On this blog, Sir Winston Purrchill has been variously described as a traitor, a spoiled brat and an unkillable demon. He is a mauler of extremities. He’s clearly on a mission to spread an even layer of litter — fresh or otherwise — throughout the house. His favorite hobby is staring you dead in the eye while you’re trying to pee.
I woke up last night to fangs clamping down on my skull. It’s rarely a pleasant surprise to discover that something in the dark is trying to eat you headfirst, but I was more annoyed than frightened–it was the fourth time this had happened since midnight. I mumbled something incoherent and pushed my attacker away, then fell back asleep almost instantly. The fanged menace slunk back into a shadowy corner of the room to watch me sleep, emerging every so often to pounce on my feet under the blanket. The fifth or sixth time I felt something grab onto my ankle through the comforter, I gave up on sleep. I sat up and stared blearily into the monster’s yellow eyes.
“Sir Winston Leonard Spencer-Purrchill,” I said, “I do not bite your feet while you’re sleeping. Kindly return the favor.”
“Mraow,” he said, and tried to bite my eyebrow.
A while ago, I was talking to my friend Chris about watching television online and seeing the same commercials over and over again.
Chris said, “I hate those Axe bodywash commercials. That’s all they ever play.”
I said, “What? I’ve never seen one of those, but I’m so sick of the cat food commercials.”
He looked at me. “Cat food ads? Oh my god, it’s like they see your future.” And in that instant, I came to a horrifying realization. The internet thinks I’m going to die alone.
So this is a message to you, Internet. You don’t know me, but you’ve doomed me to a life of hairballs and tears falling into animal dander by sending me to websites like this, this, and this on StumbleUpon. I’d like to tell you a few things about me that may change your mind.
1) I don’t even like cats. I’m a dog person.