[Excerpt from Kukka-Maria's personal diary, dated Monday, April 2, 2007]
Weight: 12 lbs
Catnip: 3 leaves
Units of Alcohol: 3 Cosmos and a shot of whiskey
KT Cat, winner of my ebay auction, "The Ultimate Kukka-Maria Experience," came to collect today. While she is a nice enough feline, I must admit, I was pretty intimidated and smidge threatened. She has a strong presence! Oh, you don't have to tell me, dear diary! I know I'm super-sexy, but sometimes I secretly admire and am [whispered] jealous of other cats.
When she arrived, she was decked out in her Feline Theocracy Maximum Leader frock. Overdress much, KT? (That's just the jealousy talking.) As I invited her in and followed her into the living room, I "accidentally" stepped on the edge of her robe...thrice. She was all but amused and swatted at me more than once. I was a bit put-off and couldn't resist baiting her straight away.
"KT, which is more noble and magnificent: 'Maximum' or 'Superior?'"
"I'm not sure I follow, Kukka..."
"Well," I continued smugly, "My Feline Theocracy title is Mother Superior of the Holy Order of Ocean Whitefish. Your title is Maximum Leader. Which is more...important?"
"Well, 'Maximum,' of course!" she chuckled.
"I'll wrestle you for leadership," I challenged. "Greco-Roman style!"
"Wrestling? How...crude," snubbed KT.
"Bawk, bawk," I said, in my best chicken voice.
"KUKKA-MARIA!" shouted my Agent. "That's enough! Not only is KT a guest in our home, she paid $1,610 to spend the day with you. BE NICE!"
"$1,610? That's petty cash," I mumbled, under my breath.
Since this was to be a typical day in the life of Kukka-Maria, dear diary, I led her to the couch for our morning nap.
"But, I'm not tired," whined KT Cat.
"Then sit here and watch me sleep!" I chided. "Sit with Brach and stare at me for the next two hours for all I care!"
"How rude," KT muttered.
I only slept for one hour and thirty-two minutes before I was awaken by the thundering scuffle of Brach and KT hoofing it around the living room, chasing one another.
"BRACH!" I shouted! She is not here to carouse with you; she is here to watch me sleep!"
KT rushed to my side, "Kukka! You're finally awake! What's next?"
"We go to the window for about fourteen minutes and taunt the paparazzi. We sit there, cover our faces with our paws and pretend to hate the attention."
Thirteen minutes into the paparazzi "stand-off," I heard KT grumbling, "This is crap. Boooooo-ring!"
"Fine. Let's prank call Tom Cruise," I snickered. "I prank him every day, right before lunch."
"I know! We can mock him about the foolishness he calls a 'religion' and talk about how superior the Feline Theocracy is!" shouted KT excitedly.
"Wait. So you're admitting 'superior' is an exceptional word now? I mean, you could have used the word 'maximum,' but you chose 'superior!' Oooooooh, snap! I caught you, KT! What do you have to say now?!"
"Well, I...I just meant..."
"Nevermind. Pick up the phone; Tom Cruise is speed dial seven," I barked. "We can add the Feline Theocracy angle to my already-perfected impression of Xenu. He buys it every time! What a moron! I'm starting to feel a bit guilty for putting him through this every day, but not enough to stop!"
"It's ringing! It's ringing!" exclaimed KT in a squeaky, energetic voice. "What am I supposed to say when he answers?"
"In your best Xenu voice, tell him he is past the state of clear and has achieved Operating Thetan level," I instructed. "Tell him, since he's learned all there is to know about Scientology, he should challenge himself to explore other cults...like the Feline Theocracy."
"Kukka...the Feline Theocracy is not a cult," KT hissed. Covering the phone with her paw, she suddenly whispered, "Oh. My. GAWD! He answered the phone himself!"
"Talk!" I bellowed.
"Um...Mr. Tom Cruise, sir...This is Emu and I think your...your whatever levels are rockin' and you should join the Feline Theocracy because we...I mean they are really cool!"
"Hang up! Hang up!" I screeched, trying to stifle my laughter. "Emu? Whatever levels? Amateur..."
After that, dear diary, we napped again. Against every instinct I had, I allowed KT to have the prime sleeping spot on the back of the couch, while I slept in the inferior chair. During this nap time, due to the excitement of calling Tom Cruise, KT was sawing logs something fierce!
"KT!" I hissed. "You're drooling on my fleece blanket!"
KT mumbled something, stretched and daintily placed her chin on her paws. I walked up, stepped on her in my typical alpha-cat fashion and forced her to the floor. Quite frankly, it gives me the sweats just thinking I would have to sleep in another cat's drool. Before you feel badly for KT, dear diary, I'm not sure she even remembers being displaced, as she never even opened her eyes.
After our nap, I began my afternoon grooming, focusing on my nether-regions...because it was Monday. KT was looking agitated and panicked.
"Mother Superior, where is the litterbox?"
"Oh, shit," I groaned. "To be honest, KT, I don't feel comfortable sharing my litter with a strange cat. It's bad enough Brach has to use it!"
"KUKKA-MA-RI-A!" shouted my agent. "I am ashamed of you! KT is more than welcome to share your litterbox. In fact, young lady, I might remind you that I actually own the litter and allow you to use it." Picking KT up in one powerful swoop, she shot me a ferocious glare, carried a crying KT down the hallway and said, "Come on, KT. I'll show you the litterbox."
KT had asked, specifically, for a ride in my Toyota Prius hybrid stretch limo. While I found it mundane, she was titillated, as evidenced by her licking of the windows the entire ride. Clearly she had never traveled outside a pet carrier before! Because I felt the ride was too boring to be considered a treat, I arranged for us to attend a taping of "Dancing with the Stars."
"Oh...my...GAWD!" exclaimed KT, upon hearing our destination.
Here's where it got interesting and, I must admit, I gained a greater respect for my Maximum Leader. During Joey Fatone's gyrations, KT suddenly began to sing along with the music. Loudly. Clearly oblivious to the stares and grumblings around her, she closed her eyes and howled at the top of her lungs.
As we sat in the front row, on plush pillows, it was obvious that Joey and his dancing partner (I'd write her name, dear diary, but I don't give a shit) were working very hard not to glance at the source of the shrieking. I had to giggle a bit.
During the next commercial break, security showed up to usher us out of the auditorium. As they grabbed KT, Jacob, the Syrian Hamster, fell out of her robe.
"Ma'am, did you think you could have two creatures admitted to the show on one ticket?" interrogated the security officer. Dressed in a neatly-pressed blue uniform and a shiny star badge pinned precariously on his pocket, it was clear he was trying to compensate for his non-threatening appearance by using the lowest, most intimidating version of his voice.
It wasn't working.
"HIT IT!" I shouted to KT. Quick as a flash, she whipped Jacob onto a tiny saddle that was strapped to her back (curiously, I hadn't noticed the saddle until this point) and began scratching at the security officer's leg. I plucked at the plush pillows and peed on the old man sitting on the aisle. Making a break for the limo, we both dashed through the officer's legs, leapt over Tom Bergeron's shoulder and even had time to scamper across the judges' table, scattering papers and spilling Coca-Cola all over Carrie Ann Inaba's lap. Between you and me, I strongly suspect there was a little bit of rum in there. When she hissed, "You evil little cat," she smelled like a distillery.
But if you repeat that, dear diary, I will emphatically deny it!
Laughing as we climbed back into the Prius limo, I high-fived KT and Jacob. "YOU REBELS!" I howled. "Your disruption of that crap-dancing show makes me proud to be associated with the Feline Theocracy!"
"We do what we can, Kukka..." laughed KT and Jacob, in unison (I know! I thought the unison thing was a bit creepy, too...kind of like the twins from "The Shining.")
By the end of our day together, dear diary, I learned a valuable lesson. I came to realize that neither "Maximum" nor "Superior" is better...just different. And, of course, when I say "different," I mean "Superior" is better. Obviously.
All in all, KT Cat is an amazing companion! I recommend, dear diary, if you even read blogs...because you're a diary and all, you spend some time with her and her little hamster buddy, Jacob. And, if you do, be sure to bring some pepper spray, sharp claws, a full bladder and some stellar running shoes because that closet-instigator is sure to take you on an adventure (or two)!
Thanks, KT Cat for your fake bid of $1,610! You faux generosity is admirable.
As for you, dear diary, I'll talk with you again tomorrow...