Dearest Reader,

 

HELP! SOS! Over here! I am in bad need of help and short of time before another nose picking, nail-biting, germ-infested fourth grader tries to touch my delicate fur. I’m stranded in Lucy’s backpack in some school filled with a bunch of stinky tween humans, and I need to get out of here! They are all wearing masks to protect themselves (and me, of course) from that virus.

 

I am not looking to just break out of this school, this new town altogether. My four humans, Lucy, Marina, and their parents moved to this place called “Normal” (I kid you not) for some weird reason; and they didn’t even ask MY opinion about it! Unbelievable. I can’t see any good reason to leave the beautiful, cozy mountains of my old Virginia home to somewhere flatter than a Persian’s face with corn everywhere that makes me sneeze! Sorry, I just had to get that out of my system. Let me tell you, dear reader, on how I got here.

 

This morning I woke up to the same nightmare as the day before: in some dark corner nestled inside our new dump of a house I’m supposed to spend my life in. Haha. No. Freaking. Way. Anyway, my treasured but mostly ignorant and clueless humans, Lucy and Marina, were starting their first day of “school.”

I wanted to know what this “school” place was. I am definitely not at fault here. What if they died?! Who will give me tummy rubs? That was a risk I was not willing to take. So I did what any sensible feline would do and jumped in Lucy’s backpack to guard her from whatever gross monsters await to devour her in this strange new place.

 

What happened is what I least expected. No four thousand-toothed pile of disgusting jumped out of a bush to devour my humans. We walked in absolute safety and the backpack was hung up on the back of a chair. That’s it and where I sit.

 

But, thankfully through a slightly open zipper, I got a glimpse of the horrors of “school.” The people who live in this “school” are frankly quite disgusting. And hearing that from someone who licks his butt may seem silly, but I wrote this for help, not to be judged.

 

And now, here I sit. Bored out of my mind — thinking about mice and tuna only can occupy your mind for so long. Wait! What was that?! Is that the sound of a zipper? I think someone’s about to discover me. YIKES! If you know where Earhart Elementary is please send help!

 

Yours in tater tots,
Hubble

 

Dearest Reader,

Next to yours truly and which direction I should get my fur to lay this afternoon, there’s only one thing I like to spend my waking hours pondering: what’s for dinner?

Thank goodness Lucy’s father has a job and can afford the latest in can opening technology, or I’d have to pull rank and find another household to cater to my every desire. But, the tall one who frequently retreats to the “garage” to bang around and sound busy seems to earn a decent living and keeps up with his credit card payments so I can remain up to my neck in Fancy Feast or whatever gourmet dining experience Lucy’s mom decides is on sale at the local grocer.

But while I get waited on hand-and-paw, I’ve just recently learned that not all people (or pets for that matter) are able to eat healthy meals on a regular basis. In the gang’s latest adventure, we make friends with a couple of nice kids who are in that situation.

It’s sad. And, for some odd reason, sadness always motivates Lucy and the girls to take matters into their own hands.

Thankfully, I’m around to supervise as the Geeky Fab Five takes on a challenge known as The Student Hunger Drive. (Note: In real life, my secretary, Lucy, did a little first-hand research and then took down my story as I dictated it to her – I’m not a good typist, I’m a cat – but this is the GF5’s best story yet!)

Where we live, the annual Student Hunger Drive raises hundreds of thousands of meals every year for those who can’t afford to feed themselves. If there’s a similar hunger drive campaign where you live, I’m sure they could use your help.

Thankfully for me, the only hunger drive Lucy’s mom has to do is to the local grocery store.

 

Yours in tater tots and spare can of your favorite tuna-flavored delight,
Hubble

Dearest Reader,

Yikes, I hate the rain.

Not the sit-inside-the-dry-house-and-watch-Lucy’s-mom-search-for-her-housekeys-in-the-middle-of-a-downpour part of it … that’s hilarious. But I’m not a big fan of going out when it’s wet.

Even if it’s stopped raining and the pavement is wet, the water finds a way to soak the fur between my toes and then I feel like I’m walking around the house in wet socks all day. Sure, there is some measure of delight in hearing Marina and Lucy argue over who has to mop up after the cat (me), but I’d rather have dry toes and tater tots in my tummy.

So the gang’s latest adventure involved me helping the girls find homes for stranded pets following a big storm and the shelter getting destroyed by a giant tomato.

We did some research for the story by visiting our community’s local pet rescue center – which is pretty cool and pretty sad. It’s like going to “pet jail” only everyone is in the slammer and didn’t do anything to deserve it other than getting born.

Well, I guess the dogs did kinda deserve it because they’re dogs, and, you know. They’re dogs.

But I digress. Because even dogs deserve parole from pet jail. Especially if that pet jail could be destroyed by a giant tomato.

What?  It wasn’t a tomato, it was a tornado? Oh.

Either way, our four legged friends at pet shelters everywhere (yes, sometimes they have more or less than four legs – sometimes, even fins) need your help to get out. Please consider adopting a pet today.

And then tell them they owe me.

 

Yours in tater tots and lending a paw in need,
Hubble

Dearest Reader,

Our latest adventure finds yours truly up to his dew claws in butterfly madness.

The girls have grabbed hold of another issue – this time saving the Monarch butterflies – with as much gusto as Lucy used to have when she’d tug my tail as a toddler. And this “save-the-butterflies” thing is just about as annoying.

I’m not wholly anti-butterfly. In fact, when I discovered that early in their lives, they’re known as cat-er-pillars, I almost respected them. Although they resemble a large, squishy treat at that stage of their life, it’s apparantly a thing they all have to do as they metamorphasize from one stage to another.

Metamorphasize … what kind of word is that? Sounds like an expensive way of saying “growing up.”

Anyway, after a steady diet of milkweed (which is a misleading name, it doesn’t produce any drinkable milk as far as I can tell), the delectable little chew toys turn into cocoons and change into butterflies and live out the rest of their lives annoying the rest of us with their flitty flutterings and general inability to fly in a straight line.

Lucy tried to explain to me that all butterflies, including Monarchs, actually do something – but that gets to my point. If the Monarch butterflies were really butterfly royalty, they shouldn’t be doing anything but lie around and eat and sleep. After all, look at the lion … king of the jungle and they don’t even bother living in the jungle – they just hang out at the pool or watering hole or whatever and work on their tan. 

I do much the same thing in my household. Lucy and Marina’s mother is well-trained and able to open the cat food can and put it in my bowl with barely an instruction needed other than the occassional “meow” from me reminding her to make sure it’s may favorite flavor.  If she does a good job, I may even purr for her to show my approval. If not, well, the next hairball is going on the carpet (if you know what I mean).

Compare that lifestyle to the hard-working, short-lived life of a Monarch who spends more time distributing pollen to other plants than he does living the life of entitled luxury like all other regal species. Or, at least like cats.

Until next time, my faithful servants, I remain …

Yours in tater tots,
Hubble