Well, here I am, another year older. Five, if you must know (for those who were not at my birthday party, or to whom I forgot to mail an invitation). In case you were wondering, I did not invite any of my species in the new (one hopes temporary) neighborhood to my party. So far since residing here, I have seen two: the first one is an unruly Calico brute that has tried to pick a fight with me on more than one occasion. He is three times my size, leaving me no choice but to hide under a shed (as I’m clearly outmatched), when I am forced to go “play” outside by my caretaker. My caretaker has heard a neighbor refer to him as a junkyard cat, an apt description if I may say so. Luckily he hardly comes around now, as my caretaker has yelled at him numerous times — and this I note with great satisfaction — has turned the garden hose on him once successfully. It seems to be a deterrent that is working for the most part, only sporadic appearances on the part of the brute may be seen in the distance now and then. The other of my species I saw from the bedroom window sill one night, while I was overlooking the back alley, surveying the goings-on. This one was an unkempt individual of shaggy black and white appearance, that mistook the bird bath for his personal drinking fountain. I am none too eager to encounter that one up close either, from what I have observed.
Now to the matter of my fifth birthday: notice the indignity of what I was forced to wear for my birthday party for the amusement of my caretaker, who calls himself an author and photographer. A nice party hat — I was told — a crass cultural stereotype in my opinion if I may impart my perspective on the matter. Playing along with this nonsense, I at least expected perhaps some fish or maybe even some chicken tacos as due compensation, but fat chance in that regard. I did however get a can of delicious tuna fish (in water – for those who must know), to my caretakers credit. How on earth I was expected to blow out the candle is beyond my comprehension though — luckily my caretaker saw to that particular aspect, once the ridiculous singing was over. One dreads what is in store for me next year.