My agent has decided to take action. As I predicted, my treats have been eliminated due to my curvy figure. Or, how about I put it the way she did: "HUSKY AND PLUMP CHUNKINESS!"
"Oh, Kukka! I had no idea your girth had grown to such an extreme! While I should blame myself for distributing treats non-stop, I blame you! You are lazy! You sleep up to 18 hours each day!"
Stunned by her words, I defended myself. "Come on, lady! I can't open the refrigerator. I can't open treat jars. I think we share the blame--90/10."
"Fine. I call it! I'm the 10%," she shouted, pumping her fist in the air with what she believed to be a sweet victory.
I thought of name-calling, but went with good ol' sarcasm. "I'm happy you find my health issues so thrilling you feel you need to do a victory lap of the living room!"
"You know, Kukka. If you want treats, you could always get a job and buy some for yourself," she muttered under her breath.
"FINE BY ME!" I swatted my tail in her general direction and stormed from the room, hiding the puzzled look on my face. "A job?" I thought, my heart practically pounding out of my multiple-nippled chest. "How do I get a job?"
Since I wasn't looking for permanent work (OH DEAR GOD, NO!), I opted to contact Manpower for a temporary opportunity.
The phone call to Manpower was lengthy and exhausting, mostly due to the fact the kind, but clearly stupid, gentleman struggled to understand Meow (and, in my stubbornness, I refused to speak English). Finally, he asked me to come in for an interview.
Despite my history of making movies, cutting albums, and writing best-selling books, I've never had a "real job," so I had to think long and hard about how I should look when I went for my interview. I opted to wear my glasses because I felt I looked less super-sexy and more super-smart. You can imagine how difficult it is for me to look less super-sexy, but I thought it wise not to overwhelm them with my animal magnetism. Because the only clothing I really have is custom-designed red carpet gowns (which were way too fancy) and that hideous muumuu (which, well, was way too hideous), I decided to neatly groom my fur and call it good.
My agent refused to drive me, so I called for a limo. In hindsight, I suppose my first mistake was to drink too much complimentary champagne. Two bottles. I thought I could handle it, believing my extreme weight to off-set the effects of the alcohol.
I was terribly wrong.
Stumbling into the Manpower office, I was ushered into a small conference room, where a smartly dressed woman was waiting.
"I'm Carolyn," she said in the sweetest version of her voice she could offer. "You must be Kukka-Maria."
"Right. Do you have your application and résumé?" she asked, her voice now as shrill as a cat in heat.
"Do you have my shit in your hand?" I slurred.
"Language, please. Language!" she shrieked. "I suppose we can continue without those very important documents you should have had with you."
I put my hand behind my back to secretly give her the middle claw. While not directly confronting her, it made me feel much better.
Squinting, she judgmentally continued. "Now, when Barry spoke with you on the phone, you mentioned something about being a celebrity. And you made it evident to me you are also an empress. Can you tell me a little bit about that and what skills you think you can offer an employer, based on that experience?"
I flopped over on my back and stroked my multiple nipples as I explained, "I'm super-sexy. I'm royal. I am royally, super-sexy...and that's the word, turd!"
"I see," she mumbled. Clearly flummoxed, she adjusted the papers on her lap. "Can you file?"
"Can you pour coffee?"
Looking at her with a sly grin, I rolled my eyes. "Do you see opposable thumbs? How would you expect me to grasp a coffee pot? That's just an accident waiting to happen!"
"How about typing."
"But, don't you have a blog you author? How do you type that?"
Stifling my giggles and offering up a deafening champagne belch, I snickered. "Um...I have employees who take care of those menial tasks for me."
"Empress, why are you here?" she inquired. "You clearly do not want to work. You are belligerent and you are obviously intoxicated!"
As I rose and began stumbling around the room, I explained. "I need to earn some serious Benjamins 'cause I gots to have my treats!" Deliberately delivering each word as slowly as I could, I tried desperately to sound completely sober. Fearing I may have already botched my first impression, I hoped I could still turn this around.
"Well, Miss Maria," she said with lips pursed tightly. "What skills do you have?"
This was going to be easy! I excitedly responded, "I can seduce males of all species with a single bump of my booty. I've won seven consecutive wet t-shirt contests at spring break in Mexico. I can swear in 8 different languages...but not Canadian English. I don't understand Canadian English. I can dance on bars, out-drink most people shot for shot, booby trap my yard to capture the paparazzi, and describe sexual encounters with ex-celebrity-boyfriends in such detail it will make your head spin. I can whip my tail both clockwise and counter-clockwise. I can..."
"Listen, Empress. I am sorry, but I don't think we have a position for someone...like you."
"Yes. I think you might be...um...under-qualified for the positions we can offer."
Shaking my head, I had to ask the question that you are asking yourself right now. "Don't you mean OVER-qualified?"
Bumbling her words and strategically avoiding eye-contact, she responded. "YES! Yes, I mean over-qualified. Yes. That's it."
"I thought so. I mean...I am extremely gifted," I smirked. "Well, then. Are you going to, at least, hook a sister up with some snacks?"
"There are Christmas candies at the front desk. You are more then welcome to..."
I didn't stay to listen; I had serious sweets to consume!
As I leapt into the limo, face sticky from candy canes, I considered other money-making opportunities. Cracking open yet another bottle of Cristal, I pondered, "Perhaps I'll sue speciest Manpower for keeping me down! That has to be the only reason I didn't get a position today! Is it a coincidence they call themselves MANPOWER? I think not!"
I swigged. I belched. I stuck my head out of the moon roof and flashed my multiple nipples. I chided pedestrians. I spilled champagne on the car seat. I vomited--a little bit--on the limo carpet. I tried to seduce the limo driver who, because of his rejection, must have been gay. I found $2.49 between the seats of the limo and stopped for some treats.
All in all, a good day.
[Editor's Note: In Manpower's defense, they are equal-opportunity employers. While they offered no official statement on this situation (because it's a piddly blog, fictitious account, and not worth their attention), I think it's safe to say that hiring cats is not within their business model. This is not meant to be a slap in the face of deserving felines. But, of course, Kukka takes it that way. Selfish, selfish little cat!]