Thursday, February 23, 2012

Otis cuddles up to idea of a dead Papa

Your dashing guest blogger.
For some reason, Papa cannot write this week. But don't worry, his most favorite of cats. OTIS! Will take over in his stead. We on such similar wavelength, you probably not even notice difference.

It actually seems weird Papa not write. I mean, he been extra cuddly a lot recently. Usually to cuddle, I must put frog in mouth and moan for upwards of 17 minutes. Usually only then does he relent to cuddles.

I think it weird that Papa write this entry about us eating him, and then all of the sudden he stop moving. Of course we going to eat him, because what else we eat? Vegetables? NO! But I say I only eat bits of neck. Sprocket eat whole lot of Papa. Sprocket a stupid cat. Not smart like Otis. Otis not bite to kill. Otis bite to survive. Although I do kind of miss kibble. Kibble taste good, but Papa taste good. So conflicted.

Either way, I still give him the best cuddles. Like if you rank them, I'd probably be just below some automated cuddling machine straight from the labs of Apple. Or maybe Ron Jeremy on the level of cuddle goodness. He seems to cuddle good. I cuddle good too. I equal him. Papa probably realized this and that why he cuddling so good now.
Normally I must moan like this to get cuddles.
Not anymore.

Although it kind of weird. Usually he move and put arm around me to cuddle, but not anymore. I need to work my way under his arm. He not move much, he also not have pulse. Not exactly sure how the human arterial system work, but I assume that means he totally in cuddling mood. I find when he do have pulse and I stink, I no get cuddles. He have no pulse, no matter how I smell, I get cuddles. Even when I have my "DiarOtis™" we still cuddle. Win win all around—except for Papa's vital organs. Which Sprocket says taste delicious, but I not know. I good kitty. I smart kitty. I way better than Sprocket.

This just might be the best thing that ever happen to the Papa-Otis relationship. Just need to get rid of Sprocket and life becomes absolutely perfect. Place a little bit of arsenic in Papa's pancreas and the fool Sprocket will chow down on it. Joke on him though, not only does he get no delicious beta cells (I hear), he don't even get to live longer. Ha ha. Otis win. Sprocket lose because he stupid.

That's really all I have to say. Sure, I admit to catricide, but I also admit to having awesome cuddles with Papa, and no jury in the world would convict me for that!

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