trollop and orwell

humans, your poll results are in

2010-04-19T21:22:00.000-07:00

...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

in which trollop experiences apoplexy

2009-08-11T21:15:00.000-07:00

what. the hell.

is that.

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

2009-04-02T22:03:00.000-07:00

(it was a beaver puppet that waged the attack)

trollop dreams

2009-03-18T16:10:00.000-07:00

Territory: a discussion

2009-01-28T19:21:00.001-08:00

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?

Orwell puts two brain cells together and his life explodes

2009-01-05T20:48:00.001-08:00

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....

Christmas greetings from Trolldemort

2008-12-25T13:22:00.000-08:00

Merry fucking Christmas and a Happy Go to Hell

Operation Get Back Into the House: Success!

2008-12-18T16:58:00.000-08:00

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.

Because it's really cold outside

2008-12-17T16:18:00.000-08:00

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!

what Orwell is thinking right now, somewhere

2008-12-14T12:02:00.000-08:00

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!

Your love, it burns my skin

2008-12-12T21:11:00.000-08:00

Humans: it is I, Trollop. We must talk. About the way your 'love' causes me physical and mental distress.

You must first understand something: when you cuddle me, or put me in warm places, or give me the soft wet food that contains those succulent little bits of liver or whatever, it makes me tingle. It is unpleasant. Unpleasant in ways I find difficult to express in your unwieldy ape language.

Firstly, the lung spasms. When you scratch under the strap that encircles my neck (unbearably tightly, I might add), my breathing quickens and little rhythmic growls emanate from my chest. Normally, humans, growls are fine--I take great pride in my pitch control, my volume, and my capacity to produce a prolonged expression of utter vocal disdain. But these forced growls are not of my doing. What's worse, your efforts to disrupt my breathing with your 'love' appear to have a positive feedback component to them--in that the more I suffer them, the greater your efforts to elicit them.

And when you speak to me in those accursed soft tones, and scrape the repulsive pink flesh of your human forepaws across my back or under my chin or behind my ears, my leonine muscles lose their rigidity and I go weak. I can only attribute it to some bizarre chemical interaction between your weak, soft human meat and my superior feline meat. As with matter and antimatter, perhaps the universe abhorrs contact between our antithetical physical states. If only you felt the pain of it as I do. If only I could make you feel it.

Whenever I find myself in this humiliating state I try to warn you of your imminent doom by extending my claws and salivating profusely. This is done to signify my desire to eat your face. I am certain you notice; you comment on it endlessly in those intolerably condescending human words. Ironically, though, when I give you these warning signals, you only seem to redouble your efforts to torture me.

So we come to the point: I can take no more. I have consulted my repulsive human lawyers. Your papers will be served shortly.

Mister Squirrel

2008-12-06T19:50:00.000-08:00

"Oh, hello, Mister Squirrel. I didn't even see you there. Why don't you come down and we can have a nice cup of tea together."

(Pictures of Orwell are rare; he is afraid the camera will steal his soul.)

"OH HEY MISTER SQUIRREL come back I didn't mean to throw my tea at you or swipe my claws at your face. Please come back."

"Mmm, that was a tasty dinner." [licks paw] "Human, do you have any club soda? I'm not sure how to get blood stains out of my fur...."

How to annoy your human

2008-12-03T15:02:00.000-08:00

When you hear the humans' car coming, run alongside them to get their attention, then jump in front of the car as it turns into the driveway. Walk re-he-HEE-ly slowly while they edge up toward the garage. Then, when they want to pull up the last five feet, stop, sit, and lick your paw. While they pound on the steering wheel and say bad words, pretend you can't hear them and roll over on your back. (For some reason they find this irresistibly cute. Humans — so easy to manipulate.) They'll give up, park, and just shake their heads as they get out to scratch your belly.

Oooh. Oooooooh. Yeah, scratch it, bitch. Okay, I'm done now so I'm going to chomp your hand.

Orwell ejects from underneath the porch

2008-11-28T12:46:00.000-08:00

snooze

Rumble, rumble.

stretch

blink, blink

Ooh, I hear a sound! I hate sounds! They scare me! Oh, it's that great big gray thing the guy and girl drive sometimes, but that mostly sits off to the side of the garage! I hate that thing! Trollop always pees on its tires! Trollop scares me! Glad I'm hiding under the porch here! Here comes the guy! And here comes the girl! Sometimes she scares me! And —

HOLY MOTHER OF EARTH WHAT THE BLAZES IS THAT!? It's big and green and it looks like a tree but TREES DON'T MOVE LIKE THAT! Shit! Shit! Shit!

My name is Trollop, and I hate you

2008-11-26T23:08:00.000-08:00

Lookit. First of all, we're going to set some ground rules:

1. We both acknowledge that I absolutely hate you, and will never stop absolutely hating you.
2. The only thing I think about all day, every day, is opening your abdominal cavity with my claws and eating your major organs and sleeping in the nice warm hole I leave.
3. Remember, I hate you.

Aside from the above very simple points, I could not care less about you. In fact, why are you here? Go away. Go over there, pour me some food, then scratch my neck. I SAID SCRATCH MY NECK, BITCH

*purr*

New beds

2008-11-26T21:00:00.001-08:00

OH MY HEAD HE'S PETTING ME! LIFE IS SO GOOD!

I can go from cute and cuddly to fangs and claws in .00003 seconds.

Orwell, one minute ago

2008-11-26T16:29:00.001-08:00

HOLY COW the door is OPENING! This means they're going to FEED ME! It's the man! Oh, I want him to PET ME! I'll jump up on the railing so he'll rub my butt just above the tail! I love it when he rubs me there! Okay, I'm getting ready to jump! Must crouch and wiggle my butt as I size up the jump, EVEN THOUGH I DO IT EVERY DAY! Wiggle, wiggle! Okay, jump! Oh, shit! Must hold on! Front legs...slipping! Back legs...scrambling, grappling! Okay, I'm up! Whew, that was close! Okay, I'm ready for my butt to be rubbed! Rub my butt! Human, QUIT LAUGHING AND RUB MY BUTT!