Pasha I

The cat had been having an excellent day as long as it could remember. Admittedly she had severe Alzheimer’s, so her mind could only recall events as far back as break-lun-din— well, as far back as her last meal. The day’s temperament changed suddenly when the youngest People Child returned home from wherever he goes to accumulate other children’s scent. He industriously cleaned off the living room floor, cruelly knocking Kitty Pasha off her Good Housekeeping magazine.
As the cat possessed no opposable thumbs, she couldn’t turn pages. She was a dedicated carnivore; vegetarian dinners didn’t matter to her. And most of all she could not read. But the way those glossy pages caught and held that fickle oft-absent sunlight— Ooh, orgasmic!
Unable to retrieve her precious sleep-rug, she stormed upstairs to the kitchen as fast as her arthritic legs could carry her. Her mission: to yowl for supper.

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Upon arriving in the kitchen, Pasha sees People Mother preparing People Supper. Sniff, sniff! It smells spicy. Our heroine knows that spicy foods will bloat her, shattering her already fragile digestive balance. She sets up a terrific yowling and crying for her Finicky Cat Brand cat food, the only thing she can stomach without the above mentioned disastrous results.
People Mother glances down at her from a towering height, and declares in a powerful voice, “Shut up, you old cat! I just fed you ten minutes ago!”
Kitty Pasha remembers now! She “Acghs!”, satisfied, drags her pained body back to the living room where she curls up on-gasp-a new Good Housekeeping magazine. She curls up to sleep a sleep of sneezes and wheezes, the sleep of the elderly. Good night, Kitty Pasha. Good night, world. Tomorrow will be a fine day.