Sunday, August 22, 2004

Friday the 13th Unlucky for Local Black Cat

Last Friday the 13th, while other black kitties were out crossing humans' paths and giving them seven years of bad luck, I was in the kitty prison, otherwise known as the Wichita Cat Hospital. Nehad had just spent two days de-furring his place so he went on strike.

As usual I hissed at all the other cats, and they had to cover my cell with a blanket because I kept howling.

After mom bailed me out, the vet gave me a prescription for Prozac, which isn't half bad. I make mom give it to me in tuna juice. She thought she could put it in kitty treats, but I smelled it. I'm so much smarter than her. So now I get fresh fish every night. Mom is complaining about the cost of human tuna, but I think if she's going to dope up her sweet little kitty, she better give me the best.

It's all good though. I sat down with my calculator and figured out how many years of bad luck mom is going to have. Since I've been crossing her path many times a day for a whole year, by my calculations, she's looking at about 500 years. My work is done.

Abnormally mellow,
Sasha

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