Dear Foster Mother
It has come to my attention that Everything is about to End.
The very clouds themselves are falling from the sky and have been scattered across the earth.
There can only be one possible explanation for this.
The Great Dog in the Sky has been tearing apart the Furniture of the World.
Obviously, we are all going to die.
Soon, I mean.
Like, not right away.
Well - at least - I'm not dead yet.
So I think you ought to realise that I don't intend for my last few days on this mortal coil to have to be uncomfortable.
For me.
It pains me to say it, but, you know that thing that happened that time?
On your bed?
It wasn't me:
I was set up! Seriously? She thinks she's people.
But look - dogs like it in the snow.
Just chuck her outside. I would.
Sometimes, back when I lived with my real parents (before they callously abandoned me here - bitches) water would fall inexplicably from the sky.
And when that happened, we used to sit inside together by the fire and watch nature documentaries about birds while they fed me strips of bacon by hand.
Let's do that! It'll be fun.
Oh, and you know that time with the rat?
I don't know why you got so upset.
My real parents used to love it when I brought bits of dead things into their bed for them.
Next time I'll make sure it's still alive.
I understand - you probably just wanted to kill it yourself.
Oh - and we'll have a better chance of surviving the apocalypse - or at least enjoying the last few days of existence together if you'll just get rid of the other cats.
Just send them to the market.
Sweet.
If you run up to the supermarket now you can probably get us enough bacon to last us through until the end of days.
I'll stay here and keep the fire going with the awesome power of my laser beam eyes.
Just make sure the boy stays away from the bacon - otherwise he'll have to go too.
There's not going to be enough for both of us, kid.
I suppose he can stay if he brings in the firewood.
And KEEPS AWAY FROM MY BACON.
Okay bye!
Love the blog - Mr Martin's Sister!
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