I am nearly 17 years old.

I will be 17 on April 15th. According to the Humans, this makes me quite the old lady. I prefer to think of myself as a teenager: I like my primping and preening, and the entire world revolves around ME.

Even though my 17th birthday is coming up, I'm still very healthy after all of these years. My eyesight and hearing are great (just because I don't acknowledge you doesn't mean I don't know you're there. I'm just ignoring you). What's that, you say? I'm not jumping up on chairs and beds, or hunting as much as I used to? Oh, that has nothing to do with creaky joints, ladies and gentlemen, it's because I have the humans so thoroughly trained to cater to my every whim that I don't NEED to hunt for my own food or set up my own sleeping spots anymore. No: dinner is A La Carte, and I get the finest heated and blanketed spots in the house. I even get the curtains adjusted for -maximum sunbeam action-.

I will admit, though, that I need the humans to help groom me a bit. I just don't have the time to do it anymore. When you're overseeing the entire household, there's just no time to make your hair 'star quality'. Unfortunately, those silly Humans can't seem to understand my directions, and I keep getting these ugly hair cuts! If only I had opposable thumbs, I'd be dialing Jennifer Lopez' stylist this very instant!

I have not been in a good mood, and so I've been taking out my aggression on that silly creature I live with, Oliver. I'M the one holding this house together, so he has all the time in the world to prance around with his super clean, fluffy long hair. It's like he just rolls out of the recliner in the morning, already brushed and ready to go! I just want to smack him.

I swear, if a picture of my new haircut shows up on this profile, I am firing my publicist IMMEDIATELY.

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