WARM FUZZY
My owner's name is Buffy. She doesn't take very good care of me. She's always busy fighting vampires and demons and saving the world, she barely has time to feed me. My litterbox rarely gets changed. So I have to poop on the rug instead. Then I get beat. Hey, I just peed on Buffy's favorite dress.
Buffy rarely even talks about me. Other cat owners won't shut up, they babble on and on incessantly about their fuzzy little friends, 'Aw, wouldya believe what Snookums did today, I was washing dishes and he fell in the sink and got suds all over his fuzzy wuzzy head...' Willow gave me to Buffy. Willow smells like patchouli. I hate perfume. Hey, I just ripped up Buffy's socks.
Cats can read. And get online, too. At least, I can. I know how to type. Hey, I just used Buffy's credit card to bid nine hundred dollars on a first edition of Fitzgerald's *Tender is the Night* at e-bay. What I like about being a cat is that I'm naked all the time. Buffy doesn't even fork out the two bucks to buy me a flea collar. Hey, look, I just clawed the drapes. Cool.
Why do I like to lick my own butt so much? Hell if I know. In a past life I was a Republican congressman from Georgia. Who the hell is Angel? Buffy claims I'm named after some jerk named Angel; that's my name, Angel the Kitten. Well, mew, mew, mew. Buffy's gonna beat the holy living crap out of me when she finds out what I did to her holy water. Let's just say it ain't quite as sanctified anymore. Buffy likes to whack me with a rolled-up newspaper. It gets her frustrations out, I suppose, thumping on my kitttenish head. I have big blue eyes and big ears and a soft warm tummy that I love to have rubbed.
Hey, look, I just used Buffy's credit card to donate ten thousand dollars to the National Rifle Association. Thank God for the internet. God, this is the most boring life... Oooh, check it out, someone's creeping in Buffy's window... let's hide under the bed and watch...
I think it's that Angel dude... he's, oh my god, he's in Buffy's closet, he's stripping off his own black trenchcoat, he's taking off all his clothes, he's naked and now he's in Buffy's closet... rifling through her dresses... selecting a tasteful blue evening gown... streching it over his hard, muscled torso... the dress almost splits at the seams...
...now he's in her makeup drawer... ugh, no, pink lipstick, hot glossy pink lipstick, he's putting it on...
Hey, look, there's a ball of string. Cool.