I am Wrigley. At least I think I am. That's what my humans call me. I usually pretend I don't understand them, though. It keeps things easier that way.
I was left in a Big Lots parking lot in Nashville Tennessee when I was just a few weeks old. This was 3 years ago. My human found me (she says she was going to Big Lots to buy closet organizers, but I don't believe her - she can't organize her sock drawer let alone a whole closet) and it's been all downhill from there. I've had to come to Los Angeles, in a car. I go to San Francisco with her for something she calls "work" a lot, also in a car. She got this husband, and he's always trying to cuddle with me. Doesn't he understand that I am regal, and meant to be admired from afar?
I am starting this blog because I feel a need to share my experience in captivity. No creature as famous and refined as myself should be forced to eat dry food and sleep in a pink fuzzy bed thing they got at Target. Honestly. The nerve.
I will be documenting the insults that I receive. Hopefully my pain and suffering can help others.