Today is Annie’s birthday; I promised that this year I would finally share her stories on a wider scale. This year is a significant year for Annie, she is fourteen and in two years she will be able to legally get a license to drive a car.
She drives now; her fire truck, her tow truck, her limo, her dump truck. If it has wheels more than likely she has it. Most of the time she drives her scooter. Annie is fat and old, so that is how she gets around, one of those Walmart type scooters except hers is pink and purple with a flag, and horn. She teleports too but I am getting way ahead of things.
Annie is my cat and I am not entirely sure that March 23rd is her actual birthdate. It’s close and it’s the date we chose and stuck with.
Nearly 14 years ago, my daughter wanted a cat. A man I worked with, had a bunch of feral kittens under his front porch, that were old enough to leave their mom, so I decided to adopt one. He brought her to work, a tiny black and white kitten. My daughter’s walked to work with me that day so they could bring her home. I am glad we lived semi close because this kitten was not a happy camper.
Her feral side was quite profound. She bit, she scratched, you couldn’t pick her up, rarely could you even pet her and the only time she wanted anything to do with you is if you had food and then she would normally bite half your finger off taking it. The only thing she did close to being friendly was she slept with me or my daughter. She was way too above sleeping on the floor or a cat bed.
We’d only had her a few months, when we had to move and two weeks before we moved Annie got out. We looked all over for her; because she had gotten out before, normally climbing the biggest tree in the yard; the guy next door was always kind enough to rescue her. We couldn’t find her anywhere. I was pretty sad, because even though she wasn’t the most friendly cat, I liked her.
The day before we moved, I heard a chirp outside my window….Annie has a distinct chirp. I ran to the door and there she was, safe, sound, looking well fed. I never knew where she went or why she came back when she did butvery I was glad she was home.
She was different when she came back though. You know she left a cat, and returned, a Little House on the Prairie loving, folk singing, multiple personality , obnoxious, fiddle playing mess. Her often bi-polar personality, created the phrase, ‘It’s Annie.’ At times, it is the only explanation that works.
Annie owns a factory. It’s a poop factory. She recycles poop into product; dishes, knickknacks, toys, vehicles, it doesn’t matter. I have no idea how she does it she just does. I do know it has to be a special kind of poop, apparently there are different grades and qualities.
She has a factory and employees illegal cat immigrants. She often assists them over the boarder, either by teleporting them or picking them up in her scooter which she attaches a wagon to. Lately her chant is, ‘nuts to that wall.’
That is surprising because she is a firm Trump supporter. I seriously think the reason she leaned that way was because it is easier to rhyme Trump with something than Clinton. Her first campaign slogan was, “I hump for Trump.” This was way back in the very beginning when he announced he was running. I told her that the slogan was not very nice. Her response, “A camel hump, Slam!” That is what she calls me, ‘Slam’ because I am technically her grandmother since she refers to my daughter as Mom, and she hates me most of the time. Gram was not an option for her so Slam it was.
I told her that the slogan made absolutely no sense, camel hump? It didn’t until Annie got a hump like a camel surgically implanted on her back. She doesn’t use the hump very often now, (yes she can take it on and off at will), but still wears it to Trump rallies. Her typical outfit is a Make America Great Again Hat and a Nasty woman shirt. She voted both ways, and for Uncle Barney as well, (her affectionate name for Bernie….she loves old re-runs of the Flintstones.) So that is the whole voter fraud thing…’It’s Annie.’ But she is a cat so I doubt it matters too much.
So her factory makes tons of money. She even has a commercial to solicit poop. It has a catchy jingle. It goes, “I have a toilet full of poop and I need cash now. Call Annastasia 877-poop-now .” Her money enables her to have her fleet of vehicles, her menagerie of animals, like her giant turkey named Clyde she bought several years ago for her Thanksgiving dinner, she fed him so much he grew huge, then she got attached and kept him, and her fleet of vehicles, which she will be able to legally drive in two years.
But it’s not just her factory that makes her money. She signs all of her workers up for social service benefits and she gets it and keeps it. She buys up zombie property and houses her workers there, and she feeds each family one snack wrap a day. I’d think that she would be feeding them a lot every day to generate poop for her factory, but It’s Annie.
She is also able to clone herself, even in male form. No clue, it’s Annie and she does it. She makes clones of herself, signs them up for social services. Her clones live in the zombie properties which honestly are slum properties she never fixes them up. They work in the factory too. Annie normally wears a hazmat suit when she goes into the factory, but many times she comes out of the factory looking like a big glob of poop.
She has multiple things she does on a daily basis. Some days, she goes to work with me, sometimes with one of my children, or she goes to school with my grand daughter, (Annie is a student at several schools and colleges) and she needs her clones to maintain all of her activities. Most of the time, she lays around the house eating (she wants to be on my 600 pound life and hoarding buried alive), and her clones do all the work. Occasionally if there is a school closing due to a snow storm, that particular school was the one she WAS personally going to go to for the day. It’s Annie.
You would think a cat smart enough to start a factory that recycles poop into product and a cat who can clone herself, would be classified as a genius, however with Annie that just isn’t the case. She doesn’t know her colors and although we have told her she is black and white she insists she is red and pink, unless she dyes herself which seems to be at least once a month. Most recently it was green (bright orange) for St. Patrick’s Day. It’s Annie.
She makes oodles of money but never has any as she spends it as quickly as she makes it. She is always attempting to borrow money from some member of the family and she steals my debit card quite often. It’s Annie.
Her best friend is a zombie dog she calls Kiko. He is my daughter’s dog and he and Annie bonded quickly. They have similar interests, he plays a banjo and Annie plays fiddle although she can play the banjo too. They often jam with my son when he is playing his guitar.
When Kiko passed away, Annie simply could not deal with her best friend being gone so she turned him into a zombie. It’s chaos most of the time with the pair of them. Poker night, several times a week, their jam sessions, their constant watching of certain shows and when she is on a kick it’s non stop episodes of The Walking Dead, Little House, The Flintstones; often times she takes on the personality of a certain character. Like the day when she was Mary Ingalls and she went blind, in the middle of Walmart and she was screaming at the top of her lungs, “Pa I can’t see.” I was humiliated. It’s Annie though.
My life with Annie. I never know what will happen, how it happens, or why it happens it just does. It’s just life with Annie and this is her birthday present for her fourteenth birthday; a blog about her and what she does. Happy Birthday, my old lady, my favorite cat. It’s all about you.