Circe Smith’s “Now With More F Word!”

Dear Secret Online Diary,

It’s me! Hi! How are you? I am fine. Thanks.

I have another cat! Well, actually I have the same cat I had a year ago, who mysteriously vanished like a year ago (I feared teh worse…), and now he’s back and it’s really weird.

It’s my cat St. Michael. The big white-footed fluffy tabby tom. The one who always managed to vanish on the date of his neutering appointment. And then he vanished for an entire year and now he’s back and while I would like to say that St. Michael is “back from the dead,” what I actually suspect is that my cat St. Michael is undead.

UNDEAD.

Like… Pet Semetary undead.

Like… zombie cat undead.

I’m pretty sure that this is indeed the case. Because think about it: What else really makes sense?

That’s about it.

I’d like to convey some super-secret info… but I got nothin’.

Except the undead cat thing.

Which, as I’m sure you realize, should certainly be kept secret.

Byes 4 nows.

Oh. I forgot my commitment to use more F word.

Fuck! My fucking tabby cat St. Michael is UNDEAD. And living on my fucking front porch! Purring! Eating fucking kitty kibble! Looking pretty damn fucking good for a cat who has been DEAD for a fucking year.

That is all. Carry on.