Hello. This is Piper the cat writing. I belong to Madeline, the girlfriend of Elliot Steeves, who works for this paper and recently moved in with her.
As I stand here for the brief amount of time I have to type on this keyboard, I want to inform you all of one very simple fact: I am utterly beautiful. I am a proper calico — a domestic longhair, most likely — with long, white-spotted fur and fabulous nails. My biscuit-making skills with my paws are so amazing that I can type on a keyboard.
I am known for poiawurgbrwonfgrwogrwfw
Please help me. This is Elliot. Please help me. I’m trying to work from home, and the cat is too cute and is taking my dog-biased affection away from me so that she can write for the paper, and she shouldn’t be ouiaerhgirghwrfg
Hello, readers. I apologize for the brief interruption. I assure you that Elliot is being taken care of quite well right now. As I mentioned, I have fabulous long nails.
My purr is eloquent. Just do your best to make it out as I write it. Prrrrrrrr. Can you hear it? Prrrrr. Now please telepathically pet me. Also, please admire the adorable portrait of me that I have featured.
I have hobbies. I’m fun too, like you humans and your dogs. I enjoy shredding a felt bird with my claws while it is dangled over me. I enjoy hunting digital rabbits on the television screen, much like some of you readers who enjoy hunting yourselves.
Madeline is so good to me. She brushes me, even though it feels as if I am being flayed. She pets me and feeds me the most delectable food you can imagine. She got me two cat trees so that I can properly exercise my utter flexibility at the ripe age of 8 — which, as you can imagine, is a pivotal cat age.
I have also decided to establish some rules for the boy. Elliot, well, he is getting used to my specificities. So, I have banned him from working from home. Enforcement involves, if I see him clacking away while I am present, simply jumping onto the table and doing exactly what I am doing right now. If writer’s block is more important than me, then I shall simply write writer’s block myself.
Alternatively, I like brushing up against him and seducing him into letting me onto his lap, where I stare up at him adorably and longingly, coaxing the affection out of him.
Occasionally, like at this present moment, there are harsher consequences for violating this housewide ordinance. Like right now, as he writhes in pain from my long, talon-like claws.
Tonight, I will make sure the boy pets me and plays with me more, for I am far more glorious than his strange card-game hobbies and whatever a Kindle is.
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(This is Elliot writing. Piper just walked off my keyboard, and I am back after a very painful, uh, let’s call it a scratch. I don’t know how the cat just pulled that off. That was impressive. I’m going to go back to my regularly scheduled coverage of several different cities and things before feeding her and making lunch for myself. That is, if she doesn’t keep staring at me from next to my computer. Oh, Piper, what feline eyes you have.)