Monday, April 19, 2010

humans, your poll results are in

...and they ain't good. 100% of household orange cats surveyed cite critical flaws in governance of pets. Your approval ratings have dropped to a new low. Humans, I'll level with you. I've been your cat for .. what, four years? My arguments must hold some weight with you. And I argue that things aren't great.

Firstly. What's with that puddle of skin you insist on calling a 'dog'? That's no dog, believe me. 'Rudimentary drool-bot' I might believe, but never 'dog.'

I have the occasional itch for a fight; you may have noticed. When the urge rises within me I lie in the grass and twitch my tail in front of it. Egging it on, you see. But instead of pouncing, as any real dog would, what does the beast do? It simply runs jerky circles about me, making that ridiculous pained yelp it must think is a bark. I'd have pity on the brainless lump, had I been born with a pity. Honestly, I'd simply put the thing out of its misery and eat it--except I'm afraid I'd choke on all the idiocy.

The savage doesn't even bury its poo. (Nor, one hypothesizes, the remains of the neighbor children. I digress.)

And another thing. I couldn't help but notice you gave the aforementioned beef-loaf the right to freely enter the house. Or rather, I should say, my house. For so it was, once long ago, in that bright brief shining moment before either the idiot cat or the idiot dog. And your acquisition of both idiot animals pushed me further and further from my rightful domain. Humans, listen. I don't even need run of the entire house. There are rooms downstairs that are already so saturated with my divine feline liquids that to coat them further would be not just a waste, but potentially a sacrilege as well. I would be perfectly happy with the humble role of, say, benevolent supreme dictator for life nine lives of the living room and kitchen and bedrooms. Surely even two humans as slow of wit as you can see the wisdom of living under my protection rather than under my ire, yes?

And finally, we need to discuss the simpleton whose unfortunate genome tarnishes the name of 'cat.' My loathing of him is known to you. Here is my final offer: if you will take him to the pound, I will give you three hairballs (grass included), six bird carcasses, and the mutilated body of (either) one garden snake (or) one mouse. Take it or leave it.

Do us both a favor. Submit to my reasonable demands, lest I slice through the screen door, open your bellies in your sleep, and incubate my dark brood within your torsos.

Oh! One more. I require the tuna that comes in the cans with the light spring water.

Luhh..
llluuhhuuh..
ahem
lvuuhvhhhh..
Oh, piss it.

Sincerely,
Trollop

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

in which trollop experiences apoplexy

what. the hell.

is that.


Thursday, April 2, 2009

Once he'd vanquished his foe, he beat a hasty retreat

video

(it was a beaver puppet that waged the attack)

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Territory: a discussion

Facilitator: Thank you for joining us today for this cat forum on territory, territorialism, and similar behaviors. With us are our guests, Trollop and Orwell. Thank you for being with us, kitties.

Trollop: Oh shut the hell up.

Orwell: I'M SCARED! SO SCARED! ARE PEOPLE WATCHING?!

Facilitator: No, no one's watching -- this is a blog. They'll read it....

Trollop: Can we move along? I've got things to go pee on.

Facilitator: Fair enough. Tell me, Trollop, why is it that you demonstrate your territory by peeing on things?

Trollop: First of all, dumbass, I prefer the term "colonialism" to "territorialism," okay? Reason is, the whole world used to belong to me and was at my beck and call until that black ball of fur came to my house.

Orwell: I WAS HOMELESS! I WAS LIVING IN A CAR ENGINE!

Facilitator: Orwell, did you mean to threaten Trollop?

Orwell: NO! I JUST LIKE IT WHEN THE HUMANS RUB MY BELLY!

Facilitator: Fair enough. So why do you mark your territory?

Orwell: I DON'T! BUT SOMETIMES TROLLOP SCARES THE, well, CRAP OUT OF ME AND I CAN'T MAKE IT TO A LITTER BOX IN TIME!

Trollop: Can I go now?

Orwell: ME TOO! I HAVE TO PEE...ooooooooh, never mind....

Facilitator: Hi, yeah, can we get a clean-up in here?

Monday, January 5, 2009

Orwell puts two brain cells together and his life explodes

Human: Orwell, you like to hide under the guest bed, don't you?

Orwell: I love it! It's the awesomest place in the universe!

Human: But you're afraid of your shadow...

Orwell: SHADOWS SCARE THE CRAP OUT OF ME! THEY DON'T LEAVE!

Human: So why do you like being under the bed?

Orwell: It's dark and no one can see me!

Human: But...it's dark because it's the bed's shadow.

Orwell: ...WHAT? HOLY CRAP MONKEYS! WHAT?! ...NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—

Human: Orwell, dude, chill...

Orwell: — OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO....

Thursday, December 25, 2008

Christmas greetings from Trolldemort

Merry fucking Christmas and a Happy Go to Hell


Thursday, December 18, 2008

Operation Get Back Into the House: Success!

Attention readers, it is I, Trollop, here to update you on my master plan.

You didn't know I had a master plan? Pshaw. Idiots. OF COURSE I have a master plan. I've had it ever since I was kicked out of the house this summer, for no reason whatsoever, I might add.

I've found yet another deficiency with the humans: their sympathy when it comes to cute, furry things out in the cold weather. Lately, the humans' sympathy has allowed both me and the simpleton, Orwell, to be inside at night. They locked us into the bathroom, but Dumbbell there spent all night whining that he was in a nice, heated room, so then they put us in separate bathrooms. But then, THEN, it got to below freezing during the day. And Internets, the humans — they let me sleep on a blanket. IN THE LIVING ROOM.

But that is not all: I have discovered that they will open the door and let me walk to the blanket myself. And Internets, fuck all if I don't take a victory lap around the living room, the female human screaming "Trollop! TROLLOP!" while I sniff boxes and furniture legs. And then just when she's about to grab me and throw me back outside because I haven't done EXACTLY what I'm supposed to do, I hop up on the blanket, curl up and start purring.

that sound you hear? that's me faking a purr.


Soon, Internets, soon, the house? IT WILL BE MINE. AGAIN.

ALL. MINE.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Because it's really cold outside


OH MY HEAD! They're letting me sleep on the bed! Oh! Ooooooh! OHHHHHHHHHH! Praise be to all that is holy and beautiful! A DOWN COMFORTER!

Sunday, December 14, 2008

what Orwell is thinking right now, somewhere

CRAP! A GIANT FROZEN BIRD WITH DANDRUFF KEEPS FLYING OVER ME! IT IS DROPPING ITS DANDRUFF! THERE ARE EIGHT INCHES OF FROZEN BIRD DANDRUFF ON THE GROUND! THE PEOPLE ARE THROWING IT AT EACH OTHER WHEN THEY SHOULD BE PANICKING!