Dear Diry, likewise World Outside and Cats of Posterity

This is coming to you from under Bed, and not because Monster is here again, either, no Monster is Still Stuck in Merica for Months. This is coming to you from under Bed because Hooman is doing Housework. This means Hoover is out AAAAAARGHHHH, and not only that – Hooman is doing Angry Housework, the very worst kind, the sort where she shouts things over Hoover noise. I tell you, Kitty Quiet Time round here is but fond memory.

But Hooman, it seems, has lots to be angry about. First of all there is Monster, Still Stuck in Merica. Then a fellow Hooman was trying to tell her that people should all be buying extra Hooman crunchies in case there is Shortage. Shortage of Crunchies sounded pretty serious to Bird and me, but our Hooman says no, if there is Shortage, she says, ‘It will be caused by bleeping idiots like that. It’s like those bleeping WHUURRRR WHUUUUUR cretins who whine on and on about how they’re stuck in a bleep-bleeping WHURRRRR traffic jam without thinking how they are the goddam bleep WHURRRR traffic-jam. BLEEEEP!’ and she yanked Hoover across the carpet so hard that even though Bird says Hoover is Instrument of the Borsh the Borg WELL BIRD YOU SPELL IT THEN Bourgeoisie whose one aim in life is to eat Mousie (as well as making horrible WHURRRR WHURRRR noise), I almost felt sorry for it. Almost.

Then it seems that along with bleeping idiots and Carniverus, there is something out there in the world called the Lying Orange Liar. Lying Orange Liar is meant to be taking care of Merica, where Monster is, and keeping everyone in Merica safe from Carniverus, but isn’t interested in doing anything unless it means extra Crunchies for him. Lying Orange Liar, to quote Hooman, is bloated whitehead on nose of humanity. I asked Bird what that meant and she says it is like when we were in rescue place, before Hooman rescued us, and both had itchy butt-buttons, only worse.

Hooman then sat down with little book and pencil with chewy thing on end, and started using chewy thing to rub out writing in little book. Bird and I had come out from under bed by now, seeing as how Hoover was back in cage (also I wanted to make sure Mousie was safe in Toy Box and had not been et), and did all we could to help – inspecting pencil when Hooman waved it about and testing chewy bit, and I even gave her the tummy, but no. Nothing helped. Still shouty. Monster’s birthday – gone. Visit to her Mummy – gone. Trip to Paris with Nice Friend Lee – gone. ‘Three bleeping months of this,’ says Hooman, ‘and that’s if we’re lucky. We’d better start getting used to each other, girls.’

I looked at Bird and Bird looked at me. It seemed to us we could hear faint evil antispatory whurrrrr of pleasure from Hoover’s cage in kitchen. Three months of Angry Housework? Three months without Kitty Quiet Time? BLEEEPING EEEEP! Pass the nip!