I feel just like Jan on the Brady Bunch. Remember how everything was always about Marcia?
Well, around here it’s “Tasha, Tasha, Tasha!”
I’m so sick of that stupid dog. Naturally she got to be Kate’s first guest blogger, even though I have lived with her far longer. Just because that moron dog likes to go in the car, that’s supposed to make her a travel expert?
My name is Boris, and I’m Kate’s cat. And as you can see, I am by far the best looking creature in our house:
And even though I like helping Mom with this blog:
(that was me, walking across the keyboard),
I HATE TRAVEL.
Even five minutes in the car makes me hyperventilate. The only good thing about travel is that when dopey Tasha goes with them I get the house to myself.
It’s not like I’m ignorant about travel, mind you. In fact, I’m the only pet in this house who has ever flown on an airplane — First Class, no less. Even though a casual observer might think I’m an average tuxedo cat from the shelter, I’m actually an exceptionally rare breed: a “non-traditional” ragdoll cat, directly descended from the infamous Josephine and that alley cat (supposedly spliced with human genes) who knocked her up. After Mom lost her favorite kitten (another non-traditional ragdoll) to cardiomyopathy, I guess she was desperate for a replacement and found me online. (Kind of like how she found Dad online to replace her first husband. I would praise the internet for making upgrades so easy, except she found that disgusting dog online too.)
As a breed, we ragdolls are supposed to be super affectionate and almost completely resistant to pain. I only share the first trait when I feel like it (NEVER with Tasha), and I test the latter frequently. Dad calls me clumsy. He claims I’m the only cat who consistently falls off things and doesn’t know how to land on his feet. (I think he’s just angry about all the vet bills. Well, if that idiot dog wouldn’t chase me all the time, I wouldn’t need to climb so high.)
The only part of travel I really love is when Mom brings out the suitcases. Unlike Mom, I LOVE packing. But doesn’t she know that suitcases are meant for sleeping in?
If it were up to me, Mom would stay at home ALL the time — with me. Dad can travel all he wants, so long as he takes Tasha with him. Mom clearly likes me the best anyway. We don’t have any dog art in the house (who would want to paint a stupid dog?), but there are LOTS of felines around here.
My favorite is the life-sized bronze lion above our staircase:
Except when he tries to steal my food:
I love it. The artist got things right, the way life should be:
Feline plus adoring Female equals happiness.
A lion’s meditation, indeed. At home alone, with no loud obnoxious dingos messing things up.
Mom says there are only 36 days left for this blog. I think people are sick of reading about travel anyway. What do you think? Will you read MY blog? (I’m thinking something like “The adventures of Boris-the-Badass cat and Natasha-the-Nincompoop dog?”)