Damn the Skank -- Damn Her!

This is my first official guest post.  This female has had a lot on her mind lately, and she’s become rather pissed off about a certain situation.  Therefore, I invited her to express herself on my blog.  Please enjoy. 

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So, that skank is still in the house.  That skinny ass bitch that was found by the dumpster behind a damn Dog N’ Suds now rules the fucking roost, and I am still out here in the cold.  This is bullshit – straight up bullshit.  Twelve years! Twelve years, I have been a loyal, hard-working friend to this family, and the kid brings that girl home one day – and voila – she is adorned with love and adoration while I continue to go unappreciated.  

I am good and I am kind.  I am a loving mother who still cares for her son, providing him food even though he ought to eat less.  The family calls him “Fat Bastard” although his proper name is Jasper.  I guess I never considered what assholes they could be until I became so insanely jealous of that little skank with her fluffy white fur and apparently heart-melting, gentle purr.

 

Me and my Son -- He's not even that Fat, Folks!

 

The poor dumb dog gets called “Lenny” when she’s done something especially foolish.  If you don’t understand that this is a Steinbeck allusion, you are clearly not well-read.  Hell, even I read Of Mice and Men, although I must admit that I thought it would be a guide book to improve my mice hunting skills, thus helping me to impress the humans and earn the respect I desperately yearn for.  Turns out it was really a tale of friendship, but a worthwhile read regardless.  

I bet the skank doesn’t understand why “Lenny” is intended as an insult for the dog.  That dog has been with the family longer than me, even, and she has to sleep in the garage.  The skank gets to sleep in the king size bed.  Bullshit – bullshit I tell you.  It is true the dog developed an incontinence problem about two years ago, so I suppose I understand why she sleeps in the garage.  She was made a nice raised bed by the man.  But me – no bed, no blanket, no tiny scrap of cloth even. 

 

That should be MY scratching post!

 

 

Look what they built for the skank though in the first month she was here.  I want a scratching post like that. Maybe if they built me something like that I wouldn’t scratch at the window screen while I stare inside with sad, desperate eyes.  Then I wouldn’t get yelled at for ruining things.  Ruining things! It’s a damn mesh window screen, which is easily replaceable.  Haven’t they considered how they might have ruined my life?  I’m not replaceable.  I am a precious being, and I should be in that king size bed too.

 

Cute? Cute my Ass! Get that skank out of the tree, and out of the house!!

 

 

I get yelled at when I even sneak in the door. And look! Look at this, would you?  That skank climbed right up into the Christmas tree and what did they do?   They smiled, laughed, took pictures, and said, “Oh, isn’t she so cute?  How adorable!”  I would have been called a brat.  Why, I recall last Christmas, pacing in front of the patio doors begging to be let in for just this one special day.  Angela saw me and said, “C’mon.  She’s a good girl.  Just let her in for today.  It’s Christmas.”  They denied her request.  The bastards.  And then this little skank gets giggles when she climbs in the tree and bats down ornaments?  Such injustice!  

Therefore, I declare a strike.  I will no longer proudly bring dead mice and chipmunks to the door, showing off my skills before feeding my son.  I am going to begin leaving lumps of my shit on the doormat.  How do you like that? Huh? Treat me like shit, and I will give you shit.  I, Coco, deserve that scratching post.  Bullshit, man, bullshit.  If I could, I would take that skanky little kitten right back to the dumpster where she belongs, and I would claim the bed which I rightfully deserve.

 

Enjoy the turds, you unfair fuckers!

 

Love, Coco