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It’s all going to be fine. She just needs a little break. I mean, yes, she was foaming at the mouth and mumbling something about them coming for us when they took her away on the stretcher. Those guys had their work cut out for them – it’s no secret that she’s been gaining weight. Anyway, Mommy is away – at least one of them anyway. The other one is still hanging around watching those fucking cooking shows. Anyway, I now get to realise one of my lifelong dreams; becoming a famous blogger. I was a famous flogger for a while, but I don’t want to talk about it.

Secretly, I’ve been following Mommy’s blog and let’s be honest – it’s a little fucking dreary. Nothing shouts Vanilla more than her blogs – okay maybe the colour of her winter legs does. Unfortunately, I will have to use her lame profile on WordPress.com, because I wasn’t able to create my own. I entered all of my details:

Name: Myra Katimiraki

Address: Nomadic

Contact number: two shakes of that box of treats

Email: Rather not

Then I had to create a password containing 47 numbers, 3 capital letters and a V-lookup formula. So, I gave up and here I am writing under the pseudonym of a middle aged, uptight lesbian. Also, this laptop is super slow, because it wants to download and install upgrades every 2.4 seconds. I can safely say that this was a contributing factor to Mommy’s meltdown. I did see her banging the keyboard a few times in my life. Sadly, it’s not the only thing I’ve seen her banging, but I don’t want to talk about it.

I am Myra Katimiraki. I adopted two strays 7 years ago and let me just fucking tell you one thing. If you are sitting there licking your paws and contemplating adoption, just don’t do it man. Like with most things in life, the urge will pass if you just give it a few minutes. You know what will not pass? The rhetorical questions delivered in that high-pitched whining voice.

Who’s your Mommy? You know I kind of depend on you for like, staying alive, and you can’t fucking even compute the answer to that question? Wait! Are you serious? How dare you remind me? She was an absolute animal! I’ve spent years of my life in emotional turmoil, dealing with abandonment issues because of her. Sometimes, you can be so insensitive!

Are you a little kitty catty? No, Sharon. I am a fucking microwave. This lovely mane with the fluffy tail is just my Halloween costume. Lord, have mercy.

Who’s ready for a treat? Well, how the fuck should I know? The neighbour looked like he was ready for a treat earlier, but the fucker came home drunk again, so I doubt he’ll be getting anything. Do you really fucking expect me to go around the complex and enquire about the needs of every single breathing creature? I have shit to do. You, Sharon. You look like you’re ready for a treat, but if we’re being honest: should you really? Should you really have a treat?

Did you make a poopoo on the carpet? No, Sharon. I actually shat in my litter box and this magical fairy who was dressed like Lara Croft appeared out of nowhere and demanded that I step away from the box. Which is exactly what I did, because Lara Croft. She then proceeded to pull my turd all the way across the living room and dumped it on the carpet. Are you kidding me?

Are you super glad to see Mommy? No.

No man. Just don’t do it. Enjoy your freedom. Live a little. Find yourself. Just be careful. Don’t fool yourself – it can happen to anyone. I didn’t plan to adopt either. In the summer of 2011 that house next door opened up and I thanked my lucky fucking stars. My dog-sister, Chelsey, was getting on my nerves and I just needed some space where I could chill – my own cat cave so to speak. Things were going well too – until that scrawny guy with the long socks and flip flops turned up.

One night after dinner, I was sitting on the wall, cleaning my paws and fantasising about all of the ways I could get rid of Chelsey when this car parked in front of my cave. Two chattering females got out and followed Mr Socks into my cave! I couldn’t just sit there. I followed them inside, where I found these females checking out my cave. They walked through the place, scanning every room, the carpets, the walls, the kitchen. In all fairness, I hadn’t had time to kit the place out yet, but I did not appreciate their judgement man. It was a work in progress and I was still trying to decide on a style– I was leaning toward Art Deco, but then I also didn’t want to be accused of being basic and following the trendsetters instead of making my own mark. Whatever. The point is they were intruding and I wanted them to leave.

Earlier that day Chelsey had urinated on me – she was going through some stuff and acting out and if you’re asking me the therapy was just not working. That also explains why I needed space of my own. Desperate times call for desperate measures – I rubbed my piss-stained fluff all over their legs and waited for them to realise that the cave was spoken for. However, these females didn’t mind the piss. In fact, they didn’t even smell it, so they did that thing I hate. Now, I get it – I know I am gorgeous because I’ve looked in a mirror before, okay? So, I understand the urge of wanting to touch me, but just be respectful man. If there is no consent it just makes me feel dirty, but these women didn’t ask for consent. They just scratched my neck, rubbed my back and kissed me on my cheek. I was so grossed out that I eventually begged Chelsey to just piss on me again so I could get rid of their smell.

I had barely worked through the trauma of that violation, when a big truck pulled up in front of my cave. Strange men carried a bunch of shit I didn’t even order into my cave! None of it was even close to the style I had envisioned for my cave either. At that point, I had made some losses on my Bitcoin investment so I figured I might as well keep all the shit until I could buy something nicer, but then the same two females that had violated me a few weeks earlier spent the night! In my cave! With my new shit!

It took me a while, but I finally realised that they were my housekeepers! I think they came with the TV set, but it all kind of worked out in the end. Once I worked through my issues, we started talking a little bit. We didn’t sign anything, but the arrangement kind of happened organically. I would visit my cave a few times a week at first. I never warned them that I was coming, because I wanted to be sure that they keep the place clean all the time. I soon realised that they were growing attached to me and I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I didn’t really order them.

Then, out of the blue, Colin and Candice found a facility that was equipped to deal with Chelsey’s deteriorating mental health and I did the right thing. I adopted the poor housekeepers. Truth be told, it was an easy decision to make. Colin was boring me to death and Candice was never home. Chelsey was just a fucking nutter and then there were the two housekeepers. When the time came, I couldn’t even fake a few tears for Colin and Candice’s benefit. I was ready to move on man. I moved into my cave permanently.

Now it’s seven years later, and I can’t get the housekeepers to move out. I started calling them Mommy and Mother because “the housekeepers’’ seemed so impersonal. Mother is the main housekeeper – she is strict with the other one, who I guess was one of her subordinates before they came to live with me. But I could tell that Mommy needed guidance – head in the fucking clouds. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that adoption creeps up on you and it pounces when you least expect it. No cat is immune against it and if it happens to you, you just rise above and make it work. It won’t be easy though and that’s where I can help out.

I’ve done my research and it seems that there is a need in the feline community for a support group – a safe space where cats can voice their grievances and be offered a helping paw from fellow adopters who are also battling to navigate life through the obstacles of human ownership. This is it. This is that support group. I call it: Pussies Unite.

Pussies Unite is also the club where I worked as the flogger, but I don’t want to talk about it.

So, this is where we’ll meet once a week. Bring your catnip Hubbly and pull up a chair. I’m off to entertain Mother. She’s running around with a pair of her socks in her hand. She says I must smell it.

Help.

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