The Hundred and Eighth Shudder

Not only do I have to live under the same roof as a CAT [who my parents have re-christened her Fluffy -despite watching that documentary on Animal Planet yesterday that VERY clearly stated that animals should not be given numerous names due to that amount of confusion that is sure to follow. Not that a CAT can be EVER mistaken for something as majestic as an ANIMAL. But still-] but, apparently, I have to PLAY with it as well!!

PLAY!!

At first, I thought they were joking. Who in their right mind expects DOGS and CATS to get along?? And what is the point, anyway?? We have enough friends in our respective species, thank you very much. I don’t need a skinny, flea-infested, rodent-catcher as a companion.

The Hundred and Seventh Relief

Thank HEAVENS. The C-A-T* is only a temporary member of the family. She’s Dad’s colleague’s wife’s brother-in-law’s nephew’s pet and, as they are going on a world cruise, they decided that they’d dump their gruesome feline at our place.

The only thing better than waking up to discover that a C-A-T* has been added to your family for the time being is waking up to discover that a C-A-T* has been added to your family forEVER. My blood curdles just thinking about it.

Imagine seeing a C-A-T* at the foot of your dining table first thing in the morning, ever single morning for the REST OF YOUR LIFE. The only thing scarier would be watching Paranormal Activity 4 when you’re home alone.

Temporary or not, the presence of this measly excuse of an animal is starting to bug me. Just because it doesn’t like any flavor other than beeping tuna, why do I have to go through shovels of fish for MY meals??

WHY can’t my family loosen their purse strings for ONCE IN THEIR LIVES and order me a nice, deluxe meal from the gourmet dog restaurant across the street?? I’m telling you, it is sheer TORTURE to see pampered pooches being chauffeured into the place by their filthy rich owners on a daily basis.

If THEY can have “rich, creamy slices of steak garnished with avocado and lime” WHY CAN’T I?!?!? They aren’t BETTER than me, right?? I mean, do they have blogs with GLOBAL FAN-FOLLOWINGS?? Are they CAPABLE of THINKING?? DO THEY KNOW HOW TO FLUFFING TYPE????????????

I can assure you, they most certainly do NOT.

SO WHHYY????????? WHHYY MEEEEE?????????? [And I am not typing each letter twice because my paw keeps slipping thanks to the tears that are gushing from my blood-shot eyes. I'm doing it for dramatic effect, of course]

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*I’ve refrained from using certain words throughout the duration of the post and have utilized their spellings instead to avoid political disturbance [C-A-T's can't READ, you know -they're SO stupid- Hey, if you think about it, I'm the stupid one here. If they can't read in the first place, why have I bothered to SPELL THE WORDS OUT?? My idiocy baffles the mind, it really does].

The Hundred and Fifth Protest

I openly revolted against my family’s alarming decision today. I refused to touch my meals, didn’t allow them to take me outside to relieve myself, shut my snout firmly when it was medicine time, didn’t even let myself get tempted by the beef  chew they were attempting to coax me with.

That’s why they’re frantically calling up every vet in town, informing them about how their pet is acting “abnormal” and would they be able to squeeze in an emergency appointment??

However, according to my expert opinion, my behaviour is definitely justified. In fact, I think I’m letting it slide easy. I should be staging full-fledged hunger strikes, toilet-papering their house, arranging for disastrous riots. Ignoring the food they’ve kept out for me is too mild for the cause I’m fighting for. Surely.

 

The Hundred and Fourth Disbelief

Out of all the ways they could have sinned, out of ALL of them, they chose to… they chose to do THIS!!

It’s downright outrageous!! I mean, the Tuna-kibble is bad enough [curse its producers. What were they THINKING??] and now they go ahead and do something as absolutely disrespectful as what they have done just about a week ago.

Do they have ANY idea what this is going to do to my spotless reputation?? Don’t blame me if I suddenly become the least-popular, most-bullied dog on the block. It’s all their fault, after all.

ALL THEIR FAULT.

Seriously, if humans are supposedly at the top of the living creature hierarchy, I shudder to think about the bad hands the earth has fallen into.

The Hundred and Second Topic-Change

I’ve been droning on about B-Dawg for far too long now, Dear Reader, and you had better admit it. I mean, this heated debate as to who is going to replace me has taken up extremely too much of our time. There are other things we have to discuss, things that just happen to be slightly more earth-shattering than a run-of-the-mill advice columnist.

This like what happened to me this morning;

The day started out like any other; Mom preparing breakfast, Dad “suiting up,” Taylor and Kathryn getting ready for school and myself snoring away to glory. As on time as a cue in Broadway, the sisters marched into the master bedroom at 8:05 AM precisely and proceeded to tickle me ’til I stopped eliciting the abnormally loud snored that erupted out of my snout.

Giggling frivolously, the girls then walked back out, mission accomplished, leaving me with:

1] A bad case of the hiccups and

2] An equally -if not worse- case of morning breath [This part is also, unfortunately, part what happens to me every singly morning]

I struggle to pull myself to an erect position and continue towards the dining room, where the [mostly] happy family is seated by now, chatting about mild, unimportant stuff like the supposed discovery of a cancer-curing antibiotic and some weird thing called the “higgs boson”. The Philistines. If only they knew there were more pressing matters to be discussed.

Like how nobody has filled my bowl with breakfast yet. I mean, what’s up with THAT?? Would they rather talk about lamo scientific breakthroughs than feed their dog who, last time I checked, was also classified as a living being, therefore their equal??

Before I could start sending them the Hunger Signal [i.e, a loud-enough-to-shatter-glass tummy rumble succeeded by a sorry-about-that-but-I-haven't-been-fed-for-a-while-now-so-WHAT-ON-EARTH-DO-YOU-EXPECT, semi-sympathetic look], Mom edged away from the table and quietly made my first snack of the day.

Grateful that SOMEONE cared, I dug into my bowl…

… Only to taste TUNA. TUNA!!

‘Relax Feni,’ Mom coaxed, noticing my panic-stricken face. ‘They ran out of chicken kibble at the pet shop, so we thought we’d try out another flavour. How do like it??’ She asked, as if she expected me to answer.

I’m sure that even if my tongue was capable of forming understandable words, I wouldn’t have been able to talk. My mind swirled, my head twirled and all I could think about was how dumb, how dumb and UTTERLY STUPID humans could get.

“Try out new flavours??” What was THAT supposed to mean?? If they run out of Cornflakes at the supermarket, do my parents decide to try out RAW GARLIC for breakfast instead?? NO, they drive along until they find ANOTHER mart and purchase the Fruit Loops from THERE, right??

SO WHY DID I GET TUNA??????????

I mean, even if it was a life-and-death kind of thing and my ‘rents just HAD to choose a flavour from THAT VERY STORE, why TUNA, the KITTY-FOOD-FLAV??????????

Sure, I’m not an idol-citizen and I make my fair share of mistakes. But to bring me down to the level of a FELINE?????? That’s harsh, brother. It really is.

God, those four-legged fuzzballs really do give me the creeps. Have you SEEN anything more sickening than a CAT?? I’m telling you, if ONLY horror movie makers replaced zombies and flesh-eating monsters with tabbies, they’d make millions. Millions.

They’d be the richest guys floating around. Everybody will want to be one of them. And if this idea ever DOES come into play, remember that you first heard it from a little blogging dog from a corner of the earth.