Most people are impressed when they see my fluffy, white coat with dark-striped markings and bushy tail. Every night I plonk myself across the human, my paws dangling from her lap. She strokes my head and says, ‘You’re handsome,’ but my good looks haven’t helped me with the kitties.
Lots of moggies have skinny tails, unless you’re me or that pooncey Persian, Pierre, a few doors down. Just thinking about him makes my fur bristle. That fluff-ball with no chin and squashed nose thinks he’s better than everyone. His pedigree purr makes some kitties swoon, but my trick to impress is to shimmy my tail, while strutting around. In the sun, the creamy underside of my tail sparkles with gold flecks. How good is that?
I’ve had two kitty-cat friends. Whitney was laid-back. She had white fur, but her tail and under her ears were inked black. Muffin was number two. Shy at first, she started following me around. Her coat was wild and fuzzy. We’d pounce, tumble and chase each other around the backyard, then bask in the sun. When the human said her name, I’d twitch my nose and look around for her, then scratch the backdoor.
Muffin adored me until I grappled and knocked her over, biting into her shoulder, like I do with my toy lion. Miaowing, she leapt up and swiped my face with a two-by-paws, then sped off. She wouldn’t hangout with me after that. Geez… I was only playing. She’s probably with that poonce now.