Charlie: Cat Of Danger!

Hi, all. Charlie here.  I've been on some big adventures, and I am a cat of danger.  Believe me, I am.

A year or so ago, I fended off a vicious rabbit attack, a rabbit who would have killed not only my housemates, but would have possibly destroyed the house.  I was sitting in the front window, minding my own business, when a car drove by the house, which prompted a vicious rabbit to come bounding in the direction of the house, indeed, right at the very window I was sitting in!  I, as usual, behaved heroically.  I ran and hid under the couch.  I saved the day, basically.  As usual, the oaf who lives here and changes the kitty litter and opens cans laughed at me.  Rodney Dangerfield has nothing on me.  I get no respect at all.

A while later, the oaf opened the refrigerator while I was standing there, hoping against hope that tuna fish would appear.  Instead, a pack of hot dog wieners fell off a shelf in the door and attacked me viciously.  Again, I bravely fought them off from under the couch in the next room.  Nobody gave me credit for it, obviously, but wild wieners can be evil fiends. Oh, the horrors of wieners!  As usual, I survived, again, heroically.  As usual, nobody gave me credit for saving their lives from the horrible monster wieners.  But, as heroes do, I decided that being modest was better for the image of a brave cat such as myself.

Later, I marched outside to greet the assortment of cats and kittens the oaf has collected.  I knew they would want to meet me.  I am, after all, a beauty in the cat world, with a figure sculpted by years of eating tuna fish.  The cats and kittens were on the back porch.  There were two mama cats there, with maybe 4 kittens or so between them.  As I approached the cats to introduce myself, one of the two adult females swatted me across the nose, drawing blood.  I immediately reacted heroically, once again, and, once again, dealt with the situation from under the couch in the living room.  I uttered something heroic, as well, as I made my wise retreat, though the oaf foolishly later described my vocalization as "squealing like a pig."  What an idiot to make an observation like that.

This is my last column.  I'm retiring, officially.  I'm heading to the islands, or the Hamptons, or somewhere.  I don't actually know where the islands are, but I'll find one.  I hope you all have a great life, and good luck to all of you! 

We have a young cousin, or nephew, or something in the house now.  His name is Ernie, and I guess he's OK for a young cat.  He's a pain in the butt most of the time, but he does have a big fluffy tail that I like to swat at from time to time.  He wants to be just like me, for good reason, but I think he probably lacks the humility that I naturally have.  He will be starting a new blog, and you can find the address to it somewhere on this screen.  He's a strange sort.  He likes steak instead of tuna fish.  What an oddball. 

Just remember, may the Tuna Be With You, Always!

Ta Ta for now!

(Oaf's note:  Charlie is now indeed living somewhere in the islands, not that I know exactly where they are either. Charlie recently informed me, however, that where he lives tuna literally jump out of the water and onto his dinner plate.  Charlie thanks you all for your obvious appreciation, which, as you know he deserves so richly.)