Wrote this sometime after the emergency room visit mentioned yesterday. In my heart of hearts, I believed it would be a blockbuster children's book. Hope you like it.)
My name is Amelia and I'm a little kitty. Well, I see bad kitties outside through my windows and I think I might be bigger than them, but the kitty I live with is much bigger.
I didn't think he was a kitty at first. He doesn't look like a kitty and he doesn't smell like a kitty. But he lies around all day like a kitty, he avoids work like a kitty, and he likes playing with balls and string and pens like a kitty. So he must be a big kitty!
He's got funny eyes. There's little windows in front of them, so it's hard to lick his nose sometimes. When he takes the windows off, it's like he can't see at all, and then instead of Amelia he calls me IfYouKnockMyGlassesOnTheFloorItsBackToTheKittyStore. That's a funny name!
Really, I don't know what my name is. Back when I lived in the glass box, they called me Zola, unless I got out. Then they called me by my full name: WheresThatDangZola. The big kitty calls me Amelia (when I'm bad), Monkey, Sillyhead, Sweetie Sweetie Sweet Sweet, Boo, Poo, Poodle, Pootiepoot, Chupacabras, Zippy McFlibbet, Buddy and Sweetheart, and that's just on one day! He's certainly a very strange kitty.
He likes noise more than any kitty I ever heard of. He's got a big noisy thing he runs over the carpet. He says it helps get rid of fleas, but I think it's just a Scare The Kitty Machine. Also, he uses a funny litter box that makes a FLUSH noise every time he uses it. I don't know why he doesn't just use the extra litter box; I don't need it. And sometimes he makes noise all by himself. I think he thinks he's singing, but I just run away to be on the safe side.
He doesn't speak kitty very well at all either. I tear up the scratching pad every time he flushes, but he still can't figure out that he shouldn't do it. And he just won't understand that he needs to clean out my litter box immediately every time I use it. Until I poop on the floor and scratch at the carpet until he comes to look. Then he calls me BackToTheKittyStoreZola because of what a good job I did.
One week the big kitty barely got out of bed at all. I could tell he was scared, because if there's anything little kitties know about, it's being scared. I would lick his face and he would thank me and call me Dr. Amelia P. Monkey, and he must have had an eye boogie or some fur got in his eye because there was water leaking out of it.
One night the big kitty left. He didn't come back until a long time after the sun came up. When he came back, he had some papers he called his Hospital Discharge Papers and he wouldn't let me try to tear them up. But he wasn't sad or scared anymore, and we started playing together all the time again. Yay!
The big kitty doesn't eat his food out of a bowl on the floor. He likes it better heated up for some strange reason. Where we used to live, he got it out of a little box that beeped a lot, and it hardly took any time at all. Here he doesn't have a little box, and he makes his food on top of a big white thing, and it takes a long time. But he doesn't have to do anything to it, so he comes and plays with me a lot. I still can't teach the big kitty that just because I want to play with the ball one minute doesn't mean I'll want to play with it again the next minute. Something else interesting, a sound or a smell, might come up in the meantime. But he's learning.
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