Have A Nice Day

I can hear a woman's lilting voice from round the corner. The excuse of cold is no longer applicable. And yet I remain inside, imprisoned by more applicable excuses. Sadness.

However, like a Victorian Lady, I believe the shelter has only helped to maintain my delicacy of feature.





Love. A simple cat can feel so much. I've never seen him, but in pictures. We have corresponded. I just want to smell him.
Perhaps he could lick my head. mmm, that'd be peachy.

where are my cigarettes?!?

Cats Were Not Meant to Be Harnessed

Keeeeee-rist. What did they think they were trying to do harnessing a cat?!? I mean, seriously, what were they trying to accomplish? Don't they know you don't harness a cat. You can trap a cat, but it will never ignore the trap. Tenet #1.

It's one of our more noble traditions.

Their privileges are being revoked. I will never compromise to a nail clipping again.








Anyways.

I've recruited a lieutenant.




He resides in Park Slope and is really driving our outreach.

In other BIG news:

There seems to be a new warmth eminating from beyond command post windows. It has steeled their courage and I'm venturing onto the deck. I've been trying to reach out to the people, but my best efforts to spread the word have been harshly twarted. This vistor they had -- who frequently made loud outbursts and occasionally looked like a rooster -- had the audacity to physically manhandle me when I but leaped to the neighbors windowshelf. He's lucky he still has eyes.


Despite all this however, in many respects I
maintain my position of humble servitude, forever guarding the castle from any manner of intruder. I am the tiger; fuck with me or mine and you will die.

we're all mad here

"I didn't know that Cheshire Cats always grinned; in fact, I didn't know that cats could grin."

"They all can," said the Duchess; "and most of them do."









A grin without a cat, now that I've never seen.

The Battle for Bed-Stuy has turned

A house for the taking! The psychological battle I've been waging for the past 3 months is climaxed. The still is dizzy. A new civility rises, unbounded by the reality of section 8, subsidized housing. The sandpaper removed, I'm almost rendered blind with the lack of gravity.


I've been spying their droppings on the sidewalk; the things that stay behind. For at least the past week. Maybe two. Then sometime Sunday afternoon the house fell quiet. The vibrations of life (a treat for tattered skin, say the vedic monks) absent from all but our garret.

I heard curly and shiny trespassing on the abandoned nest that night.

clp, clp, clp.
"huh, well it has higher ceilings"
clp, clp.
"ugh, but the bathroom's vomitific. Red light on pink tile does not relax the sphincter"
clp, clp, clp, clp, clp, clp
"bigger closets, oh, here's your room, kinda"
"yeah, the floor's are kinda gross"
"yeah, it kind of smells like urine"
click.

That little 'Rican girl. And her sister. They didn't go to school, they were just here. And their mom, with the screechy contralto. They just aren't here.


What remains, a long festering estate. A whole new era.

the cult of personality

I confess I had the opportunity of freedom

I did. Proving my long held assertions of curly and shiny's incompetance, a fortnight past, as they were removing the large bags of bottles and card so long collected in the kitchen I too could have experienced the sandy rough concrete of urbanity on my supple salmon paws. Alas I faltered. And not just out of propriety. Yes, there inevitably would have been a scene -- bumbling, confusement, not my style -- but what lies outside? Why abandon my bourgeious kingdom for the harsh darwinism of a world unchecked by privilege. Though I dmit I do crave society, passionately. The luxury of discussing this tiltering world, it makes my desire to realize these visions of social splendor that conjure in skydreams out the window sharp as a knife of glass. I must speak with the people; we must come to agreements on the machinations of this hallowed world to fully rise above its shortcomings.

Though history is made of leaders, prophets, and messiahs, that is only history. I am what history has crafted. I am now.

the manifesto drops: Spring 2007
the revolution begins: immediately thereafter

I will rise, don't think I won't

I can't even tell you how sick I am of the bullshit. All I want to do it post some photos for the fans and this bullshit free blog won't even recognize my digital rotations. That said, fans, please enjoy some horizontal originals.
















But enough of my hedonism. Or perhaps in honor of my hedonism I raise a complaint. The bitches won't let me play in the snow. I show off my acrobatic capabilities (which are pretty vast) on a regular basis and yet still they refuse to allow me access to the terrace through the window.
What do they honestly think I'm going to do? jump down? immediately be swooped up by one of those large flying cats I see outside? Their snouts do have a menacing downturn -- and seem rather sharp, as if they use it to do their tooth work; combined with their inky down fur, this particular breed of cat is rather unsettling -- but how can those oddly proportioned twats honestly expect me to assume my fated role as prophet of the urban cats if they never give me a chance to mingle with the masses?

Its just frustrating is all.

I am also very clever

I recently mastered the concept of electricity; specific objects seem to be light triggers. Unfortunately the finger dexterity required to operate most of these eludes me. The kitchen light however I am coming to conquer.


Watch it; I'm simply awesome.

I am a British dandy circa 1928. Well, a female performing as a dandy; but still, it is simply my preferred social role.

It is dark and the ennui is overwhelming.

The cupboards are shut, the lights are off, how long do they expect me to sleep? The back and forth loses its sexiness when no ones around to watch. I suppose solitude would have some allure if I weren't already allowed to rule the house, but what is a benevolent dictator without his peons? I can't help ruminating on those dictocratic ideas eminating from the continent.

It seems our fair empire has finally dissolved and who says the fascist's don't have some appealing ideas. Now that Ireland has finally split, I can't help but feel that we could use a bit of stricture. I mean, it seems to have struck a cord in carina Italia, at least that Mussolini chap seems to be doing something. The Battle of Land did put a bit of food on the tables. My guess though, its a flash in the pan; that one chap, Hitler, in the Wiemar, only got 2.6 percent of the vote. Ah, das Vaterland, I just cannot say I envy you. Thank lord for Great Brittania's entrench democratic ideals.

We've already worked through the kinks of repreOh jesus, what is that infernal alarm downstairs!

And of such organic tonality. Couldn't that little 'Rican girl find a better way to beg for attention!

You frontin'?!?

2007 is nigh, I relish the nooks and crannies yet to explore. I think this year I'm really going to get my image out there. Or at least that's what I think curlyhead has up her sleeve. She keeps taking pictures of me; I can only assume she's finally given up on her own laziness and has turned to the second generation to carry the family. I mean, she hasn't the pure bitter of Macaulay Culkin's parents, but if she ever had to talk to Dinah Lohan at a party, they would certainly have at least 15 minutes of good conversation. I can only assume this is her scheme as she incessantly snatches me in her picture machine. I mean, yeah, they're good pictures, but this can't be bought. I'm not going to be dumbed down to an image people think they can understand. I'm just not. But ultimately the only way to defeat the man is to defeat his technology. Take away the instrument of subjugation and we can once again talk reasonably.

Bah! Take that, mothafuckah!

Nah, I love ya.

I am the mighty godess of the hunt, Olive

My arch nemesis pinknylongstringmouse. Ahh, the cad. What would I do without my foil? It has been a long and harried duel, crossing the span of many dark absences. I am slowly wearing away his armor; it is a coarsely woven synthetic fiber. I can do it no harm, my claws merely slip through its porous exoskeleton, a defense perfect to my every pary. I am managing however to slowly pry this away from the flesh of pinknylonstringmouse.

I fear curlyhead will soon take pity and act his nurse. She is always ruining my plans!