Ricci Schwarzler - Soil

Hmm what a day. I stood by my bowl for ALL to see…did they? No of course not. What is wrong with these humans? They can’t understand my language and they can’t even understand body language or even direct visual cues. They are moronic.

I’m starving. They haven’t given me any meat and my secondary biscuit bowl is insultingly devoid of biscuits. Do they forget that I can’t open the fucking cupboard myself? Nor open the bag with its fancy kliplok seal…who could open those stupid things? I see my slave struggling with it every time she tries to get me any biscuits.

I look at one of the slaves as they enter the kitchen. A steely stare emanates from my golden eyes…I quite like my eyes. I spend numerous hours of a night on the vanity staring at them in the mirror. I’m quite good looking and I really do appreciate my personality. It’s a shame the slaves don’t realise it. Ever since they bought that stupid bloody dog I seem to have slipped into the background. Not that I’m complaining, cats don’t do that sort of thing, because it’s not actually complaining when you know you are always right, it’s just stating a fact. The slaves are always wrong, and the dogs are pretty much Nature’s waste of space.

I sit by the bowl, waiting. The imbecile slobbers its way over and sticks its stupid big head into the water bowl…my water bowl…and empties it. That’s the dog I mean, not the slave. But it wouldn’t surprise me if they did the same thing.

It then slobbers all over my plate where my meat IS MEANT TO BE!!!! ANYONE????

I give it a hard stare, but it’s too stupid to realise the menace. As it walks away, I raise my paw…claws engaged…I deliver three skud missile scrapes to its rear end. It gives a satisfactorily loud yelp. Claws retracted, paw down, innocent look on my face, staring at my bowl. The slaves rush over and suspect nothing. But are still too stupid to see the EMPTY BOWL.

I’m getting to the end of my tether. If they don’t work it out soon, there will be repercussions. Actually, there will be repercussions anyway, because after all, I am a cat!

Finally, one of them gets it. ‘Oh Tilly, I didn’t see you there, do you want some din dins?’

‘ARE YOU FOR REAL? OF COURSE. GIVE ME MY DIN DINS! I’VE BEEN HERE FOR AT LEAST 5MINS…THAT’S TOO LONG IN ANY CAT’S BOOK.’

The meat arrives and I rush in, pretending I’m starving, but really, it’s an excuse to bite the hand that feeds me. It works. CHOMP. Got it.

‘Ow Tilly, be careful, you missed the meat and got me.’

‘No I didn’t slave. I got exactly what I wanted…again.’

My stomach full, I realise I need the loo. I have perfectly fine kitty litter but at this time of morning the sprinklers have been on in the garden and the soil is nice and wet. The slaves let me outside and I visit the patch of dirt that has my name on it. Not really, it has my poo and wee on it.

Business complete I wander back into the house, purposely dragging my muddy paws on the carpet. I sit down and add a different type of ‘soil’ from my hairy backside to the carpet as well, and to top things off and really deliver a decent ‘repercussion’, I promptly wander into the small slave’s bedroom and violently throw-up all the beforementioned meat…on HIS carpet.

Job complete, I settle onto his bed for a well-deserved catnap.