Catpoleon

"They were on sale."

“They were on sale.”

It finally happened. Yes, I’m talking about Cat attempting to take over the world – how did you guess? Probably because I am you. You are? Yes, you are having a conversation with yourself. OK. Anyway, it’s true. Last night, Wife and I were playing a full-contact game of Risk with our dear friends, Friend and Friendy, when Cat reached his paw onto the board and wiped out Irkutsk like he was stepping on an ant in high heels (in this metaphor, Cat is wearing high heels, not the ant, although I could see how an ant wearing high heels could be rather humorous). Shocking, I know. Not only because Cat typically reserves his aggression for my milky white calf muscles, but also because the Irkutsk Coat of Arms is a Siberan tiger with a sable in its mouth. He basically destroyed his Homeland! Granted, I can understand why Cat might want to obliterate Irkutsk. It’s hard to pronounce, it’s not in a very good strategic location, and the word Irkutsk itself makes me think of a walrus sneezing. Actually, that last one is more endearing than irritating. But my opinion is irrelevant. What we are dealing with here is a cold, calculating, sociopathic mastermind who plans on eradicating the Hooman Race so that he may rule all creatures from his perch atop my recliner (which I am no longer permitted to use). Until then, we can only try to derail Cat with temporary distractions. Like my milky white calf muscles. Long live Irkutsk! [runs past Cat in short-shorts]

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