Curse of the Stone Arms: Kitty-Boy's Tale

From the desk of Gothika, Dark Lord of the Grimalkins aka Kitty-Boy

                “It was a dark and stormy night.”

                No.

                “Once upon a time, in a land far away. . .”

                Oh drats! How does she do this? And why? Slavering for public approval like one of her hulking outdoor “pets” – is nothing beneath her dignity?

                 Actually, it was a rather ordinary night, but for the enormous Iah,  (which modern humans, tapping into their full  literary and imaginative potential, have dubbed “the Supermoon.” *sigh*). I had watched its ascent across the night sky, and had fallen asleep contentedly on the kitchen table (the Man having gone to bed hours earlier) when I was awakened by the horrible shrill of my human’s Pavlov Response system. (Please see footnote#1.) Inevitably, the humans shine at classical conditioning exercises, and I watched with some pride as they hurtled from their bed, donned boots and clothing, and scurried from the house. Their performance was marred only by a brief collision in the bathroom doorway. Both snarled and swore most impressively. My Human showed her teeth.

I did not see them again until the lovely Iah had disappeared over the hill. They came home positively reeking of house fire, their noses black with smoke and their eyes circled with it. Most alarming of all, My Human had turned to stone from wrists to elbows. (Please see footnote #2) She seemed most vexed at this transformation ie, more colorful swearing; she is truly well versed in language skills. The Man, as is often the case, was also quite vocal about the inciting incident, and implied that the entire fiasco could have been avoided had My Human slowed down and looked before you f**ng leaped.

                I haven’t the faintest notion what My Human leaped into, but the results have been catastrophic. She has the temerity to pat my head with her stone hands! I very nearly chipped a tooth whilst defending myself. She is hit-and-miss with my food dish and her attempts at scooping my litterbox have been dismal. In the spirit of generosity, I left my latest offering on the floor next to the toilet and the ingrate swore at me! Who would have realized the tenuous connection between human hands and brains? Is her mind turning to stone as well? I fear it is a possibility.

                My Human knows I must have ice in my water bowl at all times, and yet she is failing at even this simplest of tasks. When in desperation I stand on the (dirty!) dishes in the sink to drink from the faucet, she responds in the vilest manner by trying to lift me bodily with her concrete arms. I will not stand for it!

            Alas, I fear for my well-being. If you are reading this, please send help. Preferably in the form of salmon.

Pink, Alaskan salmon. Fresh.

Canned tuna offerings will be summarily rejected.

#1 Nine-one-one page to a fire.

#2 Arm casts from wrist to elbow.