I am Rascal. Puss. For a while, I thought my name was "Who's there?" because my people always cried out in delight, "Who's there?" whenever they saw me. And they saw me very often. I was pretty angry about a stupid name. But now I know that my name is Rascal, and I am reassured. I like Rascal much better than "Who's there?" I'd hate to be called that.
Yesterday I turned three months old and didn't get a birthday party with cake and paper hats because mistress says that you only have a birthday once a year and not every month. I think that's pretty stupid. I don't even know how long a year is. And a year sounds pretty long. But in the evening at least I managed to bite off her bread in an unobserved short moment. Not like cake, but better than nothing.
I have two people, a dog, a billion toy mice and balls, a basket everywhere, and I have acquired a few more that shouldn't be mine, and scratching trees with dangling toys on them, and I am busy all day long clearing the houseplants of their leaves so that I always have something new to hunt, and I follow mistress absolutely at every turn, which is quite exhausting with her eternal back and forth. But then I cuddle up to the dog and we take a nap together.
Oh yes, and I am quite busy with eating, because I still have to grow. Because when I grow up, I want to be a lion.
Master once decided that he had a cat hair allergy, so mistress told him that he was only allergic to the nonsense I do all the time. But he got used to it in the meantime and he loves me very much.
