February 2, 2008

In the doldrums of winter, I take pride in the little things. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I am handsome. My teeth are straight. My hair shines, and my white whiskers look fantastic against my large green eyes. I’m a fine sight to behold.

To keep in shape, I go surfing. Not the wimpy kind where the ocean waves do all the work. When I surf, I do all the work. I take a running start a full room-length away, then leap onto my cardboard scratch pad. With my speed and agility, I easily cruise past the kitchen and down the hallway. It always gives the servants a start to see me moving along so swiftly. To be honest, I amaze myself.

I also like to keep my mind sharp. I launch investigations daily, like: What happens if I sink my claws into the carpet and rip upward with all my might? Does the carpet come loose? How much force is necessary to uproot a single strand of carpet? Then, what happens if I eat that strand of carpet? Would that be considered a food, or a hair? Which end would it come out?

I am forced to perform these experiments when the servants are not looking. Their small minds are disturbed when they see me “shredding” the carpet, as they say. It’s obvious I’m one of those geniuses that won’t be respected until long past my death. If a cat of my fame can ever really die…

February 3, 2008

Did you know that I have all of my claws? I do. Lesser cats may have only their back claws, but I’ve got all of mine. And they are sharp. I sharpen them in the carpet, or in the furniture. The mattress. Bedspread. Bath mat. Like I said, I keep them sharp.

I know they’re sharp because I test them on the he-servant. Nearly every other day, the he-servant experiences a delusion and challenges me to a duel. It’s obvious each time the stupor strikes him – there’s a change in his eyes and he starts to make stealthy moves in my direction.

He makes one of his hands look like a claw – can you believe it, a claw! – and slowly angles it toward my face. Then the last bit of light in his brain is dimmed. He puts his fat fingers around my face, and I strike. I draw stripes down his arms. I carve his wrists. Oh yes, my claws are sharp. It’s just the he-servant who’s not.