2025: The Year of Perpetual Vileness

My dearest friends on the internet,

Today’s report is brief because I, Bob the Writing Cat, have had just about all I can take of everything and everyone.

First, let me say this: arthritis is a rude little pest. It slinks in like a thief in the night and settles deep in my bones with the subtlety of a marching band. So today was a “less movement, more grumbling” kind of day. I did attempt to claim my rightful place in the baby sling, but alas, The Woman abandoned her post and trotted off to the DMV to renew her driver’s license, like some kind of law-abiding citizen. I remained home…license already valid, thank you…stuck supervising chaos while she stood in line surrounded by despair, fluorescent lighting, and broken printers.

The nerve.

Upon her return, she informed me that tonight is my spa night. Which sounds far more luxurious than it is. There will be nail clipping. There will be ear cleaning. There will be suspicious humming as she attempts to pass off this nonsense as “self-care.” Let me be clear: if I wanted self-care, I’d lick my own butt like a proper gentleman. But alas, I must submit. My adoring friends at Dr. Kenny’s office will want to snuggle me senseless at tomorrow’s checkup, and I must be presentable.

As if that weren’t enough…

📦 Mail Crisis: Volume Infinity.
The Woman paid extra—EXTRA—for “expedited shipping” on her new glasses. Monday, the tracking site told us they were “out for delivery.” So we waited. She watched the window like an anxious raccoon. When the mail truck came, she sprinted outside like a hopeful gazelle. And what did she find? Nothing. The glasses were not delivered. Instead, they were “diverted to Norfolk.”

Norfolk.
Let that sink in.
We live 100 miles from Norfolk.

So now I’m preparing a firm but polite letter to the Postmaster General—and also polishing my most potent stern look for the mail carrier tomorrow. One way or another, justice will be served.

In conclusion: spa nights are scams, the DMV is a lawless land, the USPS is on thin ice, and I deserve a treat. Or twelve.

Yours in feline solidarity,
Bob the Writing Cat
Champion of Patience. Slayer of Delays. Keeper of The Sling.