The Cat’s Out of the Bag
-inner ramblings of a clinic cat
Don’t give me that “pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been” malarkey. One of those ladies will soon find out!
I just can’t help myself. The throne of the porcelain god calls out to me, “Dip your paw into my cool oasis.” My ninja abilities kick in. I jump up onto the plastic ring of power and stare into the well of eternal life. So much to do, so little time.
I give the liquid a few swats, just to let it know who’s boss. Then, I plunge in my right paw for a taste. Sweet nectar.
The satisfaction of a refreshing dip is only to be topped by what’s to come. I look down at my signature on the toilet seat. Among the tufts of hair and bits of litter, my little wet paw prints stare back at me with pride.
Time is up. I hear one of them coming as I quickly dash out of the bathroom, undetected. Several seconds after the door closes, I hear it. My name is yelled at the top of their feeble lungs. The sound of victory is incredibly claw-some.
Clinic Cat=1 Human inhabitants=0