Mr. Meowsworth

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I was born and raised in Venice Beach. I would spend my days as an indoor kitty degraded by being forced to poo in a box of litter. I had no choice but to play with fake mice and a sub par scratching post. My whore of a mother gave me up for adoption when she ran off with some rugby player to England. What kind of mother leaves her child half way through adolescence? The same kind of mother that is getting a Tijuana Hot Stick (if you don’t know what that is, look it up) from a 225 pound penis with a pulse. Hey I guess it all works out for the best. I was pawned off to my second mother who seemed to be just as whorish but without the rugby player. Here is where I met my stepsister, The Duchess Von Kittystien. We didn’t really get along great at first, but we managed. We soon moved to Hermosa Beach for a “new beginning” which is another way for humans to say “My reputation here is shot. Lets move somewhere else like a swarm of reputation ruining locusts.” Hermosa was the first time I was able to taste fresh air. I had never lived with guys before and it was a very refreshing change from the catty (no pun intended), self centered whore mongers I was living with before. These guys let me go outside, eat anything I wanted, lay anywhere with my genitals (or lack there of) in the air for all to enjoy and simply be the cat that I was meant to be. I'm not gay or anything, but I felt like I had been let out of the closet. My first mouse was caught that week of freedom. From there, I expanded my hunting skills to other small airborne prey such as moths and birds. I would bring them back for one of my roommates, Francesca, but she seemed none too pleased with my gifts. I explained to her that these gifts were a labor of love, but she was unwilling to listen to my plea. I always took her for the ungrateful type. In this “outdoors” as the humans call it, is where I met my arch nemesis, Nygaard. He was the lord of the night, the shadow in the already dark alley, the possum in the trashcan, the shrill of evil in the darkness, the epitome of all that is unholy. He had lured me into a trap where he thought that I would face certain death. He had concocted a plan to lock me in a garage with a raccoon in hopes of me starving to death or being torn to shreds by the raccoon. Little did he know, I had saved this raccoon from being struck by a car one week prior to my garage incarceration. It was here in this garage where the raccoon and I trained, honing our skills to the utmost precision, creating a space of consciousness amongst the brooms and unused barbeques. Nygaard never suspected that when we would meet again, it would be on my terms. My fangs hungered for the taste of warm plasma; my claws yearned to dig into my flagitious, feline foe. So in the meantime I will keep my cover, patiently waiting for the perfect moment of vengeance. It’s not really too hard waiting since I get to nap all day, eat however much I want, get petted anytime and am able to lick myself.