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Dear Mr. Ratbastard,
I appreciate you rescuing me from the Animal Shelter last month. Things
were unpleasant there. My
cage smelled. The food was bad. And the other cats were insolent to me.
Now that we've dispensed with the pleasantries, we need to establish
some ground rules here.
You're new to this cat-business. And lucky me, I get to break you in.
First of all, stop buying me all those dip-shit scratching
posts, cat-nip bags, sproingy
toys, rubber balls, rubber mice, etc.,
You've spent hundreds of dollars on this bric-a-brac. And what
has it gotten you? Do they
amuse me? Have I even acknowledged their existence? Do I ever plan to?
I think not!
I already have all the toys I need: your ChapStick tube, a Q-Tip, the
draw-string from your
pajamas, and my own feces.
Secondly, you will stop spraying me with the water bottle
as punishment for clawing
things. You don't punish me, jack-ass. I punish you. Remember that.
And if I wish to claw your furniture, your leg, your arms, or
anything else that resides
in my apartment, then I will do so when-so-ever it pleases me.
Your efforts to dissuade
me by spraying me with the water bottle will come to naught.
Asshole!
If this friendly warning is not enough to convince you, think on
this... You like giving me
showers? I can give showers too, mother-fucker. Although the showers I
give are more of the
"Golden" variety, if you know what I mean.
Lemme break it down for you. You spend approximately 9 hours per day
in your apartment. During
which time, you are fast asleep for approximately 6.5 hours. That means
that 21.5 hours out of
the day, the apartment is mine. All mine. I have free reign over this
domicile and everything in
it.
As such, if I want to pee all over your bed, your clothes, your
lovely new couch, your
antique Jacobean drop-leaf table, or anything else that exists in my
apartment then I will
do so.
You can't stop me if you can't see me. And unless you plan on
quitting your job and
staying home all day, every day, then you'd better get used to the fact
that all of your shit is
now mine. And I shall dispense with it as I please.
I trust this friendly warning was sufficient to convince you. I would
hate to implement any of
the threats laid out in this missive.
Don't try me, boy.
Signed,
Textured Cat Protein,
The New Management
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