I has anal gland?

Hey, this is Roxy. Glenn is my person. He's not so bad to live with. He does what I want because he knows that my revenge will be silent, stinky, and well placed. And , after three years together, he has learned that I am a strong, independent, beautiful feline. As a wise man once said: "When dogs look for god, they look at their master. When cats look for god, they look in the mirror." That may be a slightly inflated interpretation of the truth, but it was written by a man, not a cat. All I know is that a well placed hair ball can ruin a person's day.

Before I met Glenn, I lived in the big wide world. I was pretty and I was a bad girl. Not biker-cat bad, mind you, more like single teen mother bad. Kind of like those whiny bitches on MTV, but I was hot - smokin hot. And you know, its hard out there for a sexy kitten mom trying to make it for her family in a drainage culvert. Then some social workers came along, tricked us with some free food, grabbed us, and took us to some place with cages, bad lighting, sharp needles, and lots of other single mother cats - and dogs. While we were there, my babies were taken away and given to people, one at a time until it was just me.

Then the big darkness came. When I awoke, my beautifully furry belly had been shaved and my abs were killing me. There was another pain in my ear, and my hips were aching. I felt like hell. But the people brought food twice a day and scooped the box. Compared to raising children on the street, what's a little discomfort? It was warm, dry, and cozy.

I was rescued by a veterinarian assistant, "socialized," and then a person showed up with a plastic cage, shoved me in, and relocated me to a downtown condo. I promptly set up camp under the bed, to wait it out. But like the previous place, there was always food, the litter box was clean, and there were lots of things to shred in the dark. After a few days, I got bored, and came out for some loving. I mean that is my reason for being - and I turned it on. All the charm and sex appeal at my command. He fell for it. I was prancing around on the sofa table, getting my purr on, when my heels got caught in the lamp cord. Clinging by my front paws, I tried to pull myself back up, only to pull the lamp down on top of me. I promptly moved back under the bed and stayed there for 4 months.

One day, I ran away for about 20 minutes, but decided that I really did like living under the bed better than living in a parking lot - again. Plus I think Glenn was trying to get rid of me. He had never left the door open before. So, once again, I put on my cute kitten face and meowed at the door until he let me back in. That was a close call. Since then, I have avoided all open doors.

Fast forward 4 months and the furniture started disappearing one piece at a time. Then there were boxes piled up everywhere, my hiding places were gone, and I was shut in the bathroom to wait. Two days later, the plastic cage showed up and I was once again forced into it. Another trip to the vet and then we were in our new home. Oddly, all of my furniture had been replaced by items that were only two inches off the floor. There was nowhere to hide, so I made some rules.

Rule 1: No touching on the floor
Rule 2: No touching on the stairs
Rule 3: No company
Rule 4: No touching by company
Rule 5: No treats, no snacks, no toys
Rule 6: No moving of pillows or blankets on the bed
Rule 7: Food (fresh / crunchy) and water required twice daily
Rule 8: Brushing once a week is acceptable
Rule 9: No loud noises, including surround sound.
Rule 10: No touching

Seemed like a good compromise. As time has gone by, the rules have been relaxed a little. Touching is now sometimes allowed on the couch and the bed only.  When I do not feel as if I am getting what I need, I just stand on Glenn's lumpy chest until the pressure of my tiny triangular feet begin to work their way down between the scrawny little chest muscles he is so proud of and he can't take it anymore.Then he lifts my legs off and moves me to the side. Of course I am right back up there, until he gives me what I want - ATTENTION!

So now that you know a bit about my story, something really embarrassing happened last week. I was standing on the chest, watching a bit of TV when Glenn grabbed my back legs. I was so taken aback that I lost control. A thick, musky, fishy smelling liquid sprayed from under my long beautiful tail. Steamy, oily, brown globules landed in Glenn's face, in his hair, and dribbled into the cracks between the sectional sofa.

I have never heard such noise. I mean, I have vomited hair balls and semi digested cat food onto the white shag area rug too many times to even count over the last 3 years without more than a grunt of exasperation and a questioning of my impeccable aim. There was retching, vigorous washing, some sort of foaming scrubby stuff, and lots of fabric spray. I think he actually washed his hands four times. Did I mention he is a bit OCD when it comes to keeping things clean?

I don't know what all the fuss was about, but after watching him slather on a second application of Febreze and wash his face one more time, I retired to the end of the sofa, gave myself a lick, and tried to figure out what all the fuss was about. Tasted fine to me.

But now I know, I has super power.
XOX
Roxy

Inspired by the wildly popular website I can has cheeseburger? from LOLcats. This website is part of the reason the internet is currently ruled by cats.

Smokin Hot Cat (aka Roxy)