Some real out-there cats, man.
“My pearl-handled kitty-cat will leave and press your noodle back.”
My name is Rage. I am a two year old female calico cat, residing in the fairest of New York’s five boroughs. Most of the time I behave the way you’d expect a little kitty from rural Ohio who’s moved to the big city to behave. I’m constantly on edge, claw the only valuable piece of furniture in the apartment, spray my kitty litter everywhere and kneed the stomachs of my resentful owners.
But once in a while, when I’m kickin’ back and don’t have any beds to hide under the next morning, I break out something special. Nip.
Now I’m not just talking about any old nip you can get on the street corner, down by the bodega. No, sir. I am a nip aficionado. When I’m nippin’ ballz, I’m all out. On the surface of the moon, man. So I’ve decided to share my journeys with you, dear reader. Prepare yourselves. Put on a little “Cat” Stevens, and hunker down in your owner’s favorite sweater.
Because this is me, Rage. Nippin’ ballz.