WINNIPEG – In a rare display of feline self-awareness, George, an 8-year-old housecat, expressed concern over the fact that his owner Elizabeth’s mental health and happiness seemed to revolve entirely around the fact that his adorable ‘lil tumtum was so darn fluffy.
“Goddamnit, I know, okay?” George growled. “I get it. Every single freakin’ day she comes home from work, sticks her face in my stomach, and calls me her ‘fluffy little man with the cutest fluffy little tummy who I would probably die without.’ Do you think I don’t understand what’s going on here? Do you honestly think I don’t comprehend the weight of my responsibility? Jesus Christ.”
George then did a big ol’ stretch in his chosen sunbeam of the day.
“I’d take up smoking, but I lack opposable thumbs, so I’ve settled for anxiety licking. Don’t you dare ask me where.”
George confessed that knowing how much of Elizabeth’s mood depended on his sweet sweet kitty stomach maintaining a high level of fluff made bathtime significantly more stressful.
“I have to do it right or I get mats in my fur and she freaks the hell out,” he said after a short 18-hour nap. “Listen. I am a majestic beast. King of all I survey. I have to have boundaries. And I swear to god if she tries to touch my stomach without my permission to help get rid of my knots I will shred her hands to fucking PIECES. I don’t care how sad she is. So, self-maintenance is important.”
“Being beautiful isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” he added. “You have to do the work. You have to make sacrifices. The other day Elizabeth was crying because of something at work and wouldn’t shut up until I rolled over into my back and displayed my majestic stomach fur like some common wanton harlot. It is a degradation.”
Elizabeth could not be reached for comment, but neighbours confessed to hearing her utter phrases like, “I don’t know what I would do without my man’s tiny floofy tum,” and being concerned both for her and for the well-being of her hypothetical boyfriend.
