|AND I'LL KEEP ON FIGHTING 'TIL THE END
||[Jul. 21st, 2012|03:23 pm]
Is therealljidol really still going on? Really? I declared victory in October 2011, so I figured that by now, eight years later, it would be finished.|
Eight years later, of course, in cat years. Jeez. The Fat Man asked that I include that "in case somebody reading doesn't know who you are," but, duh, who doesn't know who I am?
Oh yeah, image descriptions. This first picture is of me on high alert. Me, Kitty Michaels.
So this lady (who wrote this piece) named porn_this_way contacts me and asks me to be her champion. Lady, let me tell you, I am everybody's champion. As in I've beaten all of you. Beaten you down. Beaten down and buried in the sand box.
Come to think of it, the sand box sounds like a fine idea right now. Excuse me a moment.
This second picture is of me, Kitty Michaels, chilling under a towel. I call it my blanky.
All right, I'm back and now I'm under my blanky. Yeah, I use a blanky now. Tough cats can use blankies, too. I'm old. That's what I want to write about today. Being old.
Fourteen years ago, in May of 2011, the evil vet told the Fat Man that I had a month to live. I freaked out until the Fat Man told me that meant I had a year to live, my time. It turns out, I had a year to live in Fat Man time, too, because here I am, still around, still strong (mentally strong) and still showing the Fat Man and Grey Cat who is boss.
Me, I am boss.
All right, in this third picture, it's me, Kitty Michaels, sitting on the arm of the couch with a little food on my lip. You can see the Fat Man reaching over to wipe it off. I will bite him. Not kidding.
Getting old kind of sucks though. I can't keep dry food down - which turns out to be awesome because I get wet food every single day now. Sometimes, I make the fat man chew up his lunch meat and feed me that. It sounds gross, but it tastes so good, and I heave it up if its not pre-chewed. That is one of his jobs now. Food chewer.
This fourth picture is of me looking at an enormous sandwich the Fat Man is eating. He has to eat enormous sandwiches to stay fat.
I also have to be more careful about jumping on and off things. I can't jump up on my own, so the Fat Man has to put me on the couch and on the bed. I also have to wait for the Fat Man to put me back on the floor, so my old habit of resting on his feet comes in handy. When that lumbering behomoth wakes up, I feel his leg twitch and get on with the necessary swats to his chin and eyes. Man, nothing like punching a human in the face a bunch to make you feel alive. Know what I'm saying?
No, do you? Do you know what I'm saying?
In this fifth picture, I, Kitty Michaels, am sleeping on the Fat Man's leg. He's under a blanket, so you don't have to imagine anything icky.
I'm not supposed to eat grass anymore, but the Fat Man will let me chew on it. He says humans chew on leaves so why shouldn't I? Upon my order, he grew a pot of cat grass, which is now looking more like green gum. I never bothered to learn how to pull up stalks of grass (that is what the Fat Man is for), but that's just as well because (and this is a theme of old age) I barf it up.
The foreground of this picture features a healthy crop of grass. The background of this picture is me, Kitty Michaels, looking through the grass.
Anyhow, between the vomiting, the inability to leap places, and the messy face (I let the Fat Man clean my face after I eat these days - saves energy), I know that my days are dwindling down. I'm measuring out my afternoons in Fancy Feast covered spoons. There are just too many signs to ignore. The end is nigh. This will likely be my last journal entry and my final official communique.
Soon, somebody else will need to be there to hear the laughter of small children - and immediately squelch it via Cuisinart style multi-claw attacks. Somebody else will need to help clean Grey Cat's ears and butt with their tongue - I try to get the Fat Man to do this, but he's hopeless. And somebody else will need to remind you all that I've won this and every other season of LJI - I trust Gary enough to know he'll tell you.
Enough of this writing stuff. I have more important things to do.
This final picture is of me, Kitty Michaels, asleep with my feets near my face. Kind of stalkerish of the Fat Man to take pictures of me while I sleep, frankly.
Love to everyone who's sent me chicken over the years. Except the Fat Man.