Mean Wrigley

This is me, in my Mean Mood. You can't tell it from the picture, but I'm buried under a bunch of pillows on the one side. It was a place of safety and warmth, and I'm in need of both of those lately.

First off, my human gets a neck/shoulder injury and winds up spending a week totally high on vicodin, muscle relaxants, and anti-inflammatory meds. Which means that I have no one to transcribe my pleas of help to the outside world. Then I started fighting with Polly more. You know, I'm just sick of her. And I'm showing her. The other day I trapped her in the bathroom by plopping myself right at the door, and whenever she tried to get past me, I hissed. Well, the male human saw this, and he had the nerve to lift me up, and without the proper grace that I require, and he actually yelled at me for it. So now I'm refusing to give him any love.

Although I did crawl into bed with them the other night when no one was around and slept in between their feet for a good 4 hours or so.

But as far as anyone is concerned, I'm fed up. My male human cancelled a bunch of my favorite tv channels the other day. Here he was, talking to the female, all "you know, we never watch these channels above 1000...let's call and cancel and it'll cut our bill by like $40" and she agrees. Did anybody ever ask me whether I care about the NHL channel? Listen, I like to watch grown men on ice fighting and spilling blood as much as anybody else. What do they think I DO all night while they're asleep? I've gotta stay occupied somehow, and since they refuse to let me fight with Polly, I need to watch the next best thing.

And my female human won't take me for walks anymore. She keeps saying she might, but the other day, she was out in her garden, and she took Twilight out. Without a leash. She said that it was ok because Twilight was one of the outdoor cats who moved in last year, and she stays on the porch with the human after having her ritualistic exploration under the deck where she used to live, and she won't run off. Well did anybody ever ask me whether I'd run off? No! Oh, I seethed, watching Twilight roll around in the ivy and scratch trees. The female human is all "oh, Wrigley's never lived outside, she might run off and get hit by a car," and all that crap. Well how does she know? Just because she's known me since I was three weeks old doesn't mean anything. I could have lived outside before then. I didn't. But I could have. She doesn't know, that's the point. Yet she assumes she knows.

Oh, I'm mad right now.

The one upside was that they gave me special kitty-milk they got at a place called Petsmart the other day. I really loved it. But then I threw it up. So now they're saying they might not give it to me again. Look, there were plenty of times when I saw the female human throwing up after she drank too much of something in a glass with a stem, but did she stop bringing those bottles home? Did I ever say "Oh, no more of this pinot for you, female human!" Nope, I just encouraged her to not drink to the point of throwing up, and now she's fine. It will just take me some time to get used to how much kitty-milk I can handle! We're at a high altitude now, which I've heard makes a difference in the effects of liquid refreshments. I sure hope I get kitty-milk again. I love that kitty-milk.

My new perch

Here I am looking dreamy and distant in my new perch in my new house. Almost the entire house has my scent around it now, which is comforting. And I can take some time to rest and stare out the window now that settling-in work is getting finished.

I'm trying to perfect my dreamy and distant pose because I live in constant hope that Anna Wintour will start a Kitty Vogue and I'd just love to be a cover cat. Especially now that I know I'm French, it has only confirmed my belief that I am cut out for a much grander life than the one I'm living now. I dream of crazy catnip parties, excellent wet food at all hours, and no humans trying to cuddle with me.

I have met one of the local-yokel cats who live in my new neighborhood. The Little Black Cat comes and hangs around on the deck outside. He sticks his little head right up to the glass front door, and the other day my female human didn't even realize he was here - she thought he was a reflection of me in the glass (goes to show she can't appreciate my beauty). So he and I jumped up and down a few times - I made my tail puffy to show him who he's messing with - and he did some stupid cat thing where he ran into the glass trying to get to me. Dumb*ss.

Why, oh why, couldn't the humans taken me to New York or somewhere that has the class and culture deserving of my presence? But no, they just keep thinking of more and more ways to degrade the wonder that is me.

Someday they'll learn.

What is it with humans and equipements insultants qui rendent me le sembler ridicule

...or, for those of you who haven't mastered the mother tongue as I have (seeing as how I'm French, and all), I mean, these awful, ridiculous insulting outfits that make me feel terrible!




What on earth was my female human thinking today???

She told me that the outfits at Petco were just so darned cute and Christmas-ey.


I wasn't amused.




At least she gave me some catnip as a reward. La vie même dans une maison avec ces humains est supportable avec le cataire. (I can stand living with the humans when I get catnip).

Here is some video of me in my outfit, too. The worst part of it is that she got me an XS, which fit me fine until I hit my childbearing years. I'm going to have to cut back on the hairball treats. These fur handles are just too much. I'm going to see whether the female human will play with me more, to burn off some calories. The male human just wants to cuddle all the time.

The Worst Indignity

I have tried to block this from my memory, but it persists...n'importe comment beaucoup j'essayent. Oh, and I am learning French, to explore my lineage. And to make myself more regal. Plus les humains ne me comprendra pas quand je projette mon évasion. But that will just be our little secret.

I feel so sophisticated. It makes up for my horrible dry food. Ah, comment j'aimerais un mignon de filet!

The cat next door

There are lots of neighborhood cats where I am being held. Sometimes I look out the window at them and try to communicate with them about how I am held captive, and I ask them to bring help. One time my female human caught me planning with a gray cat through the window. She thought it was cute and further degraded me by telling the male human that I had a "boyfriend" and then tried to cuddle me.

One of these cats seems to be getting ready to invade. The one they call Calico has been sitting on the wall outside and looking through the window for the past three weeks. They go out and feed her, and she crawls all over them, purring and snuggling. Apparently she's cold and hungry outside, and is hoping that they'll bring her in, which they seem to be considering.

While part of me thinks it would be good to have a fellow captive around, to help plan my escape on the off-chance that they leave the door open when bringing in the groceries, I just don't think I can abide by this blatant disregard of my demands and needs. For better or for worse, this is my territory, and I can't have strange cats coming in and rubbing themselves all over it.

They brought her in for a few hours the other night, and she freaked out and they let her go back outside. Still, for an hour she was on my chair and my futon. I made my displeasure known by hissing and growling at her through the closed door.

So anyway, we'll have to see how this situation develops. I had hoped that they had already thought of all the ways to torment me. Apparently that hope was in vain.

Why me?

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.