Feral Friday: Born To Be Riled

Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful. And flexible enough to lick my own elbows. And have nine lives.

I was abandoned when I was young; I have no memory of my biological parents. I was taken in and raised by a kind human family who, despite an inexplicable attachment to several small canine units, has given me a good life. They don’t overpet me or allow their diminutive doggage to actually interact with me, which is better for all concerned.

Eat your heart out, Harley-Davidson--I'm quite fonda' my Honda!

My passion? Drifting like soft smoke through the field, blending so perfectly with the woods and grasses that I might as well be invisible.

My philosophy? The only good mole is a dead mole. The best mole is half-eaten on the door step.

You may call ‘kitty, kitty’ all you want, but I don’t choose to answer…unless it’s raining, or I’m in a mood to manipulate certain little dogs into a frothing frenzy with a few well-timed mews and some practiced flicks of my completely luxurious tail.

I prefer to think inside the box, thank you very much!

You can call me Cat-Sister, if you like; some do. Be warned, though: my name is Trouble, and I’ve earned every syllable of it.

No admittance without proper credentials. Or a can of tuna.

My hero? A heroine, actually: Nagaina–the cobra from Kipling’s classic tale Rikki-Tikki-Tavi. Like me, she was misunderstood. And framed.

"If you move, I will strike. If you don't move, I will strike."

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