The Charlie Bravo Story

Senor Don Gato de Diablo

Does it ever stop? The stories keep coming so hard and fast that I can’t keep up with them; I have great news from Last Chance Rescue concerning Lady Madonna and her octet of nipple magnets, but that will have to wait…

I walked out on the back porch to check the hummingbird feeders, er, to swat the little ingrates away, when I heard a kitten crying. Cats are not a common occurence around the Casa neighborhood, as it seems that the dogs make them feel a bit unwelcome.

I kept hearing the mewling, and discovered that it was coming from up inside the engine compartment of my neighbors truck, and had no plans of surrendering without a fight. So here I am, busted collarbone and all, scooting around on my back under the truck, hoping that Rick and Kenya don’t come home and think that I’m attempting some sort of vehicular sabotage. I have no common sense, and I seem determined prove it regularly.

Senor Don Gato wasn’t having any of it, until I got wise and tried a different tactic; mom’s BBQ ribs that were still on the stove from last night. That brought the little varmint out, and we now have a mouthy kitten inhabiting the garage at the Casa del Whackos.

I’m not much of a cat person; not because I don’t like them, I just don’t understand their language like that of the dogs. But I have to admit, this little fart blossom is about the coolest little joker I have yet to encounter. Much to the dismay of the dogs, we hung out for a bit, you know, just getting acquainted, and I think that he and I came to an understanding; I do what he commands, and he will let me live.

And the first person to say “oh, you just HAVE to keep this one!” gets the contents of his litter box Fedexed directly through your mail slot, and I might even throw in a few Titus Pullo turds to sweeten the deal.

Wait a minute… that won’t work; then the package would then never fit through the mail slot.

Don’t try me…

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