To The D*gs!

As a cat I've never had much patience for d*gs. I mean, on occasion one meets the rare mongrel that is, at the absolute most, tolerable, but for the most part, they're all rubbish-chewing yappers with zero by way of intellect. At my current address, however, it's not necessarily the d*gs who are the problem; it's their owners.

At what point did it become fashionable for someone to harbor an animal that they can't stand? Why the devil would anyone in his right mind keep a creature for whom they could care less? I realize that I keep a human or two, but I take care of them, don't I? I don't toss them out in the rain, sleet, or snow just because they make a bit of a mess on the carpet, or because they talk too much, but I swear that's what some of these humans are doing with their d*gs. At all hours I hear barking. It's as bad as a ticket queue outside a convention hall that has mistakenly billed the International Fire-Plug Manufacturers' Annual Conference for the same date as the AKC Championship D*g Show. Whether it's one o'clock in the afternoon or one o'clock in the morning, it makes no difference to these people. They toss them out on their ridiculously floppy ears to bark their fool heads off! It curls my tail!

Mind you, I'm not just spouting off at the whiskers. I've handled the situation with considerable patience, but there's only so much a cat can take. I've tried everything. I've burrowed under the covers; I've burrowed beneath the spare pillows in the closet; I've stolen my human's earplugs; though I must admit I couldn't figure out how to get them in properly, so I had a bit of a bat about with them instead. I've even called the local butchery and asked if they could deliver 32 soup bones, each to a different address, in hopes that this would give the rottenweilers something to stop up their festering gobs. Unfortunately, even with all of the monies I've made from advertising and eBay, I couldn't afford the price of delivery. (Curse the cost of wretched resources! How hard can it be to renew the petroleum fields? What with all the species going extinct under man's domination, one might well wonder why the cost of petrol hasn't dropped!)

I suppose it's no worse than anywhere else in the world. It's the inevitability of living in a city: Sooner or later someone will get the bright idea to buy a puppy, forgetting that they do eventually grow into d*gs. That d*g gets tossed out, he starts to howl, the neighbor's mutt follows, and next thing you know, it's the Moron Terrier Cackle Choir doing their rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus in B (for bark) major up and down the street.

I suppose rather than whinging about my personal lot, I ought to buck it up and try a bit harder. Purrhaps I could learn to operate the CD player. I'll bet a set of headphones would be far easier to master than those earplugs, and if not, there's a nice wiggly cord I could play with.

Yours Purringly,
W.C. Humphries II (Mr. Fleez for short.)