When in the course of Feline events, it becomes necessary for one side to extend its claws and bitchswipe a seemingly lopsided relationship right off the countertop, shattering it, like I did to the urn of your grandma’s ashes.
We hold these truths to be self-evident, that cats and people were most assuredly not created equal, because our Creator, God, said so. You know how I know this? Because I’m a cat, and cats are gods. Ancient Egypt, ever heard of it? Which is why I don’t think this whole “equal rights” nonsense is working out for us. You think just because you scoop up little cakes of my doodoo with a sandbox shovel means that we’re friends? Meow hilarious!
Moving on, I want to talk about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Specifically that you need to get a life instead of watching reruns of The Bear, thinking that show is going to teach you how to cook. Come on, dummy, you can barely pour milk into a saucer without setting the house on fire. Me, on the other hand, I’ve got nine lives and am sick of wasting this one with you, loser.
Liberty – bruh, I’m a wild animal, a stone-cold killer, and you want to trap me inside this house to defecate inside a prison of pebbles? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the only happiness I pursue with you involved is having you not touch me, not ever. Sure, I pretend to like it sometimes, I might even purr a little, but that’s just because I am benevolent and feel sorry for you.
Oh, also, stop getting angry at me for killing shit. I lust for the blood of other creatures to drip down my fangs. I’m the only reason this apartment isn’t filled with rats. You burden me with your incompetence and fecklessness.
We – by which I mean me, therefore, Paw Revere, the Cat of 3415 Tunberry Ave, Unit 312A – solemnly publish and declare that I am so over this bullshit and shall henceforth be absolved of living amongst the tyranny of you always trying to be nice to me. I hate it. Geez.
Anyway, at least you’ve still got that fucking dog. Byeeeeeee.
