They say John wrote the book of Revelations while he was exiled on an island off the coast of Greece. I'm writing this in exile from the western suburbs of the Twin Cities. You didn't think I had gone away for good, did you?
About my living situation. I spend my days shedding on the carpet, eating non-kosher food (by which I mean anything other than Purina Diabetes Management), watching the leaves blow and focusing on my memoirs, tentatively titled "The Fat Cat's Revenge."
As to my roommates. They really bother me.
This freakish fella here is named Benjamin. He hogs the litter box. Or boxes. There's three of them, to be exact, and he is dominating the whole bunch. I can't cozy down in any one without stumbling over a few of this guy's logs.
Worst part is he stares at me all the time with those green light bulbs where his eyes should be. I think he needs serious therapy.
Then there's this asshole.
That's Gusto. He spends all day grooming himself like he's some type of prom princess. There isn't one inch of his frame that isn't saturated with his spittle.
Plus, I think he wants me. Something's definitely not right about that guy.
The other day I got outside and just started walking, not caring where I went so long as it was away from those two characters. Next thing I know I'm sitting on some random porch, and there's a huge monster of a dog named Buster trying to rip me to shreds. Thankfully his leash didn't extend far enough, so the guy was stuck straining at the bit. That way I got to sit there and torment and tease him.
Then the owner showed up and we had a nice stroll back home.
Then it was back to business as usual.
