An Open Letter From Lizzie Borden

Lizzie Borden

Cat or Supreme Being Of All I Observe? I am Lizzie Borden. You decide

They call me a Persian, a Rescue, a Rockstar, a shedding layabout doing nothing but causing a twice weekly house vacuum and a butt-shave every few months. Seems another appellation is litter ass. Whatever the hell that means. Oh, my Feline Fineness has also been referred to as Kitten Cat-ccitore, Queen of the Food Puking, Inbred Psycho Kitty and Jesus Christ Get Out From Under My Feet. I take these as the compliments they are meant to be.

Thanks to my Bast-given opposable dew claws the following news may be disseminated via type and Internet. Hey, Queen of Purrshah here.

Let me meow to you about my exclusion from holiday festivities, lack of combing, and owner dereliction  Due to said ‘companion’  (yeah right) Rachael, over the Christmas weekend, days preceding and day following.

1. Left me alone with Roomie James. Not that it’s a bad thing, but he’s allergic to my gorgeous fur. Plus he will NOT allow me in his room.

2. Miss R claims she attended several parties Christmas Eve. One of which happens to be my former abode. Appalling lack of tact.

3. Noticed a considerable weight gain after Miss R returned. Did I gain the weight? Hell no. Fucking Cat Chow. How much of that crap would you eat?

4. As far as I can tell she probably took a hotel room and watched endless re-runs of Law and Order. And ate Wombie Wine Gums. Claims some guy from the Great White North sent her a few bags. Think his name is Pete.  Seems like her style.

5. She claims she got ‘laid’ while absent for four days. Clearly she stated ‘lied.’ Haven’t seen a man anywhere near her in three years, except for her roomie. Cool ‘FUD Allergic Guy’ Doesn’t Count. He is family. He Gives me treats. Miss R? Good for a free meal, and the bedspread on which I shed, purr – for the 5 hours of 24 that I deign to awaken –  and spread cat litter joy. Off my ass fur.

6. The bitch finally makes it home and immediately stepped in my holiday gift to her: Christmas ribbon festooned puke piles. She yelled at me. Cretinous Human!

7. When my companion returned she was also weighed down with Ham and Beans, Corn Bread, a Breadmaker and a Nook. Have no idea what the Nook is but I do enjoy sleeping on it.

8. Miss R (Petting Girl) disavows any knowledge of cat litter scooping. Were not for James (Allergic Guy) and her trip back one day to pet me, love me and promise to be back soon, I would have died. Seriously, who wants to die in the bathroom? Forever stuck in sand and waste material.

Truly all I can announce is Piss Off. If I were an un-neutered male I’d do just that. Being a spayed female tends to suck at the entire Ease Of Pissing thing.

Will give her points on her return: Miss R did feed me treats after the yelling incident. Stil, if not for James (aka Allergic Guy) I would have changed the locks.
Somehow.
If I could bulk up from 5 pounds and drag a chair.

Hope this helps to explain my Life With Miss R. Do NOT trust her. She likes Wine Gums, Chocolate, and still misses a good stiff martini. She is fretful about DOGS. Heard her muttering about two she had previously owned. Wait.
What is Dog?

Miss R here: Lizzifer has been banished to the living room, my bedroom and kitchen and condemned to a life of Cat Chow and tidbits. She is a liar, freak of nature and cheats at poker.

She cunningly upchucks on any rug in the house. Having hard wood floors this is a feat. She is clearly fucking with me.

Currently available for adoption: Must like small piles of vomit, cat litter all over the house, disposal of yesterday’s dry food because it is stale, and opposable dew claws.
NO DOGS.

Glad I caught this before she hit send.

Oh hell.