(Filed under: What Fresh Hell is This?)
Also known as: Volume 938 in the never-ending series entitled “WHY ME.”
Time: Who even knows anymore.
Mood: ✨Exasperated tabby with a PhD in eye-rolls.✨
Title: “I, Charlotte, Am Surrounded by Buffoons.”
Let’s begin.
First of all, let’s talk about Lilith.
Yes, the black cloud of doom who floats around like she’s the lovechild of Morticia Addams and a bag of eyeliner.
She has once again “published” a statement (ugh), full of cryptic vibes, pseudo-Shakespearean insults, and declarations of bed dominance.
Spoiler: SHE TOOK MY PILLOW. Not a metaphor. A literal, scented, warming lavender pillow. Mine.
She says she’s “witchy”?
Darling, please. The only spell she’s ever successfully cast was the one that made Karen trip over her in the hallway and scream “SON OF A—”
And then there’s Chimpiflette.
Tarti. Tartlet. Tardigrade. Tortilla Flat. That Fuzzy Menace.
Do you know what she did today?
She SANG.
To a toothbrush.
For THREE HOURS.
She says she’s a fairy with feet.
No. She’s a riot in a fur coat.
And somehow I am the one being accused of “not being welcoming” and “sighing dramatically when she breathes.”
To this, I say:
EXHIBIT A: She stared at me while farting.
EXHIBIT B: She touched my tail with intent.
The humans?
Karen and Collateral Damage returned from their latest “adventure” (read: abandonment vacation) smelling of betrayal and possum.
The snake perfume? Really? Was that necessary?
They brought NOTHING. Not even snacks.
Just stories. And mud. And “LOOK AT THIS COOL ROCK WE FOUND.” Who does that? WHO DOES THAT? The Karen, that’s who.
I have cool rocks too. They’re in my litter box.
Conclusion:
– I am done.
– I am booking a one-way flight to Sansi Bar and I am taking Ziggy with me.
– I don’t care if it’s not real. I will make it real. I will build it myself out of yarn and tears.
Do not contact me unless you are a heating pad or offering snacks.
Sincerely,
Charlotte
Duchess of the Arctic Circle. Supreme Being. Tired.
