Hello, Subjects. I’d apologise for my longer-than-a-week absence, except it isn’t my fault. There’s been all this hoopla about somebody’s labia. I don’t know what a labia is exactly, but I’m sick of hearing about it. The other thing that happened is that my humans’ humans came to stay! Who knew I had Grandparents?! And of the English variety! Yes, just like my people originally came from Burma, it turns out that my male human’s humans come from England. They sure did sound funny. Actually, my Grandpop sounds just like Michael Cane. I’ve seen Michael Cane on TV and, seriously, you wouldn’t know it wasn’t him to listen to him.
Anyway, it turns out that my Grandparents don’t like cats. I know. It’s a capital offence. I googled it. I fear for their lives.
Not. Like. Cats. Look, between you and me, not liking Bronte, I can understand. I mean, she is a moggy after-all. She doesn’t do anything. She doesn’t play fetch or talk or google. She’s, you know… slow. But me? Not like ME? I immediately went about setting that to rights. The following is a list of the things I did to WIN THEM OVER:
- Played fetch (easy)
- Talked (easy)
- Looked adorable (pfft)
- Googled stuff (breeze)
- Pointed at Bronte’s regular vomiting with a perfectly muscled arm and claw-clipped paw while I sat and looked adorable and vomit-free
- Demonstrated how I can play chasey with humans, but better than humans can
- Recited Clancy of the Overflow in my custom-made tweed jacket.
Ok, so the last one may not have happened, but it could happen, if I wanted it to. It totally worked, naturally. They lapped it up. Had them eating right out of my perfect paws. My Grandma was petting me and cooing to me. They even bought me a present when they left. Yup, a new toy! It moves by itself! They’re the best kind and it’s total proof that they won’t go to jail now.
So, yeah. I totally saved their lives. I hope they come back one day. I’d like another toy that moves.