I Maximus!

It’s just not working.

The little furry freaks are still here.

‘Tis I, Maximus the Almighty again; the Infidels are outside...so I'm seizing my chance to, once again, express my extreme disenchantment at the household situation here. And I must say...I'm not impressed with the progress (or lack thereof); not at all. After weeks of glowering, ignoring, hissing and swatting the little vermin who have taken up occupation round here, they are, sadly, still blissfully content in MY home.

I mean, What The Furball man?!

And what‘s worse is that I've discovered the little thugs are actually the same species as me! They’re kittens God damn it!

Little miniature CATS!!

Oh the crushing reality.

And they’re running, bouncing, chasing, sliding, jumping, sneaking, wandering, sniffing and playing their way around this house like they own the joint. 

There’s no discipline. No firm hand from a higher authority to bring a halt to all this tomfoolery. I try to give them a good clip round the ear’ole, but all I get is: “Max! Be nice!”

What if I don’t wanna? Huh?

I'm too old for this shit.

I'm half tempted to fill their litter tray full of Pop Rocks just for entertainment.

I have tried everything. First I sulked outside and came in only for minimum food rations (so they started eating my biscuits), I went on a grooming strike (now my fur looks like my mother was camel), I've tried stealing their food (Now I look like a fat camel) and I've tried stealing back my sleeping locations (so they sleep elsewhere....damn it I can’t sleep in them all at once!)

They’re abominable little fiends!

They have names too apparently: “Merlot” and “Shiraz” (I had a sneaking suspicion the infidels were closet alcoholics).

But....*Facepaw*, what the hell sort of names are those! What about something badass like Jack Daniels and Johnny Walker Red? Ok, they’re girls, but whatever; try harder people!

Though, it must be said, names can be deceptive. Fluffy down the road, for example, can have your eye out in 2 second from 20 paces...though I suspect she is not your average Fluffy (nor batting for the same team as your average Fluffy...although that’s only a hunch and one mustn’t wax stereotypical about these things).

But I digress.

I think I’m at the point of giving up.

They’re 1/8 my age, unnaturally cute, and completely disregard my authority on anything.

I may just hav....

*From lounge* “Get out of there you little fur-lined feed bags!!”

Oooh, is this disharmony I sense?

“Argh!! What have you unplugged you little twits! I can’t get the TV to work and my show is going to start in 5 minutes!...OMG...yes, run, I strongly advise it!”

Well her show may not be starting, but mine sure is.

Gotta go!

*Rubs paws with glee* These mogs might not be such bad value after all!