Apparently Daddy caught a stomach bug that’s going around. We all know that when a kitty gets sick, she just throws up somewhere visible, and humans take care of it. Then she eats more food. Not Daddy. He’s all, "Whine-whine-whine, stomach hurts, whine, eat white rice, whine, diarrhea, whine!" It’s making me mad.
This is a problem on two levels. One, Daddy is a lower mammal that apparently can’t give as many scritchies when he’s sick. He’s always too busy whining, or too busy sleeping, or having to interrupt my scritchies so he can go to the bathroom. What’s wrong with him? The whole point of diarrhea is that you get to poop wherever you are. That’s what I do. And then my humans clean up after it. So, Daddy should, if he were smart, like me, just poop on the chair (it’s not like he isn’t wearing pants) and finish scratching me, and then he and Mommy can clean up after him.
And let’s not even get started on Mommy. She’s all, "How’s my baby?" and, "Are you feeling better?" and rubbing Daddy’s back. Listen up, Thumb Beast: You have one baby, one mammal upon whom you dote, and one mammal whose thick furry back you rub. That mammal is me. If Daddy wants my job, he’d better learn to fight cardboard loudly in the middle of the night and poop in a box. I don’t think Daddy is kitty enough to do either!
But, really, the thing that most bothers me about Daddy’s stomach bug is that he’s revealing how unfit he is to compete in the only sport that matters: eating! This is particularly frustrating for me, because I’ve been trying to lead by example for almost three years. Imagine if you were a professional baseball player at the top of your game and you spent three years training someone, and then they couldn’t even pick up the bat by the skinny end. That’s how I feel.
He eats boring, tasteless food like applesauce and dry toast. He eats it slowly and doesn’t finish. It’s like coaching a batter so they can play tee ball in college. I can’t describe how disappointed I am by my human. He can’t eat when he gets a little sick. He can’t do anything right. He can’t sleep. He has "insomnia." When I get sick, it just means that I free up extra space for more gravy. I don’t let the fact that my favorite pillow is sitting at a forty-five-degree angle stop me from sleeping on it. I don’t let that I’m sick stop me from doing what mammals do.
What is wrong with humans these days? They make loud noises. They don’t eat like they should. They don’t sleep like they should. They interrupt my pattern of scritchies and gravy because of their petty physical needs. They’re like big dumb pink furless cats, incapable of learning. I lead by example. I communicate clearly: by meowing, purring, or scratching as appropriate. I give affection (cat fur). I offer constructive criticism (pooping on things). But my humans never learn.
What’s a cat to do?
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