Secret Life

29 Mar

I don’t want anyone to think me bigoted or against world peace, but I have to draw the line somewhere.  I am trying to reach across the aisle, but you give some species an inch and you end up in the embrace of a slobbery guy who likes to rub his nose in your silken coat.  I can’t say that I blame him, but his nose is almost the size of my whole head, and his cuddling is bordering on aggressive.  I can be honest, I like to be in charge; I am freakishly controlling, but it has never really been a problem up to now.  He’s actually a likeable fellow, but I am horrified at the thought of our people realizing that we like each other.  I don’t mind a hug and a nap when they are out for the day, but yesterday they came home and saw me snuggled up against this lummox as though I had accepted him as my own kind, and I can’t have that.  I am the cat after all.  I am not good at fetch, I rarely greet guests with a smile and a wag of my tail – the only thing I have going for me is my superior, almost snobbish attitude.  Without that I may be deemed an ordinary house pet, and that’s enough to make me hack up a hair ball.  Life as a relatively compassionate feline can be terribly exhausting.


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