Today, I would like to introduce to you all my brother, Fleabag. Here we are in a childhood photo. Fleabag was definitely a punk back in the day. Well, here, I’m going to let him tell you all about himself. Don’t go thinking, “Oh he’s so interesting”, now. Remember, this is MY blog, and I’m the star of the show.
Ok, Fleabag, take it away.
Fleabag: I’ve had a rough life. Ariel is only my half sister, you know. We had different fathers. Which makes it kind of tough. One week, you’re living in relative comfort, with food scraps from the table and a nice comfy pillow to sleep on; then every other weekend and holidays, you’re out in the country eating out of garbage cans. Oh, they try to make it up to you by buying you the latest issue of Cat Fancy or a remote control mouse, but it’s just not the same. Anyways, I used to get my kicks by acting out. I was known as the toughest cat in a three block radius! I would have neighborhood kittens crying in their milk. I always kept a couple of the little nippers around to do my bidding; steal catnip from Mrs. Meyers’ garden, de-bone chipmunks, you know, that kind of thing. One time, I even sponsored a neighborhood “Easter egg” hunt. All the kittens had to do was visit all available birds’ nests, retrieve the eggs, and then get out of my face. Simple! I also was the first cat in the ‘hood to get a set of wheels. Ok, so it was a broken roller skate I pilfered from the Johnson’s trash can, but it was still wheels. I accessorized it with a sprinkling of squirrel molars and glitter. Perfect for terrorizing kittens and small rodents! Ah, those were the days. But alas, those days are behind me. Now, I lead a peaceful but staid life as an overweight Domestic Shorthair in western PA. I am a model citizen, only peeing on the odd pillow here and there, or putting a quick (yet pleasurable) end to the life of the occasional trespassing mouse.
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