Hello humans,
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| Ah, head scratch. The move created by humans to keep kitties under control |
My goal for the year is total global domination, baby! In order to do so, I need to branch out and do something other than posing and writing blogs once a week. The mamarazzi, being a starving artist and all, agreed to write comics in exchange of having the honor to rub my belly. Fair trade, I guess.
Anyhoo, those who are interested of my new development can go ahead and cross the jump. The cartoon, which is
badly drawn by la mamarazzi, is after the jump. Also, you get directorial comments from moi. See how wonderful I am?
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Correction: Written by moi, Belly the cat; Drawn by the incompetent Dao!!!
Also, the M on my forehead is my superhero symbol: I am SuperMeow :) |
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Belly: Oh yeah, you should be scared. You should be real SCARED!
That's the beginning of a Kirby Dance, btw |
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| Belly: Well, in real life we didn't actually say those things. We just meowed at each other but la mamarazzi did a good job in translating from Meowlish to English. |
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Belly: la mamarazzi captured my essence...NOT!
She ain't Stan Lee but for now, she'll do |
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| Belly: ah, fighting scene. Just imagine a lot of hisses and merows and you'll get the idea |
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Belly: again, she is no Rembrant. But in her defense, my claws are HUGE. Love the last picture. My paws look so fierce!
Dao: to continue with "or so I thought!"
Belly: shhh, be quiet, don't embarrass me in front of the people!
Dao: there's nothing to be embarrassed about. I already tweeted about it.
Belly: *paw to face* |
Dao: I have to make this quick before Belly jumps back on the laptop and claims ownership of the blog. I suspect the little grey kitty to be a girl and Belly, although is very fierce, is a gentleman. He just chases her around every night to get her off his turf but other than that, no harm done. Besides, whenever I hear angry meow sounds outside, I open the door and squirt some water to break up the fight. It works all the time.
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| Cross-eyed hero came home asking for more chicken! |
Sadly, I don't get any more chicken after a fight. La mamarazzi scolded me and said, "So, whose kitty came home after the fight pretending to be a good boy?" Then, she went on and on complaining that if I were her son, she would have bandaged me by now. Well, it doesn't happen. At least I'm a good fighter.
That's all for today. I hope you enjoyed the story. If you don't, I blame it on la mamarazzi.
Love, peace, and tuna fish,
Mr. Belly, who is a fighter
and a lover
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