So you want to know how a cat writes a blog don't you? I don't, do I? Cats have a saying, "why keep people and do stuff yourself". I share a house with my half-sister whose name-what-they-call-her is Winnie. We rent a bit of the bed to a bloke who keeps us in fish, Felix and Iams. And Winnie eats cheese. She thinks if she has cheese on her breath mice will walk in. Gotta have a dream Win.
So why the blog? Because he's a Softboy, and he doesn't do life very well. We are mentoring him to build a better life because we truly believe in him and care about him, we think he is very talented and we want to see him fulfill his true potential. No we don't. We just think we should live a fresh Scottish smoked salmon lifestyle rather than a skanky value tinned tuna one. If we sort him out, life gets better for us. It's a no-brainer... a bit like him. Read on.....
Winnie does the carebear bit because she's soft, I just psyche him out to get his act together. Sometimes I bite him. It doesn't help him, but it sure do make me feel a lot better. Winnie says she is the Yin to my Yang. It's all yadayadayada to me.
Here's our story. I know you don't really care what our story is, but I bet you're nosey enough to want to read it anyway.... soft as him aren't you? This is going to be fun... for me. Stick with it anyway, I might sort your life out too, I'm nice like that... shyeah, right.
My full name-what-they-call-me is Daniel H Wendes. It ain't my real name, but real cat names don't translate into words. It's just what they call me. The H is for 'ard. We used to be a big extended family. He had a lady whose name-what-they-called-her was Fitcat, and they had a son whose name-what-they-called-him was Fitkid. I had a brother whose-name-what-they-called-him was Wurly living with us, and Winnie had a Sister whose name-what-they-called-her was Charlie. It wasn't short for Charlotte, it was because the vet couldn't tell a boy cat from a girl cat, and thought Charlie was her brother. It's not hard, boy cats only have one bumhole. I'm not even sure he was a real vet. Probably just some perv who liked fiddling up cats. You get them. A Catophile I reckon.
Anyway, couple of years ago, things went bad, and the Clowder (group of cats) had to become two. It was the saddest day of our lives, but sometimes people and cats are less unhappy apart - even if not happier.
Winnie and Charlie were rescued from a cats home, me and Wurly just turned up one day and moved in. Why, because we're cats, and it's what we do when it suits us. We were only little kids then, but we were in a bad place with bad people, dogs and ferrets. If your life ain't right where you are, you only have three choices. Shut up whingeing and change things. If you don't have the power to change things, then you have to shut up whingeing and just learn to live with it. If you can't change things, and you aren't prepared to live with it, you have to shut up whingeing and get out of it. Have you sussed the common link yet? Yeah. Shut up whingeing! Whinge, don't whinge. Nothing changes, so best not get on peoples wicks.
I made the move first, because I learned early that when you make moves, providence moves with you. I went scouting with my beak, and was lured by the aroma of good chow at Softboy and Fitcat's other house. I knocked the door and went in. A few days later, I went back for Wurly. They already had four cats at the time. Winnie, Charlie, and a morbidly obese tabby whose name-what-they-called-him was Archie. When the chow was there, he grabbed it. He couldn't help himself. He later went to live with Softboy's karate teacher, and got twice as big on a diet of curry and kebabs from the bloke over the back. Last time Softboy saw him, he was about to go to Sumo camp. He was a nice cat him.
There was an evil entity in there too. It lived in a cat's body, but it was a very unsettled spirit, and not to put too fine a point on it, the thing was out of its effing tree. It took the form of a gorgeously cute little half-Burmese and it's name-what-they-called-it was Cozzie. Short for Cosmic Creeper. It was cosmic alright. If ever a cat was on drugs that bugger was. And if it wasn't, it bloody should have been!
It used to get into the bed really sneaky, and then go ballistic. It never harmed the Fitcat who was the only one that could handle it, but it took skin and fur from every other living being it came into contact with. Some days, it was almost normal - except for the twitch and the sparks that came off of it, and the way it used to go cross eyed like it was watching individual specs of dust with seperate eyes - but then it would just flip out. It could defy gravity. It was not of this Earth. In the end it committed suicide under a neighbour's car. Actually dived under the wheel. Even though it was mashed, it was weeks before I was sure it was dead.
Anyway, despite that, their house was a million times better than the other one, so we moved in.
Years later, big change, and here we are. Me, Winnie and Softboy. We haven't got a clue where our lives are headed, but we've learned a valuable lesson. Don't discount ANY possibility. You never know what may occur. Hope for the best, work towards it is all we can do, and if we get smiled on by the Great Skycat that howls on the wind, we might one day live the life of our dreams. I'll have to kick his arse some more first though.
