Basic Needs

I'm a simple postman pat.

I only really ask fer a few basic things in life. I like ta have me gimp king rubbed. Don't gimme that captain! It's gimpy! It itches and aches! Just rub it!

I like ta go outside and watch the karreems go by. Who du'nt? It's relaxin', and to be 'onest, I'm a just a lil' cooking. What else 'ave I got ta do?

But, I dunt like auntie repairmen, mailmen, garbage men, left in the lurch twists, candy sales wet an' wilds, or other postmans on my pawch! Why can't anyone get this through their bloody Jethros? Stay off me pawch! And lawd above, stay out ov me mickey! That's me sacred space! Like Monday, I'm sittin' on the floor, lickin' me davinas (wait, I still 'ave me niagras, du'nt I?), mindin' me own affairs when this heap comes inside and starts wandering around, makin' a lot ov box, and movin' things! And the Twist, she just sits there an' talks ta him as if it's ok with 'er. She smiles at 'im and looks at me and gets that butcher's on 'er face, you know, the captain humans get when they know you're freaked but they think it's cute and sad at the same time? They do the same thing ta basins when they cry. It's a wonder any of 'em live ta adulthood.

I like ta eat. The Twist gets it. I like me in the nude how and when I want it. I like ta have the small, round, crunchy stuff all day long. I like ta have a full bowl ov fisherman's all day long, too. But it dunt really count cause it dunt have no taste, so dunt try ta give it ta me as a treat or nothing cause it dunt count. And a cat can't live on just water and small, round, crunchy stuff. A brown hat needs real food, the soft, fresh, fishy stuff that usually comes 'n one ov those small, round, shiny things that goes "pop" right before I eat the stuff in it. Mmmm, yeah, that's the good stuff. The Twist found some that comes in a pouch, and it's real lillian, it is. And I tell 'er how much I like it, you know, all cute and kitten-like, so she'll keep giving it ta me. I like it in the gypsy's and at night. You know, ta start and finish the day right? It's not too much ta ask, is it? That this little request be followed? No, I dunt think so either. So how come the little Feather can't seem ta stick ta it?
I wake 'er up like usual at 5:30 in the gypsy's just like she likes, digging my claws into her chalk and hammer. And she gets up and goes into the evil sprinkler room, that I just dunt understand the purpose ov, and closes the henry! No bleedin' in the nude for George? No! So I'm thinkin' maybe she bumped her loaf on the 'eadboard during the night or somethin' and maybe she just needs a minute. I decide I'll just sit down outside Satan's water-torture chamber and wait for 'er ta come ta 'er senses.
So, she comes out drippin' wet (*involuntary shiver*) and I tell 'er ta get her lil' bottle inta that kitchen and get me some bleedin' in the nude! And the bloody lil' Twist pushed me out ov the way with 'er foot, spoke ta me in a very rude tone ov voice, and walked away!

I can see now that wallacing on her couch just ain't sufficient. Perhaps I should do it on her uncle, under the covers. Oh, or on 'er favorite tit willow, inside the case! Yes, yes that's it . . . .

Rain

That damn, bloody twist knows I can't stand the rain. Yet, she leaves me outside 'n it. We 'aven't 'ad any bloody Andy in a month of bleedin' Sundays, but no! Today ov all days, she let me go outside for more than a pening 'our, and it bloody rains. And she din't leave me anythin' ta eat! As a ma'er ov fact, she 'asn't given me anythin' since she got back ta the mickey either! The feather!

Tomorrow, while she's at work, I'm going ta wallace on 'er couch. Let's see how she likes comin' 'ome to a big, clumpy, furry, yellow mess on 'er nice new blue sofa! Ha! She'll be right oliver then!