u/whenjacksattack

This was also about 3 weeks after I started "fostering" him and he was still 99% Fuck You Up feral cat muscle and had not yet made sweet love to 12 tonnes of kibble

Also his first time ever wearing a collar and I kid y'all not this guy's straight up STRUTTED to make sure everybody could see that he was now an owned kitty

He doesn't wear collars nowadays only because they tend to make him cough when they squeeze at all, and if they don't squeeze he gets them stuck on shit and has a meltdown.

Hound's personal subreddit r/The_Hound BC (in case anyone wants to stalk him while he's still on the right side of the sod)

It's 7PM and I'm fistfighting my puppy in the living room about who the biggest potato in the room is

It is her

We all know it is her

Get out of here potato girl

r/The_Hound

idk what I'm doing

I'm too poor for this shit

Why is this antique, slobbery cat now my third job

Why am I making this antique cat social media accounts while I have fifty bucks to get me through til next week and I ain't had groceries besides noodles in three weeks

JK the world is falling apart for everybody so we all might as well get a few friggin laughs out of it before it's gone 💅

Anyway his subreddit is barren for now but not for long because The Hound is nothing if not photogenic

the people deserve to know, sir

the people DESERVE TO KNOW

If I ate Cornflakes, they'd be pissed in.

The kitty kibble closet now has a child-proof lock. The Hound is vexed that he has not yet been able to gum his way through it, despite being a certified, Veterinarian-verified antique.

He has now begun to park his inexplicably massive lard ass on the kitchen table and attempts to meow to bring awareness to his impending starvation, which sounds more like a rubber chicken that had a really unfortunate run in with a 1985 Mack truck on its last Hail Mary dump run.

I'd tell you to roast him, but I know y'all are useless and will refuse on the grounds of fearing for your own lives.

HIS EYE IS FINE. IT'S GUCCI. IT'S PRADA. IT'S FASHION, SUSAN.

PSA time bitches:

The Hound has an embarrassingly large veterinary team, both professional and personal, because I worked in the field for many years before switching careers. Some of my best friends are extremely talented veterinarians and veterinary technicians, so The Hound is always in safe, loving hands.

I apologize for this public service announcement and will grovel appropriately to my antiquated fat fucking cat for forgiveness, having stolen a mere glimmer of his media attention. We all know what happened to the last guy who made that mistake ✝️

anyway

He likes watching his bro, Davey-A, describe natural world atrocities. He appreciates that Davey-A is almost as old as The Hound (but not quite)

It is his hope that by watching enough murders being committed in nature, Baby Satan will learn how to become a fierce huntress just like Grampy Hound.

That is what I call him when he chooses to be a decent and respectable elder of the household. Which is somewhere just above never.

The absolute injustice of life is not lost on The Hound, who suffers each day through more and more indignities.

This weekend was supposed to be a long weekend to commemorate the successful-ish assassination of his first target. Then I, a foolish human, chose overtime above Hound time.

As one might expect, I am now dead to The Hound and my betrayal will not be easily forgotten. Send prayers and maybe a priest.

Then again, that poor bastard would probably burst into flame in the driveway at the rate I've been acquiring demons. I'm like an episode of Season 7 Supernatural.

I wish this picture was staged, gang. I really do.

Baby Satan now piles her favorite toys on the Hound in the hopes that he might eventually choose one to play with. That Pepsi bottle may not look like much, but it is the single highest value item Baby Satan has in her arsenal. I was genuinely alarmed when she freely gave it to her idol.

Like when somebody gave Bad Bunny an actual bunny.

Or when somebody gave Putin a Baby Satan of his own.

The Hound has accepted each offering with patience, but I can see the urge to return to the wild creeping into his eyes every day.

Also pls provide emotional support on this horrible weekend, which commemorates his first and only failed assassination attempt - but who would have expected that a murder could backfire three days later?

It is 8 am and the demons have already taken hold

The lipth have been stuck for half an hour

The leash has been destroyed

The licker has been malfunctioning since last night

Was she born this way? Did the SPCA put her together wrong? We may never know.