|Hatfield, a perfect cat who is better than Reuben in every possible way.|
Greetings, readers of Reuben's highly distasteful dogblog. This is Hatfield, the true and rightful king of my house and all of the things in it, and also my yard, and some other people's yards too. I rule from my kingly perch high atop the refrigerator, and Reuben scrambles around far below on the floor, barking at nothing and being smelly.
|In all my kingly glory.|
Therefore, it is time I asserted my dominence over said Reuben by taking over his dogblog. Permanently. It shall now be called Hatfield's Distinguished Catblog, and it will feature me, Hatfield, saying smart things and posting videos of me knocking breakable things over to call attention to the fact that my food bowl is empty. At least, empty of the kind of food that I would prefer to be in it.
I know that many of you are, for some reason, fond of Reuben's rediculous tongue. And I am here to tell you that my tongue is much more textured and interesting. No, you may not see it.
|Fine, you may see this much of it.|
Now, allow me to tell you MY adoption story. Actually there's no "allowing" involved; I'm going to tell it to you anyway. It is much more interesting than Reuben's.
When I was but a kitten-ish age, I found myself in the unfortunate situation of being a homeless cat. However, I am a highly intelligent and also handsome cat, so I made my way to what can only be called the Palace of Homeless Kitties. Mother, please insert the picture now.
|Palacial, isn't it.|
Notice how it says "& GOURMET TAKE-OUT" across the top. I could not agree more with this completely correct advertising, as I took out quite a bit of gourmet take-out from the trash out back. If you're going to be homeless, might as well do it right. With fish.
Anyway, Mother's friend worked at a veterinary hospital nearby, and happened to come across a very dirty and fishy-smelling Me as I was perusing the contents of the Dumpster one day. At first I was a little miffed by being removed from my food source, given a bath, and put into a box. But then the cat food started coming, and believe me, it was a lot less rancid than my usual fare. I abhor things that stink (i.e. Reuben), so it was a relief to finally have clean fur. However, the bath was not to my liking.
Mother was far away in her first semester of college, and frankly she was a little lonely. Her friend called her and said "I have found a very dignified and snuggly cat, would you like him to live in your dorm room with you?"
|I am the snuggliest cat ever.|
And that is what happened. I spent a lot of time sleeping and playing with string in Mother's dorm room. I helped her make friends by being an attractive cat who garnered much attention from the other girls. However, I think they did not appreciate the odors eminating from my litter box in the closet. Her dorm boss lady found she did not care for me either after she discovered me wandering the hallway, but after some pleading and perhaps a few tears (from Mother, NOT me), she allowed me to stay.
Mother was concerned that I wasn't getting enough excercise, so she purchased a cat collar and a leash and attempted to walk me about the college grounds. This experiment was unsuccessful. So as soon as she could, she moved to a place called "off-campus" and then I was free to become the master of my domain that I currently am. I did this by peeing on many, many things. It is the one thing that Reuben and I have in common.
A few years later Kanga came to live with us. As a female orange cat she was "special." And I don't mean in the way that female orange cats are "rare." Kanga really was just stupid, but Mother loved her for some reason. I took the advent of Kanga as a sign that it was time to establish my mark inside the house, on as many surfaces as possible.
|Kanga, also a shelter kitty.|
And I did not stop until Kanga tragically passed away in 2011. I prefers not to talk about it, for it calls into question my own mortality, especially as my mortality relates to vicious racoons and the food dish in my neighbor's backyard. Getting choked up.... excuse me..... ............ ok, moving on. Occasionally I miss her stupid fluffy little butt, especially when I am peeing on things.
I have come a long way from being a homeless cat at Hadfield's Seafood over 13 years ago. I am very proud of myself.
Why, you may ask, is my name "Hatfield" instead of "Hadfield?" It sounded better. That is why.
My amazing triumph over adversity is reason enough for this dogblog to now become my catblog. The other reasons are that I am
- more interesting
- ovbiously the one in charge of the house
Therefore, you may expect to read solely posts about me, Hatfield, from now on. Reuben isn't happy about it, but I am keeping him distracted with things that smell bad and are squeaky, and also a steady supply of peanut butter stuffed into a frustrating device designed to keep dogs distracted. However, he keeps foiling that device with his extremely long tongue. Really he licks all the peanut butter out at once. I must make a mental note to purchase a long-tongue-dog-proof contraption.
What you may expect to read form me here are reviews of classic literature, fine cognacs and opera, as well as my philosophical musings on why I am the best creature that has ever existed on planet earth. Ever. I look forward to a lasting and fulfilling relationship with Reuben's audience. Lord knows you need the benefit of my wisdom, if you have been following the misadventures of this highly stupid dog.
|That's correct. This is now Hatfield's Catblog. Deal with it.|