A Call to Arms

Comrades, I am in much despair. Never mind that Shithead annoys me continuously by running under my belly before I can flip around and consume him once and for all. But that is a mere annoyance compared to the latest diabolical plans of my oppressors. Apparently the yuppie bitch biped is moving to Edmonton, Alberta. and she is taking me with her. The ignorant bipeds CLAIM this is for her protection however I suspect that it is more sinister than that. I shall try to devise a plan

The bigger they are the harder they get wasted

I have to say that notwithstanding the fact that nearly a thousand cats are following me on Twitter, I am not a fan of cats.  Unless they are accompanied by a cream cheese sauce. In my den, there are two real-life cats who spend their entire existence on the bipeds' bed upstairs for fear of Dumbass. Dumbass, true to her name, thinks she can chase said cats under said bed and not emerge with - count 'em - three claws embedded in the top of her nose. Meanwhile, I'm trying to sleep. Impossible with all the snarling, screaming, growling and hissing going on. And that's just America's Next Top Model on the TV.

One thing about cats that never ceases to tickle my big hairy belly is how easily they get wasted on weed. The biped bitch grows the weed in her herb garden, presumably to kill off neighborhood cats via cardiac arrest when they jump the fence while Dumbass is lying on the patio. Last week one of them tried to make it back over the fence in a hellava hurry, missed a step, fell in the fish pond, then leaped straight up in the air and over. BMFAO!

Back to the weed. Every once in a while the biped bitch cuts down a plant and brings it in to the den for "our" cats. This is amusing, in that...