My name is Agnes.
I'm seven years old, give or take. A couple of old people once named me “Chata” which is slang for flat. I guess it's because I have a flat face? Yup, I'm a smooshed face cat. A Persian, as they call us. I don't live with those people anymore, because they were too lazy to take care of me. I only require a few things from humans: feed me when I demand it and let me lay on you sometimes. It's not much to ask, but they couldn't handle it and gave me up to that crazy woman who use to cut off my hair with her demon clippers.
I hated her house. And not just because I'm a cat and I hate everything, but because they had way too many dogs. Big ones, loud ones, spazzy ones, and even one really bossy little one. I didn't like being there, but at least the lady gave me attention sometimes. When I wanted it, of course. Which isn't very often. She did get the chance to discover something important about me though, which she passed on to my new owners the day they took me from that place. She learned of my love of strings. And attacking strings. And eating strings. And hair-ties, and cords, and anything else that looks like it's moving. I'm a viscous predator, and those strings never see me coming.
Well, I used to be a wild vicious predator, anyway. Something has changed that, but that is a story for another day. This is just me giving you the luxury of knowing who I am and where I came from. You'll have to wait to learn more about me until I'm ready to tell you.
That's kind of my thing, I guess. I do whatever I want, when I want, and sometimes I'll need you to do things for me. And if you're lucky, I might even rub my gross eyes and tiny nose on your hand or leg. Or even some important paper you left too close to the edge of a coffee table.
Back to the story for today, though. You see, my current “help” came to pick me up from that crazy lady and all her lesser animals. Can you believe that she made me use the bathroom in a bathtub?! With other non-Persian cats, too! Ugh, gross.
These people came one day, and the lady tracked me down. Not sure how she found me, I'm usually so stealth-like. And she picked me up to cradle me like everyone always does. I usually don't like that, but she had a really distracting ceiling fan. And I watched the fan. And it was spinning...and spinning. And I watched it and watched it. What was I talking about?
Oh right, “they” were there to pick me up and take me from that lady to some place new. They put me in my tiny little red prison cell and put me in their car. It was a long ride, must have been like days, I think. I meowed a lot and pushed my face up against the bars of the cell to meow even more. I wanted them to hear me, but not touch me too much. So after a year or so of driving and meowing, we get to their house and they take me out. There wasn't any carpet at all, which I use to sharpen my deadly razor-sharp claws. Oh, and to get traction when I walk.
See, I have short, bandy little legs. Which are the perfect shape for a cat, but not exactly the best for running around a slick floor. So those first few months, I spent sliding around any time I ran, or explored, or walked, or anything really. I'm mostly used to it now, but it was a rough time at first. I was so not deserving of that treatment, let me tell you.
I settled in to my new paradise soon enough, though. I even jumped up with “them” and kneaded their blanket for them before sitting someplace else on the first night. Because why would I want to sit where I just fluffed up? That's what you're going to ask me, right?
You're weird, not me.
I'm Agnes. Next time, I'll talk about my all time favorite thing ever. Well, one of my all time favorite things ever. Greenies.