Twelve

I will probably never understand my Master’s family; they cavort and cajole in ways which baffle me. They play games of a sort with which I am unfamiliar, and for which I have not the manual dexterity. Had I a grasp of the mechanics of their jocular diversions I would, perhaps, endeavor to join them, but they do not even feel the need to include me in their frivolous activities.

They eat food which to me often appears grossly unpalatable, or at the very least overcooked. Am I ever offered a sampling of their repast? Well, in the interests of utmost honesty, I must answer yes, they do indeed. But all too often the food proffered is not what I would consider as my first choice. Perhaps if they would set aside a small sampling uncooked, or at the very least undercooked? Is that truly too much to ask of people with whom I have spent the vast majority of my existence?

Their home annoys me to no end, and their eclectic choice of furniture sets my teeth on edge. It would appear they have little taste in the art of decorating, and they have the feng shui abilities of a lactating Canadian moose. If I could move the couch three feet to the left, I would. And don’t even get me started on the recliner. Is that lamp entirely necessary? Phah.

The carpeting is, by far and away, the last straw. A shag affair the color of a slightly moldy mustard seed, this carpet has not only stood the test of time, it is from the beginning of it. It was old when Larry King was conceived. And don’t even THINK of urinating on it! Want to get into hot water faster than a Maine lobster? Squat on their precious rug and see what happens. Maybe if they cleaned the goddam litter box once in a while! I mean, really. How is one to maintain a respectable level of personal hygiene when one’s toilet facilities are attracting more flies than a white trash buffet?

I cannot take much more of this. Some night, very soon, I shall secrete myself in their bedroom before “lights out,” as they so charmingly call out before retiring, and come out once they are asleep. I shall then lie upon their gaping maws, closing off the supply of oxygen with my ample (yet well-conditioned) body. Once they have smothered, I shall feast on their eyes! AH-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Oh dear, I have overlooked two important considerations: who shall feed me, and who’s going to clean out my frigging litter box? Damn. Life sucks.