What a rotten day
I was having a pleasant Saturday morning. I ate some delicious meat-meat-&-more meat cat food that Mom bought us at Whole Foods. Then I had my morning poo. I was lounging on Mom & Dad's new IKEA furniture when she brought IT downstairs.
I hate the vet. Hate hate HATE the vet. They poke me, prod me, touch me in bad places, and then tell me I'm fat. Know what? They can kiss my fat ass.
So we arrive at the vet. Mom lets some sticky-faced, dirty little urchin pet me. Almost as much as I hate vets, I hate KIDS. Especially that kid. She was stinky and dirty and wouldn't shut the hell up. After a good 15 mins of her riveting tale of the neighbor's cat who is either a boy or a girl or a dog or a llama (who could tell with her rambling, unfocused story) and her petting my fur the wrong way, I finally screeched, "Dirty bitch!!" in cat language. It startled her and she pulled her hand back. Score one for the fat calico!
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But no.
Let me tell you all a little secret about MOM. She claims she is so cool, musically. "I love Queens of the Stone Age," "My favorite band is Radiohead," and "I just looooooooove Ween." Mmhhmm. Well, when it's just me and her in the car, bitch sings along with "Gold Digger" and Ashley Simpson. Yeah, I told your little secret Mom. Stop taking me to the vet because I got a lot more dirt on you, lady.
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Nixon