A few weeks ago, my humans - without consulting me - catnapped me from my chilled apartment life, put me in a box, and dumped me somewhere new. I hate new.
I loved that apartment - I spent my days there living my best life: mostly stretching, lounging, eating and playing. I suppose the humans will expect me to do the same sort of stuff at this new place. They can be a bit demanding, this lot.
The new place is big and scary - it's taken me weeks to sniff out all the different corners. The first night, I waited until someone left a door open and then I bolted.
It was hilarious, watching them all running around the neighbourhood for two hours, looking for me. Idiots didn't realise I was hiding in a bush, a few metres from the back door, the whole time. I strolled in when I was ready. I might do that again soon.
My humans move around like un-neutered tom cats. This is their third move since I rescued them from the shelter three years ago. And they come and go all the time. I have six humans who all claim to be my slaves, but I am angry at at least four of them, because they seem to live somewhere else sometimes.
Since moving, they have bought some new furniture. My favourite is a new chair which fits me perfectly, so obviously I've claimed it as my throne / scratching post.
Now we have been here for three weeks, I am considering taking a few days off from punishing them for making me move. I might stop scratching their new chair, or I might stop demanding food at 4 a.m.
Oh, wait! I have just discovered that I am famous (over 25,
000 followers on Instagram and over 17,000 "likes" on my last post!) so, I may have changed my mind. In fact, I am thinking of upping my demands. Now, someone get me some double cream...and a feather boa.
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