Over the holidays, while shopping for rubbish for their friends, my "owners" ran across a book called
Stuff on My Cat. They found it an amusing tome, "written" by a guy who became bored with his feline's indolent ways. He was enticed down a diabolical path, which began with him stacking stuff onto his sleeping cat. Soon that was no longer enough for him, and he began documenting his crimes with one of those monstrous digital visual-recall devices. He eventually started a Web site to further debase his companion. And, well, you know the disastrous results. He published a book of unauthorized photos that embarrassed untold thousands of my feline brethren. It is giving humans (for whom I've always strongly advocated) a bad name.
Easily the most horrific legacy of Mr. Garza's endeavors is the influence he has had on thousands of otherwise rational
Homo sapiens, my so-called caregivers included. Rather than using them at the laundromat or in arcade games, they decided to see how many quarters they could place on my unresponsive body until I became the wiser. They photographed me in this compromised position. Then they posted it on my blog and changed the password so that I can't remove it. Now I have "text only" access, so that this is the only way I can mitigate the damage. I think Mr. Garza is immune from prosecution but, at the very least, you could write and express your disgust via his Web site at www.stuffonmycat.com. Please, PLEASE, don't look at the photos.
UPDATE: As you can tell by now, my graphics and photo access has been restored, but I will sacrifice my dignity and keep this photo online as a cautionary tale.
I can say with all candor that I've never met a human I didn't like. Cats are a different story. Isabel, Smilla and Pickles are sufferable enough, as they pretty much stay out of my way. But this cat pictured here is a whole different ball of yarn. He is called Max, though that is ostensibly a placeholder name given to him until my "owners" can find this stray cat a home with new people who would ultimately christen him something they thought appropriate. But more and more I hear them talking to him in an increasingly familiar way. "Max, come here!" "Max, stop chasing Henry's tail!" "Max, get outta my cereal bowl!" "Why Max, if you aren't the sweetest thing!" and other exclamations and admonishments beginning with "Max .....!" Frankly, I wonder if this freeloader is ever truly going to leave. My "owners" sometimes read my blog and so, for their benefit, I'm listing things I find intolerable about "Max!"
