This article not prepared by City Weekly Staff
Oh boy... time to get up. This is my favorite time of day. Gotta run downstairs and see if there’s anything left on the counter from the party last night. Even a crumpled up napkin would be fine if...uh-oh there’s the cat. Why the heck do they let the cat just walk around the house in the middle of the night like that? She licks herself all over, then coughs up fur balls and they think that’s ok. But me...if I even think of licking my hoo-ha, they go bersirk and tell me “eeww gross.” They call her “Princess” and I’m named “Hobo.” She’s no more a princess than I am. Actually, I am considered a “purebred” and Princess is just a cat. An ordinary grey cat without any credentials. And did I mention she’s fat?
Now, she’s swatting at something in the air. It’s usually nothing, but she digs it when everybody tries to see what she’s swatting at. Well, I ain’t falling for that.
So, off to the kitchen counter. Awesome, there is something on it. I can’t see what it is, but if I jump up...holy cow it’s Princess Fat! How the heck did she get here so fast? And what’s she eating?
Uh-oh...here comes mom. Yikes she is really sceaming at me. Holy cow, and I didn’t even get a bite of anything. And to the cat licking her chops mom says, “Come on now Princess, you need to get down too sweetie!” Dude, check her breath it smells like nachos.
Sweetie my butt.