The Great White Watery Abyss of Torture: Sir Poops-A-Lot

I must write this before mummsy and daddy-o awake from their slumber. And, my little brother comes galloping down the stairs. He ruins everything. Stupid little hair ball. Don’t know why mummsy insisted in bringing him home for me.

Anyway, onto my story.

Monday, I was sitting on my favorite chair besides mummsy. She was typing away on her keyboards muttering to herself as usual. Every now and then she’d look at me and ask my opinion on something. I’m the smartest between me and the hair ball. One can’t be too intelligent when they roll in dirt and eat mummsy’s panties. The little creature has no taste in fine cuisine.

Back to Monday. I proceeded to answer mummsy’s question. I speak telepathic, you know. She must’ve been happy with my answer because she scooped me up into her arms and kissed the top of my head ( I like it when she does that ). After a few kisses, her sniffer got stuck on the top my head. “You smell like a dirty sock hamper,” she said.

The dirty part insulted me so I wiggled myself free from her arms and went immediately to my house. Socks? Hamper? I love those things. They smell delicious. Dirty, I’m not. Cute and fluffy, I am. Hmmf…

“You need a bath,” she said.

I left my house after I heard those horrible words and retreated to the dining room, then to the living room, and then to No-No’s room looking for a safe place to hide. By then, my bones shook. They rattle loud. I thought about using the toity but that’s where the great white abyss of watery torture abides. It’s mouth is always open, waiting for me.

The little hair ball laughed at me. Torture him, I thought. He’s the dirty little beast. Not me.

After a good thirty minutes of running and hiding, mummsy caught up with me.

Hair ball laughed again and called out, “Pansy-carrot-eater!”  What’s wrong with carrots? They’re good for you, and I love them. He’s a beast, I tell you. A  little beast.  Don’t know why mummsy brought him home for me.

She picked me up and did one of those ‘ha-ha-ha’ and ‘I’ve got you now, my little pretty’. I hate that when she does this. It makes me shake more.

When we got into the room of torture, she closed the door. It sealed my fate. No way out after that.

After, she set me on the floor and grabbed my brush. Now this, I like. Especially on my belly, I melt into the floor, loosing all control to this wonderful instrument. I could lay there all day and let those sensuous bristles pull at my hairs. It gives me chills when I think about it. But at the same time it’s terrible. It’s deceptive, making me think all will be well, putting me into a state of ecstasy only to be dropped into a pit of watery torture. It’s like the last meal before you’re executed.

Once I’m inside that thing, she chains me to it. Dumps water on my cute little head. Scrubs my face with some white soapy thing and pulls at the hairs around my eyes. Next, she pulls out a blue bottle of smelly stuff that reads: Essential Oils. She squirts it all over me and scrubs me with this brush-thing. All the while telling me,’you’re going to be so pretty and smell so good’. I beg to differ. Socks and hampers smell delicious. This stuff smells like ‘bug spray’.

After, she soaps me up, hhis thing from above spits out water. It pelts my entire body. Water every where. It runs down me. Into my eyes. My mouth. My nose. I cry for help but she ignores me.

Is this what they call water-boarding? Watched a special on T.V. one night while daddy-o and I munched on pretzels. This is against all living things.

What do you think? Should I start a petition against what mummsy calls a bath?

Very Truly Yours,

Sir Poops-A-Lot