You know, ever since I was a kitten living on the streets of Mill Valley, I knew what I wanted to be. I’ve always craved fame and fortune, and I chose this life as an international playboy tabby. It didn’t choose me.
But never in a million years did I think it would be this … hard.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining, but I have to deal with things that other cats can’t possibly understand, like the damned paparazzi.
They’ve been relentless lately… On Monday I thought I’d take advantage of the nice weather, right? I figured I’d just walk to Bikram instead of taking the limo (my yogi thinks I need to work on my downward dog), but 10 photogs were waiting for me outside!
Then on Wednesday I flew down to go hiking in the hills with L.C. and Audrina. Sidenote: No, Heidi was NOT invited. We haven’t spoken since I whooped Spencer’s ass at Le Deux last summer. Take that and rewind it back, Pratt!! Anywho, we were taking in the scenery and talking about Kim K.’s new scent when I turned around and BAM! Cameras everywhere.
And it happens all the time! A few weeks ago my assistant found these pics on Perez…
Here I am walking home from an all-nighter with Jay-Z and Beyonce.
And here I am eating at The Salad Bar, this little place I like downtown. The paps just looooove to catch me when I’m eating.
Speaking of my assistant, you know I love the girl, but she works my last nerve. Now she thinks she deserves a raise (whatev) saying she feels “overworked” and “under-appreciated,” blah blah blah… Join the club, baby cakes.
Oh, and get this. Now Cat Fancy’s saying pets are beginning to look like their assistants. Sounds like B.S., right? But then I found these online:
Freaked out much?
Sigh… If this keeps up, I’m gonna need bodyguards and a security consultation with these cats here.
Until next time,