Notes from the Catbox

Meow.

This is Boris, the Most Excellent Cat in the World.   Or at least in Bill’s and Gene’s home, since that’s all I ever get to see.

Bill and Gene are upstairs in the media room snoring, and dumbo Bill forgot to shut the door to his secret sanctorum, his office, where he hangs out most mornings.  It’s so interesting in here.   I found this snazzy computer with flashy lights and everything, so I thought I’d paw out a note on his website.

Originally, I wanted to nap on the big, cozy bed in the master bedroom, but my sister, Natasha, is in there.  She’s so mean to me sometimes.  Like all the time, basically.  Anyway, I tried to cuddle up next to her to sleep, and she just snarled and swatted me away.  The movie upstairs–you know, the one Bill and Gene are snoring to–is too loud to go up there and nap.  So here I am, in Bill’s office.  There’s no soft place to curl up and sleep here.  So I’m stuck with writing.  Or more accurately, you’re stuck.  If you don’t like it, tough.

It’s also pretty lame that they named us after Boris and Natasha Badinov.  I mean, I get that we’re Russian Blues and everything, but really.  Naming the Most Excellent Cat in the World after a cartoon spy? We don’t look anything like those two. What were they thinking?

Meow.  You know that’s cat for “me me me me,” right?  After all, all that matters is me.  I’m the Most Excellent Cat in the World.  Call me MECitWo for short.

I should have started there.

Call me MECitWo.

There. That’s way more compelling than, “Call me Ishmael.”  Plus, I paw better than that boring old guy Herman writes, and he’s got fingers.  Besides, who calls a human Herman, anyway?  Herman Melville. Hermann Hesse.  Hermann Weyl.  Bernard Hermann. Ethel Herman.  Oh, wait.  She was a Merman.  Never mind.

So, anyway, here I am.  I know Bill is working on several novels.  He’s even got a sample chapter posted at his author blog, but I don’t have an account there.  I read it, though, and I guess it’s okay.  At least it doesn’t have any dogs in it.  But it doesn’t have any cats, either.  I mean, who wants to read something with no cats?

Well, they’ve turned the sound down upstairs, so maybe I can take nap now.  If Gene’s awake, I bet he’s trying to knit.  I love that.  The yarn is so soft. It’s a great place to cuddle, even if he does try to jab me with knitting needles.  But I’m MECitWo, so he stops knitting and lets me sleep.

The world is as it should be. With me at the center.

Boris

PS I categorized this under “travel,” since I traveled into the forbidden hinterlands of Bill’s office.