LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME...

See? Didn't I TELL you that I'm famous and important? My diary was selected as THE BEST diary to ever appear on catster.com. I don't mean to brag to you other kitties, or anything, but I'm just so proud of myself.

My diary SHOULD be selected and I'm happy that the catster people realized quality writingwhen they see it. I am, after all, a FAMOUS CAT - my picture has appeared in many national publiciations and I'm even featured in a BOOK that my human published. That's because I'm a cat with a JOB...I WORK for a living, unlike most of you slackers who SLEEP for a living. Yes, I have a 9 to 11 job - spending two-hours of my time silently hiding in a carrier while cat detection dogs sniff around in an effort to find me.

The cat detection dogs, of course, get all the glory. They are the ones who wear the bright orange SEARCH DOG vests, they are out in the public and typically filmed by the media, they locate the lost cats and get ALL of the thanks. But if it wasn't for me, they would never have learned how to find lost cats in the first place.

If you'd like one of my autographed "target cat" trading cards, then visit my full profile. I'm sure I can find the time to write you a personal message and have my human stick it in the mail.

Time to go and find a mirror. Thanks for being my fan!

Mr. C.

An INSIDERS View

Allright. Look. I've had it up to my whiskers with some of you outdoor cats who brag about your so-called "adventures." And I swear, this message is especially for the lilly-livered, gray-and-white, fluff-butt, tom who dares to saunter onto my front lawn and wag his forked tounge every morning, I'm gonna HUNT YOU DOWN one of these days!

I just want to say here and now that I get to go outside, TOO. Even though I only go out when I'm accompanied by my slave-person, when I go out, it's because I HAVE A JOB to do, not because I want to bury my poop in a neighbor's garden. PULL-EEEASE! I AM FAMOUS and I get to travel around to large groups of people who admire me. So unlike you cheesey varmots who eat trash and brag about being outdoor cats, I am not restricted to a tiny territory because THE WORLD is MY territory! And I hate to brag, but I'm going to anyways. How many of you poor schmucks have your own pet mouse? My mouse is named Squeakers and she is plump and, best of all, a slow mover.

So gloat all that you want about your freedom to roam, your ability to poop in garden dirt, and your opportunities to stalk wounded birds. It just so happens that I have a mouse, a spoiled life, and I HAVE IT MADE!

Mr. C