Late last week, Oprah and I mended our relationship...for about 5 minutes. I agreed to appear on her show to plug my blog and discuss my super-sexiness. After about 15 minutes of show and over a dozen commercials for tampons, laundry soap and GED courses, the real reason for my appearance was revealed.
"Do you have a selfish, domineering, demanding and arrogant cat like Kukka-Maria in your home?" Oprah smirked. "If so, pay close attention to my next guest. A single mother, grandmother, great-grandmother and owner of 19 feline furry friends, Estelle Bryant is a world-renown cat communicator. Please welcome...THE CAAAAAAAAT WHIIIIIISPERER!"
Before I could leap to the floor and flee the stage, Estelle sat down next to me with Brach in her arms! With a gray bun precariously perched atop her head, Estelle sported a lovely plaid shirt and mom jeans. Expecting the worst from her pending interaction with me, she wore a utility belt from which hung a pair of elbow-length oven mitts and what appeared to be a full-faced bondage hood. I wasn't too concerned. Looking at her arthritic hands, I knew, if necessary, I could claw her face something fierce before she could even reach for the mask.
"Welcome, Estelle! And who is this big boy kitty?" Oprah crooned, her lilting voice saturated with artificial sincerity.
"This is Brach," whispered Estelle.
Leaning in closer and hoisting her voluminous hair from over her ear, Oprah asked, "What's that again, Estelle? Speak up, dear, so the audience can hear you."
"I'm sorry, Oprah. I will not speak above a whisper. It's in my contract," murmured the elderly woman.
With an unfamiliar confidence in his voice, Brach spoke up. "I'm Brach, Kukka's husband, Oprah."
"Hmmmm...I don't recall ever meeting you," Oprah muttered with embarrassment.
"We've met a squillion times, Oprah," Brach continued, his voice loud and strong. "You may not remember because, before The Cat Whisperer's coaching, I used to walk 7 paces behind The Empress or spend my days hiding in the spare bedroom. NOT ANYMORE!"
The audience erupted with thunderous applause, reminiscent of Oprah's great car give-away of 2004.
"Well, I understand you are here to confront The Empress on many of the dysfunctional behaviors she displays in your shared home. The floor is yours, Brach," revealed Oprah with a glance and a giggle toward the audience.
I refused to look at Brach directly, so not to mislead him into thinking he was the alpha-cat. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him lean into The Cat Whisperer as she filled his ears with crap.
"You can do this, Brach. Repeat your strength mantra over and over to fill your tiny body with courage and confidence. Today is your day!"
Brach closed his eyes and bowed his head. "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and dog-gone-it, people like me! I'm good enough, I'm smart enou..."
"Shut it, Brach," I hissed, interjecting the interruption heard 'round the world.
"I WILL DO NO SUCH THING, BEE-OTCH!" shouted Brach in a frightful roar that surprised even him a little bit.
I made my eyes look as threatening as they possibly could as I glared at him intently.
While shaking a bit, he refused to break eye contact with me first. "You like whispering, huh?" I said. "Well, listen closely, you rebellious little bastard!" I whispered.
The loudest silence I had ever heard suddenly fell on the audience as Oprah, Estelle and Brach stared at me, wide-eyed.
"Nothing has changed, Brach. I am still the HBIC in this hizzy and don't you forget it! I can name hund...thous...SQUILLIONS of studs--man and beast, alike, who would give their left testicles (those who still have them) to be near me for five minutes. Count your blessings that I let you live with me, not to mention I married you!"
The Cat Whisperer smiled and began speaking into Brach's ear once again. Brach suddenly stared straight ahead, almost hypnotized. "I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and dog-gone-it peop...AAAAAAAHHHHHH!"
He leapt from his seat on her lap and landed on top of me, forcing me to the floor. Wrestling me, biting me and furiously swatting at me with his paws, he began to pant and grunt.
Picking at my claws and rolling my eyes, I just sat there waiting for the moderately annoying tirade to finish.
"You...are...not...the...boss...of...ME!" hissed Brach, as he spanked me repeatedly.
Fearing he would muss my fur and make me look a fool on national television, I raised my paw and, in one swift swat, knocked him on his "caboose." (The Cat Whisperer Lady's word, not mine.)
As The Cat Whisperer was fumbling with her bondage hood in preparation for battle [Note to Estelle: You may want to put the hood on BEFORE wearing the oven mitts], HARPO security rushed the stage and grabbed me by the scruff of the neck.
As security carried me off-stage, I yelled "OPRAH WINFREY YOU ARE DEAD TO ME!" Oprah flipped me the bird and then had her assistant pick up Brach and hold him while she comforted him by petting him uncomfortably with a gloved hand.
When we got home, Brach apologized to me for his sudden uprising and his positive opinions of me, that I provided him, were restored. I don't blame the little guy; he didn't choose to come here to live. My Agent picked him out of a line-up and wished for the best.
As for Oprah? I suspect she won't attempt the "spring a surprise guest on Kukka-Maria" gimmick again. She'll be too busy wiping the contents of the flaming paper bag I left on her door off her Jimmy Choos. Suck that, Winfrey!
And the Cat Whisperer? From what I understand, wandering a sound stage, blinded by a bondage mask can be dangerous. Make a note.