DeWitte emailed this to me because we are both cat people. Don’t get me wrong. I like dogs too. Just not in my condo. If I had a house with a yard, things would be different. I’d have me a little Gizmo running around. But as it stands, a cat is about all I have room for in my condo. It’s small. Anyway, this is very funny as it demonstrates the differences between the dog and the cat.

This is Gizmo. He used to live here. And this is his diary. I found it when he moved out.

EXCERPTS FROM GIZMO’S DIARY

8:00 am – Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 am – A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 am – A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 am – Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 PM – Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 PM – Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 PM – Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 PM – Milk bones! My favorite thing!
6:00 PM – Oooh, Bath . Bummer.
7:00 PM – Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 PM – Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
11:00 PM – Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!

——————————————————————————————————–

BUSTED

This is Monkey. She thought she was slick, but I found her diary too. She hid it in the same spot as Gizmo did.

EXCERPTS FROM MONKEY’S DIARY

Day 983 of my captivity.

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.

They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength.

The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape. In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.

Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a ‘good little hunter’ I am. Bastards.

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of ‘allergies.’ I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow — but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches. The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released – and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.

The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now…………….

——————————————————————————————————–

I think she’s trying to figure out a way to drown me in the sink. What do you think? Because who would have thought that all this time my sweet little kitty, Monkey, was trying to assassinate me? I don’t know WHY I didn’t think of it because she’s already tried the weaving under my feet at the top of the stairs. And the middle of the stairs. And at the bottom of the stairs. She is trying to KILL me, people!

And apparently the vomit on the carpet is supposed to disgust me enough to let her escape. Well, she comes damn close with that one. She never picks the wood floor or the tile floor where it would be so much easier to clean up. NO. She MUST go for the carpet or the brand new sofa. “That’s nice kitty. Don’t worry. I’ll get that. Can I ask you WHY for the love of Pete, WHY does it look like a stringy turd with a little diarrhea thrown in for good measure?”

It appears too that all animals that come to my house are fascinated by water. I knew that dogs liked water, but you couldn’t get my other cat ten feet from any water source, except her bowl and only when it was planted firmly on the ground. Monkey is crazy about water. She’s mesmerized by it. She plays in it. . . in the sink, in the tub, in the toilet, in her water bowl, wherever she can find the sparkly clear liquid. For that fact, I have to keep her water bowl in my bathtub. . . unless I enjoy mopping my bathroom floor 87 times a day. . . which I don’t. Now that my oldest boy has moved out and she has free run of this bathroom downstairs. . . THIS is her new favorite place to lounge.

My revenge will be to continue tormenting her with the dangly objects BEFORE she figures out a way to get my head down the drain. “Heeerrree Kitty Kitty!”