Oh noes, it’s pre-Halloween. My moms gets all crazy and pulls out her credit card. She buys me the dumbest costumes evar.
We both know this will end badly.
IDK what this is all about. Why do you insist on making me look like such a dork?
None of mah friendz will think I’m cool with these dumb photos. We need daddy to come home & do Wal-Mart photo studioz in the basement so I can look more scrubilicious.
There is more bad news: Emma told me that Mom ordered a rooster hat & witch hat & jester collar from Dr. Fosters Smith.
I’m in for a world of hurt.
I’m on Catster because the internets can’t get enough of me.
We’re in the middle of a move and Moms says it will get easier but I’m not sure. My Scrubby Sense is tingling and my laser eyes are activated.
Maybe I’m in a funk because Moms keeps buying me girlie blankets. I’M A BOY, MOMS.
All this talk about moving is making me stressed. Maybe I’ll go play in my wrestle box — except it’s a girlie wrestle box, too!
I have some gender issues. I’m going to talk to Emma about my probs.
Mom calls me a pee monster. The vet thinks I need to be reacquainted with my calm, zen side.
I’m fine, dudes. I’m just trying to express my disdain for the placement of the litter boxes. You’re on notice: I want a litter box within two feet of my body at all times or I am peeing on Mom’s clean pants.