Friday, December 30, 2005
Back to Pip's Intros: Polly
Hrrmph! "Back to the usual programme" hey? I was insulted, and I - *ahem* - indicated my displeasure clearly. On the man's pillow. And that ingenious act of self-vindication reminded me of this peculiarly relevant Coldplay song: "It was all yellow."
In some places they would call this art.
As I sit here in my splendid caged exile, listening to the satisfying whirr of the washing machine and the growled threats of those helplessly unenlightened humans, I type my next introduction - happy in the knowledge that I carry on the grand tradition of the great literary and philosophical masters. Here then, is Polly.
See that face? It's a characteristic Polly expression, the "Whaddaya looking at, @$$h0!e" glare. What is it with tortoiseshells and bad attitude? I can tell you this much, she's a bit of a hooligan and a nasty little you-know-what.
And what a pig. You should see her when it's feeding time. She climbs up the counter and starts swearing loudly in her crackly grating smoker's voice. Polly has a very wide vocabulary. She also has the most piercing shriek when she's annoyed. And the Look of Death. Undoubtedly, I hate her the most when the food cans are opened.
But is Polly more to be pitied than censured? She was a stray, the sole fugitive of an AVA culling (during which her mother and siblings were taken and killed); rescued by a Cat Welfare Society volunteer and adopted by our woman on a particularly harebrained day. Cue the vomity sad music, oh please do.
Polly's very smart and, on her good days, really sweet and affectionate with us cats and the humans. But in her bad moods she's totally aggro. She picks fights and stuff, and the funny thing is, she's by far the smallest cat here - growth stunted by congenital liver weaknesses - and thus we inevitably end up trashing her.
So this is Polly. Hoarse, greedy dirty-looking midget with a split personality. Don't be fooled by the cuteness.
Pip
In some places they would call this art.
As I sit here in my splendid caged exile, listening to the satisfying whirr of the washing machine and the growled threats of those helplessly unenlightened humans, I type my next introduction - happy in the knowledge that I carry on the grand tradition of the great literary and philosophical masters. Here then, is Polly.
See that face? It's a characteristic Polly expression, the "Whaddaya looking at, @$$h0!e" glare. What is it with tortoiseshells and bad attitude? I can tell you this much, she's a bit of a hooligan and a nasty little you-know-what.
And what a pig. You should see her when it's feeding time. She climbs up the counter and starts swearing loudly in her crackly grating smoker's voice. Polly has a very wide vocabulary. She also has the most piercing shriek when she's annoyed. And the Look of Death. Undoubtedly, I hate her the most when the food cans are opened.
But is Polly more to be pitied than censured? She was a stray, the sole fugitive of an AVA culling (during which her mother and siblings were taken and killed); rescued by a Cat Welfare Society volunteer and adopted by our woman on a particularly harebrained day. Cue the vomity sad music, oh please do.
Polly's very smart and, on her good days, really sweet and affectionate with us cats and the humans. But in her bad moods she's totally aggro. She picks fights and stuff, and the funny thing is, she's by far the smallest cat here - growth stunted by congenital liver weaknesses - and thus we inevitably end up trashing her.
So this is Polly. Hoarse, greedy dirty-looking midget with a split personality. Don't be fooled by the cuteness.
Pip
// posted by CatDonna & Cats @ 6:24 PM 
