Oh, the tales I have to tell. I was a man about town for five years.
You see that face? You see that paw? And that bowtie on my chest?
The ladies dug them like crazy, not to mention that I have a white speedo as well. (No, I’m not posing for you. I’m used to being a sex symbol, but I draw the line at being a sex object.)
Life was grand as I catted around and had my way with the ladies.
Don’t ask me how many litters were mine. I’m not embarrassed to say, I was a slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy at the time.
Those days are behind me now. Not by choice, mind you. Some terrorist element kidnapped me off the street and took me to a facility where they operated on me without my consent. Did unspeakable things.
(They had those inferior creatures called dogs there. Aliens from another planet, n’est ce pas?)
I can’t say exactly what they did in that place we called “the inhumane society.” (An insider joke among the feline inmates.) But they put me under and I woke up a different cat. No joke.
Because I don’t have those urges no more, you capiche? When I try to mark my territory, it’s like there’s a plug or leak in the old hose or something. Nothing comes out.
I still try, learned behavior and whatnot. At first my human roommate freaked out about it. “Ozzy, no!” Even got down and smelled the wall.
Humans. I’m telling you, they’re crazy. But they got their uses.
This one fetches me food, don’t even have to hunt for dinner no more. Brushes me every time I come in the house. Always excited to see me.
It’s the constant hugging and kisses on my head I could do without.
But hey, I’m used to being an icon of feline manliness. As we cats like to say, when you got it, you got it.
And I, my friend, have got spades and spades of it.
It’s my blessing and my curse.
Love this! Ozzy's one handsome and very cool cat. A talented writer, as well!