Crisis

As the leaves bloom on the trees and the grass grows longer, I perch upon the window sill and gaze out to the world beyond my apartment. What is my purpose? Who are my people? When is dinner? When is breakfast? When did you say dinner was? Now? Can I have a snack?

A great catphilosopher once opined “The unfed life is not worth living.”

I often ask myself if there exists more to life than being fed. Would I derive pleasure from activities other than napping? Should I push myself to achieve greatness? As I am now either 5 or 6 or maybe 8 years old I compiled a short list of things I’d like to accomplish. I suppose it’s a bucket list of sorts.

-Learn a foreign language: probably not gonna happen

-Lose 10 pounds: I joined a gym, Anytime Fitness to be specific, and my trainer Melissa ran a full battery of tests during my first appointment. Here are my vitals

·         Weight: 19 lbs.

·         BMI: 6 billion

·         Resting heart rate: 90 bpm

·         Active heart rate: N/A. I refuse to partake in activities

·         Glossiness of coat: Fab.U.Lous.

-Less napping, more being afraid of water

-Finish my novella: it’s a story about a cat that gets fed all the time and is very happy and it’s actually kind of an autobiography. It’s called Short Cat Story.

-Adopt a highway

-Catch even ONE mouse: also probably not gonna happen

-Nap through a marathon

-Set aside a small chunk of time every day for ME. This chunk of time will run from 12 am to 12 am the next day. This will happen every day. You will ALL stop and acknowledge my greatness.

Obviously, Rome was not built in a day. I have broken this list up into separate tasks and plan on tackling them one by one. First: me time. I have to improve myself before I can improve the world. Please don’t talk to me.

So listen.

It's all, life changes this, life changes that. Yeah, I got a new daddy. I got a new 'do. But I'm still the same stone cold foxcat you fell in love with.

Bitch, I don't want your number.

I am a super-bad sex machine, and I got all the moves. Awwww, yeah. You like the way I stretch out complacently on this couch? I got paws for days.

What's that? You wanna pet me while you play Settlers of Catan?

Well get in line.

We all know I can act like a complete asshole and still get attention. My clicky talons are the talk of the town. Click click click, I'm onto you.

 You think you know me. You don't know me.

I do not think that that is the best move for the robber baron. You could use that for leverage at a later point in the game. But what do I know? I'm just the flyest bitch up in this club.

I tell you what, I am positively parched. It's about that time of night where I require a tapwater-tini and a nibble or two of dry food, and then I retire so as to retain the elasticity of my under-eye region. I have a certain reputation to maintain, and that is as a badass muthafuckin superstar. A roll of the eyes and a swish of the tail.

Don't talk to me. I will seriously kill you. Kill you dead.

Peace out, bitches. You wish you were me.

xoxo,

Kashka

My cat

                                               Such a lazy asshole

Well. A lot has changed since I last put fingers to keys. The cat is no longer my roommate's cat. It's now just mine. I was going to change the name of the blog to My Cat, but that's super dumb.

So, also I don't know HOW to change the name of my blog. It probably requires that I master C++ and Java and Flash and AOL, and I just don't have that kind of time. I have more important things to master. For instance, not eating so much sugary cereal when I come home drunk late at night. Mainly because when I wake up in the morning my hangover is exacerbated by the fact that I don't have any Marshmallow Mateys to eat while quietly sobbing in my bed.

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When the weather gets warm the cat starts to get all matted down so I have to give her a haircut. Or SOMEONE has to give her a haircut. It was me though. I gave her a haircut. My thought process was:

1) I have some hair, so I know what it's like
2) Sometimes I cut my hair, so I know what THAT'S like
3) If the cat starts getting out of control I'll just calm her down and everything will be fine
4) I'm not paying $20 for someone to give my cat a buzz cut when I can pay myself ALL of my money to do it for free

As it turns out I was wrong in every possible way that I could be wrong. It took me and hour and half to cut her hair, and I did a HORRIBLE job. By the time I was finished, my entire kitchen was covered in cat hair, along with parts of my bedroom, and a large portion of my cat. She did not like being shaved one bit. Towards the end as I was getting desperate, I dumped an entire bag of cat treats on the floor so that she would devote more of her time to eating those and less to evading me, scratching me, and whipping me in the face with her tail. I don't even want to begin to discuss the difficulties I had trying to shave the area around her little cat butt.

Next time I will pay such a large sum of money to have someone else cut my cat's hair. You guys don't even know. It was kind of like that scene in Borat where Borat and his fat hairy manager are wrestling naked on the bed, and then running naked through the halls of the hotel, except I wasn't naked.

What a cat-astrophe!

The cat has a list of demands she'd like printed on this website. I told her "No way! Get your own damn blog about you!" But she wouldn't drop it, so I finally caved. By the way, this is verbatim so don't get on me about how I need to learn how to spell or count. I'M NOT A CAT.

--BEGIN LIST OF DEMANDS--

Helo world. my name is Kasc...Kaschki...Kosha...I don't know how to spell it, but it ryhems with cash ka. Kind of.

For too long my species has been the brutt of all of your jokes. "Ohh look at that cat eating fish! Ha ha ha ha!" NO MORE!

We have ruled this planet since the dawn of time eternal and we shall continue to rule it long after you stupid humans have been done in by you're own pestulance! If you'd like some pitty in you'r dying moments you must meet my list of demands. If these damands are met I will get word to my fellow cathren and we will make sure you have a peaceful death. FOR NOW.

First. We want to be able to ride around the backs of dogs. But you have to be there to make sure they dont attack us. We also want them to stop eating our poop! If we wanted our poop ate we'd eat it ourselves! It's so gross.

Secondly of all, will someone please catch that ifernal red dot and put it back in it's cage! How are we supposed to sleep most of the day knowing there's a red dot on the walls and floors!? YOU WOULND'T LIKE US WHEN WE ARE CRANCKY!

tHIRD. Woops, sorry. Cap's lock was on. Third, we. donb't. like. cat. nip. It makes us bonkers. Stop giving it to us. I don't know fi theres a human nip? Some sort of product that makes humans go bonkers, but the best simile I can think of is that its like cat nip, wich probably doesn't help much. Sorry. It's hard to explain. Imagine not being able to control yourself, but kind of liking it. Now imnagine that exact same feeling, but while being a cat. SCARY! HUH?

Forth. Tell us more about slacklining. Did you see that guy in the Super Bowl?

Fifthfht. (That's a hard word to type if you don't have fingers. ) This is the most importatnt one. You probably don't know this about cats, but that's why I'm here. To tell you. We LOVE Nickleback. The official song of cats is now "How You Remind Me". Chad Kroeger 4 Life!

--END LIST OF DEMANDS--

Okay, so I guess that's it? I don't know. That all seemed pretty trivial. Riding dogs? Being 'sponsored' by Nickleback? Sometimes I wonder about cats.

Oh well. I guess we should probably just do all of that on the off chance they really do end up taking over the earth...again.

Meow humbug

Merry freaking Christmas. But enough about you.

Here are the reasons I hate the holidays:

1) I am generally an asshole.

2) “Wonderful Christmastime” by Paul McCartney.

Here are things I like to eat during the holiday season:

1) Cat food

2) My own butt

3) Stuff I find around

Here are the best holiday movies in order:

1) Die Hard

2) Die Hard 2

Here are the worst holiday movies:

1) Miracle on 34^th Street. More like boring on boring street.

2) It’s a Wonderful Life. Sappy.

3) Love Actually. Stupid.

4) The Santa Clause. This movie makes me want to drink and drive too, Tim Allen.

5) Yes, Virginia, There Is A Santa Claus. No, Virginia. There isn’t.

Here are some things you can get me as presents:

1) One million dollars

2) Two million dollars

3) Hermès litter box

4) Life-size portrait of me

5) The head of the dog across the street

6) A new dress. Anything expensive will do.

7) Laser pointer

Poems I wrote for Christmas:

1) There once was a cat from Nantucket / The cat thought that Christmas was lame and where’s my dinner

2) O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree / How dangly are your branches / O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree / how dangly are your branches / I’ll paw until your needles fall, I’ll break every last shiny ball / O Christmas tree, O Christmas tree / How dangly are your branches

3) Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house / Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse / Because the mouse knows better / Try it mouse / Please / I’m asking you / Just try and stir around here / You’ll see what happens / Fuck you mouse I’ll kill you

4) The snowflakes fall with quiet grace / They melt upon my whiskered face / Bare branches are with crystals hung / Halls gaily decked, glad tidings brung / And in the darkest, coldest night / I gaze upon one star most bright / twinkling as a moon-caught tear / It signals hope for the new year / It brings us closer, as it burns / to when Mad Men finally returns / My mind goes to that tale of old / Of myrrh and frankincense and gold / And as the reindeer click above / My heart is full of joy and love / Except for you, mouse, you’re still fucking dead / You better run I can hear you breathing

Happy holidays!

XOXO,

Kashka

Go stuff a turkey.

I don't know if you heard, but it's thanksgiving. Personally I don't care much for the holiday. What do I have to be thankful for? I've been beautiful my entire life, so I pretty much take that for granted. I can lick my own butt I guess, but that's not necessarily a good thing. It's really more of a trick that I use to entertain house guests. It's certainly gotten me in trouble more than a pawful of times.

I read an article the other day on Googles that said you should sit down and create a list of all the things that you're thankful for. I don't believe it. I don't believe anything I read on Googles, it's run by a bunch of hippies who think Dane Cook is funny and dogs should be allowed inside the house. How about I make a list of all the things that you suck at Googles, huh? Can you perch in a window? Nope! Search engine. How about something that anybody can do? Say...drink some water? Oh...nope! Search engine. So, if you don't mind I'd rather not take life advice from a dumb machine that wouldn't survive a second on the harsh streets of life. You think you're fancy? Ooooohhhhh somebody can interpret boolean. Nobody cares. All the youtubes in the world won't help you when your food bowl is empty and you have to scavenge for those little plastic rings that go on top of milk jugs so that you'll have a way to occupy your time. Take my advice: get yourself a nice set of clothes, some fancy business cards printed on thick, off white paper, a personal statement, and make something of yourself. In this economy nobody is safe.

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One thing that I get asked a lot is if I know who DB Cooper is, and if he's still alive? I don't know who he is. I assume he's dead. It's been a long time.

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I'd like to clear the air on one other thing. It's extremely offensive to cats everywhere when you lump us together with other species in the biological family felidae, and sub-families pantherinae and felinae. Can you imagine my horror when, as I slaved away compiling my family tree using ancestry.com (it's not just history, it's your history) I came upon a mess of unrefined, hulking, desert dwelling long lost cousins. Cheetas?! You're practically named after a goddamned cheesy snack food. Lions? Ugh. That mane. Those ticks. Somebody needs to make an appointment with the Makeover Messiah. Cougars, you're not fooling anyone. You have blood ALL over your muzzle. Please use a wet nap, you're embarrassing us. And oh my gawd Becky, did you see that Lynx? It is so...ugh. I'd honestly rather be a sea cucumber.

I suppose ocelots can come to my party though. I like their style.

A wink's as good as a nod to a dead dog.

Ohhhhhh. These papers are SO comfortable. I hate everyone.

Hello, it's me again. No, not Lionel Richie. The cat.

Do you ever wonder why dogs exist? Is it so that they can die a slow, painful, horrible death? Is it purely for the purpose of torturing me? Is it to drink from my water bowl, even though they have their own, bigger, shinier one?

Don't tell anyone, but sometimes when nobody is looking I pee in the dog's water bowl. Not a lot. Just a trickle or two. The idea being that she can't taste it, but she's drinking my pee all the same. She may eventually win the war, but dammit not with out me taking a battle or two. I also put my butt in her face when she's sleeping and then when she wakes up I pretend like I just happened to be walking by and "Whoops! Good morning dog! I trust you had a pleasant rest?" Bitch.

Speaking of bitches, who's the bitch that created ham fat? A just god would not create a food that is simultaneously pure joy and pure shit. While I'm eating it (usually off the floor, the only way to REALLY enjoy ham fat. Linoleum totally brings out the subtler flavors) I'm in a state of pure ecstasy, and then 5-7 minutes later I'm retching it back up and picking bits of it out of my neck fur. I swear to god, my last meal is going to consist of dry cat food from Hy Vee (the stuff with the circles, stars and + shaped morsels, none of that nasty alphabet shit), ham fat, expired milk, and whatever lint I can find along the baseboards. That's a meal fit for a princess. Like me. A god dammed kitty princess. And then right after I finish my last meal I'll take a huge, messy dump in the dog's food bowl and die full and happy. And maybe a little bit bloated, but what else is new?

There is one more thing I wanted to discuss. Actually, it's more of an admission. An admission of guilt. Last night, after everyone else had gone to sleep I secretly turned on the TV and watched the end of Forest Gump.

Oh thank god. It feels so good to get that off my chest.