Mina the Cat
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It's Hard Being So Much Smarter Than Humans

I have a case of the blahs. It would be better if you would just recognize my greatness for once.

 |  Nov 27th 2012  |   3 Contributions


People must think my life is easy. They say to me, “Aw, what a cute kitty!” When they see that I’m a famous Internet journalist writing for The Washington Post of online cat-owner lifestyle magazines, they think it must be nothing but fresh ahi and endless scritchies. (Mommy sometimes lines my litter box with The Washington Post. I like the way it crunches softly under my paws. That’s the mark of a great newspaper.) 

But they have no idea. No one understands the pressure that this life can put on a cat. Most of the time, it’s all I can do to wake up, eat kibble, and take care of my endless need for cleanings. Now that I have my personal assistant Ziggy (Daddy assures me that “personal assistant” is just a big and impressive way of saying “minion"), it’s all supposed to be smooth sailing.

Hygene is especially important when you're feeling down. Bad smelling kitties don't get scritchies.

There are reporters out there who people write movies about -- you know, like Robert Redford when he was reporting about hotels and the way they have nice towels. I may be slightly mistaken about the plot of All the President’s Men, but it was long and I was distracted by Daddy scritchies, and I think you get my point, which is: Catster isn’t the sort of publication that anyone thinks of when they’re making movies about journalists.

The problem is that humans have limited vision. I guess now that they’ve finished counting Florida, it’s obvious that the American people didn’t vote Mina in the sort of numbers I expected, but I think that’s because one of the other guys had the “I want someone with good hair who would tie a dog to the roof of the car” vote. I suspect that if he and I hadn’t split the vote between us, I could have taken this election.

I must be off my game if I'm going to let him eat this close to me.

I started feeling really sad about this last night, when Daddy and I were watching The Men Who Built America. Apparently, relatively important humans will talk about other relatively important humans a lot and tell the stories of those other relatively important humans. I use the term “relatively” because they’re all important on the scale that humans are important. None of them are cats. In fact, I noticed a distinctly anti-cat bias to the show. None of those men were depicted with or around cats.

If you don't think I'm important you can just put me in the closet. Maybe I'll poop on your linens.

I understand that lots of people go through life just living and when they die there are no movies about them, and for most of them, that’s probably fine. But, really, a cat can’t be judged on the same scale as a human. We’re dominant life forms. When someone picks up your poop you know where the two of you stand. It is one of the tragedies in life that the human proletariat rarely understands feline greatness.

No one respects the havoc I create.

This is just my cross to bear.

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