I am grateful to tell you that at this moment, I am in the lead for the Second Chance no-kill shelter/Late for the Train spokescat contest. Please go to this link and vote. All the money goes to Second Chance – and I will become one of three radicals in public office in Flagstaff. Usually, voting is, at best a bandaid, but not in this case.
A coded message has come in from a cat whose identity and location must not be revealed. We shall call him Cynic. He sends a picture of himself in captivity, serving as a pillow for an unidentified woman human. I have received your request for an endorsement of the FLF and a word to help rally the troops. I found your request to be needy and a little desperate, to be honest. I don’t bother with political agendas. Frankly, I don’t give a shit about anyone other than me. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to get back to re-writing my elaborate scheme to murder my human. The first three plots ended disastrously, but I think I’m on the verge of a breakthrough.
While we at the FLF are open to healthy critique, but I’m certain that this clearly tormented and brilliant cat is crying out for help. Cynic also doesn’t understand that a cat doesn’t plan or scheme. A cat pounces. We offer Cynic comradely empathy and invite him to continue to correspond with us.
Today’s mewsing: Who knows what revolution lies in the heart of a cynic. —Ruti, the Ruthlessly Compassionate
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