LET ME OUT OF THIS FREAKIN' HOUSE!
I just want to go outside. Can't our mother understand that? I spend hours looking out the window at all sorts of animals that get to frolic in the grass and explore among the trees.
So why am I held up in the house?
I've been to movie premieres, award shows, Brad Pitt's annual naked barbeque...yet I'm not allowed to go into my own back yard? Something is terribly wrong here!
Is it that she doesn't trust me? Is it the rumors of violent squirrel gangs in our area? I can get a bodyguard if that will make her feel more comfortable.
You know, she gets to go outside all the time! What is that about? I'm beginning to think our mother just might be a racist. "Come on, everyone! Let's go outside! Not so fast, you inadequate feline!"
All I want is some raw sunshine on my fur and the opportunity to roll around in the rabbit turds scattered throughout the yard. Plus, she keeps complaining about the damage the moles are doing to the grass; it doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize she has a mole hunter locked away in a tower. My money is on the fact that the moles aren't just going to leave on their own. They need a little "Kukka-spiration."
Let me out, woman! I demand it!
I THINK I JUST PEED A LITTLE BIT
Going outside. Oh my...I'm getting nervous just thinking about it.
Kukka, remember when we lived at the other house and you escaped outside and hid in the bushes for, like, an hour? I stood at the door and shook violently--I was so scared! And remember the last time we went to the vet and Mom decided the best thing was to put you in the carrier first and add me once we got into the car (I know...I'm not sure what she was thinking, either)? She carried me in her arms to the car and I peed down the front of her shirt. I couldn't help it! I was scared! That doesn't make me less macho, does it?
The dangers of going outside are countless!
First, there are predators. Despite local law, frequently there are dogs roaming around the neighborhood--without leashes! They are just looking for a sweet, ginger feline to invite to dinner, and not as their guest...ifyouknowwhatImean!
Secondly, there are other cats. Feral cats can be tough and territorial! I know you think all strays are sweet cats who are simply displaced. While that is the case for some, what about the cats who killed their humans in cold-blood and took to the streets to escape prosecution, moving from trash can to trash can, murdering anyone who dares cross their paths? What of them? Quit laughing, Kukka-Maria...
Finally, what if we were to get into the street and get hit by a car? I know that, because you have ridden in limos your entire life, Kukka, you believe you know the rules of the road. You are wrong, sister! Did you know there were 4.7 squillion cats hit by cars just last month? And I rounded down that number to be conservative! I'm not willing to take that risk.
So, in closing: Outside=Dangerous Death Trap; Inside=Comfortable and Safe.
Also, Kukka? I hesitate to criticize, but I don't think the term you wanted to use was "racist," but rather "specist." We are not Homo Sapiens, we are Felis Catus. Implying Mom is racist is suggesting she is biased about other races of humans...not cats. And, for the record, I believe our mother is neither racist, nor specist.
Don't claw me in my sleep, Kukka--I'm only trying to mentor you in the ways of the world. And, if I were ever wrong--which is statistically improbable, I hope you would take time to show me the error of my...STOP BITING MY TAIL!