Pootster's Wrinkles

Yo. The cat here. The big one has a lot of work today, so I’m taking over her computer. She’s so deaf, she won’t be able to hear my claws scratching at this anyway. I hope she doesn’t mind the kitty litter crumbs falling between these keys.

I started living with these hairless giants a mere 18 ½ years ago, but they keep saying I’m 89 years old. I vaguely remember being in a cage somewhere and I had these irritating ear-mites. The vet gave me some medicine for them, but he also said I had feline leukemia and would die in two to three years if I didn’t have chemo. My bone-headed giants wouldn’t pay the $1,000 dollars the vet wanted for chemotherapy, and I was just horrified! But it turned out that vet was just angling for some money. Besides, since I was just a kitten I still had eight lives left. And here I still am almost two decades later! My real name is Newt, but one time ... just once when I was a kitten ... my bowels expelled a small poof with a powerful smell. They started calling me Pootster after that, but they also call me Pootsie.

It makes me happy that I still have all my claws. I’m not afraid to use them either. The bald ones wanted me to keep them for protection because I liked to go outside to lay in the sun. One day I was just sitting in my front yard with my people when a gigantic black fanged creature came running at me. I froze in terror as it lunged at me, picking me up with its teeth. OMG it was a dog! A dog that hated cats! It shook me with such ferocity that I knew my back was going to break. But I opened my claws and began tearing at the dog’s face. It let me go and I ran across the street and straight up into a tree. Although I was hurting badly, I heard someone say the dog was bleeding all over the place. Next time it better pick on someone its own size! The pink-skin talked me into coming down from the tree and she very gently cared for me until I was back to my old self. Except I was nervous about going outside after that.

About seven years ago, the loud one who was smaller than the others went away for a week. When she came home, she had another cat with her. I hated that cat from the first time I laid eyes on her. Even after all these years, I still growl and spit at her every time she comes near me. Stupid cat. She thinks she’s so pretty, but I’m really much more attractive than her. Just because she kills all the spiders in this house, it doesn’t mean she’s better than me. After all, she can’t say “Graaaaaaaaaaaandmeow” (and I can when I get hungry). Sometimes I say, “Maaaaaawmmm” too. Now that takes talent and brains.

Did I tell you how much I love catnip? It makes me all warm and woozy inside. I also enjoy licking my butt. And I particularly like chewing on grass to get rid of my hairballs. Sometimes I dispose of them on the kitchen floor, but mostly I like to leave them on the carpet so the dark colors contrast nicely with the light colored carpeting.

I am smart. I’m talented and beautiful. I am the best cat ever. But even with all this perfection, those giants brought home dogs when they moved to the country! The big dog isn’t so bad because we basically ignore each other. But that little dog is another story altogether. Nope. I don’t like her. Her only redeeming quality is that she chases the gray cat. She chased me once but stopped when I slapped her face. Bitch, please. You do not scare me.

I suppose I am starting to get old. I find that I’m moving more slowly and sometimes have to use my claws to climb up the couch. I don’t even try anymore to climb onto the counter or table because I always get shooed off. Now that’s just not right. Over at Ivy’s place, those fat cats of hers always climb on the counters. I think M.’s cats also climb all over the furniture. Sniff. They don’t realize that my chair perch is my throne. I guess they just aren’t royalty like me.

Yawn. You grow tiresome.