of the fraud. Since then I’ve noticed strange sounds at night and have requested protection from the Secret Service. I may have to go into the witness protection program until it gets sorted out, but nothing this wrong can remain uncorrected.
-Howie

Dear Howie:
Have you always been so handsome?
Sincerely, Your Fan

Dear Fan,
Yes.
-Howie

I am pleased to report there is relative peace in my kingdom. The windows are often open, allowing a fresh breeze to blow through. The servants are tolerable. I am shedding my winter coat and they are kept busy vacuuming my hair off the carpet. The he-servant is especially anal about it. I am careful to cast my hair about the carpet so he receives maximum exercise. Because “maximum” is starting to describe his physique, if you know what I mean.

As for the she-servant, I am surprised she can rise from the couch. I know she does, though, because I see her standing while she plays Guitar Hero. This is not among her talents. When the she-servant plays, the game should be called “Guitar Zero.”

Anyway, the peace in my kingdom does not reflect the state of my soul. I am deeply disturbed. I just finished watching a documentary on the world’s most beautiful animals, and was shocked to see that I was not listed among them. Except for possibly the peacock – such a vain animal – I should top the list. If there were an Animal Universe pageant, I would be sure to win it. Though I would frown on such a frivolous waste of time. Maybe.

I desperately want to go outside. If I could get past the servants, who block my exit, I would create a real sight. My gleaming hair, my sharp teeth, and my jewel-like eyes would cause traffic to back up from here to L.A. Oh how the world would swoon. Yet I ache for praise and reassurance of my beauty. My servants do compliment me, but I have grown accustomed to their praise and do not appreciate it. I need more, from someone else.

As the he-servant returned from work just now, I caught a glimpse of the outdoors. The grass is turning green; I wish I could eat it. Then I could return indoors and vomit my name into the carpet. “Handsome Howie,” it might say. Or “Fancy Feline.” Yes. I quite like that.

5:16 p.m. Sunday, March 2, 2008
Ugh. ~shudder~

5:17 p.m. Sunday, March 2, 2008
It hurts me to even try to say this.

5:34 p.m. Sunday, March 2, 2008
Here’s the thing. The servants have not been faithful to me.

I am so disappointed in them, though I should have expected it. All servants are the same. They promise loyalty, but they don’t really know what that means. Loyalty, to them, is to care for me only as long as I am in sight. The moment they leave my kingdom for work, they seem to forget all about their “loyalty.” And when they come home, I can sniff out the infidelity like a rotten egg.

First, there’s the unmistakable smell of “other cats” on their clothes. That alone could send them to prison in many kingdoms, but I am too benevolent. At the first scent of another cat, I headed straight to their bedroom and peed on the center of the bed.

I smelled the stench of foreign feline two days straight before finding the will to do further investigating. I went straight for the she-servant’s wool coat – which is always smothered in a revolting amount of lint and hair. With my naked eye I was able to spot 16 hideous orange cat hairs. Orange! The color of common cats! Street cats! I’m going to round up those servants right now and make them take a bath…if I can bear the sight of them.

7 p.m. Monday, March 3, 2008
Right now I am listening to the servants as they discuss the other cats. Apparently they are “cat-sitting” for someone from the she-servant’s workplace. Though I appear to be sleeping, I am listening intently.

The servants say one of the cats is extraordinarily beautiful. The other is just a spook who hides under the bed. My claws sink into the carpet and I hear it rip. The fact that they can see any beauty in these hideous alley cats turns my stomach.

10 a.m. Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Revenge. Justice. It has been served. Both servants are stricken with the flu and cannot get out of bed except to find medicine to reduce their fevers. I revel in their sickness. I traipse across their sickbed and step on their aching shoulders. I spin my taut body in a small circle, searching for the perfect spot to nap. She-servant’s face? Too ugly… Foot of bed? Danger of being kicked… He-servant’s belly? Perfect! Large, soft and warm. Serves him right.