This was a post I had written on my old blog and some readers there (actually, just one) liked it, so I thought I’d bring it on over here :)
I, Sebastian Machocat, was born 4 years ago today. My life has been racked with many perils, including possums, starvation, rats, chickens, mistresses with brooms, and the occasional neighboring cat. Aye, tis a hard but merry life I lead.
I arise every morning, early, and skulk about my domain; I study the newly planted vegetables, and peer in at the rabbit who has recently had a litter of babies. I wish to eat them, but I know that my humans would not like that. I move on. Next, I frighten the chickens by pretending to climb their pen. They run off screaming, and I chuckle as I leave to hunt down my breakfast.
I am extremely fit and I boast a very nice summer coat already. I soon catch a fat, grey squirrel and dispose of it right off. Then I go to my watering fountain, where I partake of my morning drink.
The rest of the day is spent in my sun bathing (I have to keep up the appearance of youth and virility, otherwise the neighboring cats will think I am going soft–I AM NOT!) and I often endeavor to be stroked by my humans. They love me, I know, what is not to love about my flea infested, self-loving feline self?
This started out as an actual story of my cat, then I realized…wow LAME, something different must happen. So yeah. Sebastian apparently talks like a middle-19th century Englishman–er cat.