She came back inside cold and wet. Her fur was caked with cold water and she was panting heavily. I don’t understand how or why she is so happy.
I have descended into the depths of hell. My only hope is of purgatory at the end of this nightmare. The thing has stayed. I repeate. The thing has stayed. I have protested in every way possible. I have shown my butt to my mother on no less than five separate occasions. I have even pressed my filthy rear end against her face, waking her from slumber, but she has remained unmoved. It has “behavior issues”. It only likes my mother and father. It has become my “sister”. It is the devil walking amongst us. It is the epitome of all things vile and deadly. Nothing shall ever be the same again. Look at her face. She will destroy us all.
Mother has decided to take a break from fostering cats. Or so she claims. The three infants have stolen the land of the bathroom from myself and my peasants. They are still sneezing. They need “additional care”. The villainous fiends are up all night running around, knocking down MY possessions, rubbing themselves on MY human.
But that is not the real problem. The cats understand that I, Bear Belefante Farrell-Decker, as their rightful Queen and savior. The newest “foster” does not have the mental ability to understand my divine worth. The new foster, the new intruder, is a demon sent straight from hell. The new foster is …. dog.
It’s been insane in my kingdom. My mother has completely and totally lost her mind. Six! Six! Six, fosters at once. She is insane. Five of them are infants, toddling around the bathroom, crapping in the shower, making all sorts of noise throughout the night. Mother proudly proclaims that she brought them back to life…. I would have preferred otherwise. On top of that she ADOPTED a kitty. The paperwork was on the table yesterday. Luckily that was short lived. The cat was for her kin. She has vacated the premises. Will this insanity ever end. Evil. That’s what this is, pure and simple evil. Look at how terrible these creatures are.
My sneezes have increased. I believe I have the plague. Mother agrees. She knows death will be coming soon. She has decided to poison me with a foul tasting potion. After much retching I have managed not to swallow a drop. She says poison or sneezing. I choose sneezing. I shall die with dignity.