There's no doubt in my mind that my cat--a fat, orange puffy bastard who sheds like a damn lunatic--is the only wretched creature in the Felidae family deserving of my love, but lately the stupid beast has grown unacceptably lazy. All he does is drag his fat ass around the living room, attaching himself to cool surfaces until he gets uncomfortable. He then retreats to another cool area, leaving an untidy ball of hair in his wake.
         Which is understandable. It's unbearably hot in Sacramento these days--110° Fahrenheit every day, with no chance of any breeze whatsoever.
         But I do not raise my cats to be lazy jerks. We've already had to put the thing on a diet, and he's not even a year old. A few days ago we tried to steer him outside for a few minutes of supervised play in the front yard, but the stupid ninny bolted back inside the minute his paws touched the 90-degree pavement. Whenever I see the crazy homeless kitten that tramps around our yard, playing madly and sleeping peacefully in the sun on my driveway, I hang my head in shame. My cat cannot even compete with the neighborhood kitten--a homeless tomcat the size of a golf ball, who refuses to be touched by anyone--on his own turf!
         I recently developed a plan to capture this vagrant kitten and gradually introduce him to my cat, in the hopes that the two will become buddies, thus providing my cat with some sort of role model.
         Unfortunately, all efforts at acquiring the bastard have proven to be futile so far. But today I've concocted a surefire plan: earlier today, I set our old dog shelter on the front porch, setting bowls of water and food inside. I've noticed that when this kitten finds a place he likes, he stays there indefinitely, until someone comes along and tries to snatch him up. Armed with this knowledge, I frequently check the porch. And the moment I see the thing lounging in the dog shelter I am going to slam the door shut, trapping my prey inside.