Hiss Scratch Piss and Beware!
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
  Genny's Journal is another of our kind's journal. She trains her owner, we observe. By the way, this is Kotoka here.
My owner didn't bother to take me to camp with her. A million scratches to her for that. I pawed through her black book and there appeared to be many birds. Why did she deprive me of such a heaven?
All I get is processed cat food of G-D knows what animal of origin while she gets to see and hear all kinds of delicious birds. She heard parakeets and saw meaty crows. If I could fly, just to enjoy one bird a day. But unless if I were Jewish or an ornithologist, I would not be allowed there.
Billy the cat appears very mad. If I were left alone on a plane for 19 days, I would've pawed the plane to some interesting island--I would've travelled the world on a bird-tasting vacation!
The S. Africans sure love to trap their cats. And they enjoy dogs chasing us too. Thankfully we have PETA in America.
Even in San Francisco, cats are politically correct and used as an excuse to be discriminated. "Hey, I'm a cat fancier! I'm black yo! Give me that job!"
No wonder our way of living works best: sleep, eat, piss, eat sleep piss sleep sleep sleep. Its called catatonic-sim.  
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
  Hello darlings. Old orange Hass here.
As soon as the "owners" left this morning, I was free to slipper surf.
The slippers of the female are open-backed, meaning there is a delightful space where her toes go that would just about fit my head if some cruel creature were to cram me in the slipper, face first. But I like to use it as fairings, that is, like the windshield of a motorcycle.
The slipper is on the kitchen tile. I jump, leap, my orange and white girth flying playfully through the air, and plop my front paws into the toe of the slipper. With my momentum, the slipper and I slide across the tile four feet to the other side of the kitchen (it's a small kitchen.) After some maneuvering disguised as torturing, I can flip the slipper back pointing the other direction.
And the cycle continues, as long as the people downstairs don't hear me. If I could go out and romp with the crows and baby alligators I wouldn't need to reduce myself to frolicking with footwear, but I like to think of myself as the Anne Frank of Cat Blogs. And in the annex, hidden from the super and the nosy old neighbors, I must keep my mind limber with slipper surfing.
Surf, slip, pounce, with paws tightly coordinated into the front of the slipper. It's claw-extendingly fun.
And she wonders why her slippers are never where she left them in the morning.

What is the Political arguments of a cat? Do they like it when they share a bathroom with a smelly human being? How do you know they don't understand your language? What if they do? Kotoka lets you on beyond the howling hisses of the night of 'Meow'.

04/04/2004 - 04/11/2004 / 04/11/2004 - 04/18/2004 / 04/18/2004 - 04/25/2004 / 04/25/2004 - 05/02/2004 / 05/16/2004 - 05/23/2004 /

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