China Travel Agent

PrincessCatA asked:


I have spent my life being adored, loved, and petted. I have been called beautiful, lovely, gorgeous, and perfect. I have been driven to Paris, New York, Guatemala, and Hollywood. I have been fussed over by superstars all over the world. I am on the front covers of People, Star, Ok, and Cat Fancy. I have met the President of the United States, Guam, and Iraq; the Queen of England; and the rulers of Germany and France. I have been onstage with Brittney Spears, Angelina Jolie, the Jonas Brothers, Brad Pitt, and Beyonce. I have modeled clothing from Calvin Klein, Kenneth Cole, Ralph Lauren and Liz Claborne. I have eaten foods from around the world: calamari, caviar, and fried chicken liver with a pinch of salt, nutmeg, and lemon flavoring (just the way I like it).
Many adoring fans watch me as a wake, eat, sleep, dress, and walk. People photographers watch day in and day out for a small mishap, like having liver all over my face after looking up from my silver and pink monogrammed and specially engraved diamond bowl with the cute little emerald bows on the side or tripping on my chocolate brown dress with the long train and falling on the ground, messing my dress and freshly groomed hair. I must say, it is rather tiring to be famous, not that it is not fun, of course. But I must draw the line somewhere. Just yesterday I was reading in Tiger Beat, a teen magazine that is mostly about teen stars, that I was the most famous cat in the whole world. Now, the “most famous” part I do not mind, but being called a cat is not satisfactory, especially not after a huge breakfast of deviled eggs, and warm muffins. Just because I have to look up at people and have a lighter color of hair than most (it’s, like, almost white) does not mean I am a quote un-quote “a cat”. Where do they get this stuff? That’s, like, almost as bad as being called a midget. See what I have to put up with day after day?
I have never looked in a mirror or at any of my pictures. I find it quite alarming how it turns my energy way down and I can never focus on my work. I mean, one time I looked in the mirror before a show and got the biggest shock of my life. Whoever had dressed me had done a really good job at decking me out for Halloween because I looked like a cat….a cat wearing my blue sequined mini. I have to say I took no time in calling my agent and firing the woman that thought it was funny to dress me in a Halloween costume before I was about to do a show. Just to tell you, that night, I was so upset, I almost spilled my double chocolate chip frappicino and I only get one of those a year (my agent thinks I will get to high on sugar and die, poor dear). After that small setback in my career I promised myself, no more pictures, no more mirrors, no more reflections in pools. I do not need to get myself overworked before a show.
Today, I have my biggest show yet. My agent and I are going to speak at Idol Gives Back, a “helpful” version of the much famous American Idol. I totally have to wear my new strapless dress. First of all it is purple, the color of royalty and second it makes be look about three years older. My agent and I travel all over the world talking about the time I saved the Prime Minister of China from eating poison liver(yawn), the time I saved Anne Hathaway from choking on a overly huge sour grape(no big, honestly), and the time I saved Dakota Fanning from a burning house(now that was cool). My agent has to do all the talking for me due to a birth effect that leaves me squeaking like a baby when I try to talk. I have trained my agent on exactly what to say and when to pause to let my jump in. Normally, I would let my agent do all the talking, but the audience loves it when I jump in with my own opinion. It doesn’t really matter what I say, just that I say something (I usually just limit myself to one word at each pause). Yet, I still do not see why there is the resounding “Awwwwwwww” that follows each word I utter.
Today is the day. It is November 13, and after a two-year boycott, I have decided to look in a mirror. I mean, I am only going to meet the new president. I honestly cannot trust my make-up artists to make me look as fabulous as a can be. I must look in a mirror. I have dressed my best today. My navy-blue sailor suit looks beautiful with my white rain boots (they actually look good) and my hair is styled to perfection with little navy hair clips. Nothing can go wrong. I might even suggest to my make-up artist that I should wear a little mascara that my agent always wears, or maybe some lipstick.
I am totally closing my eyes as I walk up to the mirror. I know my agent and make-up artist are right behind me but I am still nervous. My nose touches the mirror and I make a mental reminder to ask my make-up artist for a face-lift or a nose job, my nose is just to flat. I hear my agent counting down behind me. Three…Two…One…I open my eyes and…see a cat. I spin around, blink, then
look back in the mirror, the cat is still their. Maybe I’m losing it. It is nowhere near Halloween and I watched my make-up artist carefully as she helped dress me. My agent scratches my head and I understand in terror that I am a cat. I am a cat… that means I have to start using a litter box, eating cat food, and going out without cute outfits. I break free of my agents grasp and run to my ruby encrusted Mac book. I carefully go to the Internet. I must research right away, causes that turn a perfectly famous person into a cat. Do you know what this means. I can never leave the house again. I am no longer a short person with a strange birth defect, now I am a cat. I must go curl up in my pink and yellow plush bed and think about these strange happenings.

Tagged as: Brittney Spears, Kenneth Cole, Pinch Of Salt