Gentlemen, I’m sad to say that we lost one of our most special little troopers last night. Cutitous’ depressive effects has claim yet another one of God’s fluffy little angels. Fe Fe Von Sugarpuss (Sug to her friends) came to us a few months ago. Distraught, she had not eaten in days. She was an absolute rail. However, she had eyes that would make your heart melt.
It appears that lethal mixture of depression and narcissism cause poor Sug to concoct a lethal mixture of polyurethane and paraffin wax. The world was ugly. Too ugly to live in, to be sure.
She used her adorable little paws to drag out a pan onto the stove (by God when a people going to learn to install child safety locks on the cabinets in homes with animals afflicted with terrible and chronic cutious). She dumped in the polyurethane and the paraffin and brought it to just under a boil.
She cursed the world one last time and….and….dipped herself. She wanted to die and leave a beautifully well preserved corpse.
It is a gruesome picture, and those with weak constitutions should probably not view it
Here is poor Sug today. Another senseless death of cutious.
Unlike most victims of this terrible disease, this one has a bit of a sad bittersweet twist. Most cutious suffers do not find love, as they cannot love themselves. Sug, however, left behind a pair of not quite as cute children.
Here they are. Jacques on your right and Stinky Joe on the left. Jacques is doing OK. Stinky Joe…is not. I feel so sorry for this little guy. I asked him what I could do…if there was ANYTHING that I could do to ease the terrible pain. He just let out a whimpering cry, snuffled, then told me (I speak cat, you see) that his life-long dream (the one he’s had for a full 4 weeks) is to be a world famous whittler. His big plan is to grow up big and strong, catch the first southbound train to the piney hills of Appalachia, and set up a shop to stake his fortune. If only he had a nice little knife to help get him started.
Oh, I don’t expect him to make it that far. In a few weeks he’ll figure out that he doesn’t have thumbs and can’t whittle. However, it would nice to get him a little something to keep that dream alive while he deals with the loss of his mother. Poor, poor Stinky Joe.
Jake