It was a warm, August afternoon. Me, and my closest dozen, or so, brothers, sisters, cousins, brothers who are also my cousins, sisters who might be my mother, and dad, were lurking in a semi-abandoned trailer park, in a place I like to call: Hell's Bellybutton. I know, glorious beginnings for such an illustrious leader. Anyway, some two-leggers began a perversion of the human Easter-egg hunt tradition in the tall grasses of the afore mentioned, hell! They unceremoniously gathered me and six-to-eight (it is difficult to count when being man-handled--which is why, there is no such thing as cat-handling) of my youngest siblings, and tossed us into cramped plastic cages. While I hope that my captor's actions were altruistic, it would've been better for them to take my family to a "No Kill" Shelter, rather than let us roam free in Hell's Bellybutton, or to be confined to those plastic cages. I say this because they did not provide us with proper nutrition. I was not even old enough to be weaned from my mother when all they provided for me was cheap dry-food, which was placed in a communal bowl so that the larger of my family were able to force the smaller and weaker of us aside and eat most of it, leaving little to none for the rest of us. My suffering ended when my current humans arrived at the domicile of my captors. The villains dragged out the 'dirty dozen,' of us kitties. And, proceeded to dangle us before the 'shoppers.' My current humans were appalled. All of us, kittens, were emaciated, diseased, and flea riddled. Which we had been told, by our older brethren was the fashion of the time. As I soon discovered, this was not the case. Being the smallest, and most diseased of the 'litter,' my current humans decided to pity me. They took me to their home, where I was tortured with soap, and water. Until all of my hard earned fleas were washed down the drain. Then, I was forced to drink from a tiny little baby bottle, because I refused to eat while my family was still held captive. I quickly overcame this aversion to the sweet, sweet taste of tuna.
The first few days of my acclimation to the new facilities were difficult, and I established a home base, behind a tall, white porcelain water dish. Strangely, the new humans became quite upset if I drank from said water-dish.
I was quickly nursed back to health by the tender ministrations of the humans, and the terrible, terrible, evil, cock-eyed, halitosis ridden Vet. (Note: Vets will be forced to endure all of their own treatments when I rule the world. Thermometers do not go there, I've seen the humans use them.)
I do not tell you this to garner pity for myself, but to advocate for all of the other lost and woeful kitties in the world. Please, be sure to patronize your local shelters and ASPCA, to help and build a stronger army.
Thank you, and good night.
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