(11/26/09): I woke up this morning to a high-definition camera lens staring me in the face. My owner, Dave, has been on a photography kick recently. Usually he just spends all his time on 4Chan, so it’s good to see he’s trying to branch out a bit. But today he was a bit different. He kept following me around, taking pictures. It was flattering, in a Brainy-from-Hey-Arnold kind of way.
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(12/1/09): So it turns out Dave’s been putting pictures of me up on the Internet with strange captions under them. Not that I really mind, but I would never say, “IM IN UR PRINTR, JAMMIN UR PAPERS.” That would be such a dick move. I was actually trying to catch this one d-bag of a mouse that had snuck into the paper tray. But I digress. The main thing is that I’m fine with doing some modeling, as long as people don’t jack off to my pictures.
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(12/21/09): The last few weeks have been so much fun! Dave said people can’t get enough of my photos. So now I’m doing more modeling than ever: lounging on the couch, putting my paws on keyboards, all the usual industry stuff. I think I might be the next Garfield!
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(12/28/09): Dave’s been acting weird recently. Or at least weirder than usual. I think all this 4Chan fame has gone to his head. He’s been more demanding, and the workdays are getting longer and longer. Well, you have to pay a price for fame.
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(1/5/10): Every day, it’s the same routine. Wake up, drink some milk, do a couple figure eights around Dave’s legs, and then straight to work. I can’t even get a smoke break anymore. And these photo shoots are getting stranger all the time. I was fine when it was random photos with food and computers. But now he’s asking me to wear bulletproof vests, and pop out of trashcans, and play Gameboys. What am I, ten?
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(1/14/10): I’m becoming increasingly disillusioned with this whole thing. Just the other day, someone came up to me and said, “O hai, kitteh! Ur on the internetz, makin’ me laff.” Is that what I’ve become? A media whore, like Hello Kitty and Top Cat? Am I just reinforcing all of those old stereotypes about cats? My writing isn’t some weird bastardization of leetspeak and egregious misspellings. I went to grad school, dammit. I’m writing a novel. But no one would guess that looking at my photo shoots.
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(1/21/10): I can’t keep this up. Today, Dave wanted me to put on a sombrero and crouch in an oversized taco shell (“Im in ur taco, eatin all the cheez”), but I was pretty resistant. All of a sudden, Dave started yelling, “I don’t care how tired you are, you need to get your s*it in gear! This is about the lol’s, dammit.” We finished the shoot, and I left to hit the catnip again. My friends tell me I should stop, but the ‘nip helps me dream of a better place, a place where the entire world is my litter box and “According to Jim” was never created.
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(1/28/10): I can’t believe it…Dave sent me to rehab. I’m here with Lindsay Lohan’s parakeet and Amy Winehouse’s turtles. They keep making us do all these stupid therapy sessions and “wholesome” group activities, as if singing “Kumbaya” with a coked-out Doberman could ever replace the wonderful highs of quality catnip. At least I’ve found a way to maintain my supply; I have a guy on the inside, name of Whiskers, who smuggles in a few grams of ‘nip every week in bags of Meow Mix. Doctors have told me that I can’t keep taking these drugs. But these are the same people who said a dog couldn’t play basketball until Air Bud came along.
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(3/3/10): I’ve been out of rehab for 3 weeks now, but Dave won’t take pictures of me anymore. Now that I’m on the outside, I’ve decided it’s time to do something. Cats are people, too. I’m tired of people asking me to say, “I CAN HAZ CHEEZBURGER?” So I’ve made a grassroots organization opposing the entire Lolcat industry and the stereotyping of our people. It’s called CETC: Cats for the Ethical Treatment of Cats. We’ll see who can haz cheezburger<i> after the Million-Cat March next week…