Good day my fine friends

today’s tale is of sombre tone, and I am beseeching of you to delve into your hopefully not-too- stony hearts to muster up empathy for my old pet pals appalling lack of positive state and much apparent state of embraced decline as evidenced here in today’s picture.He was once a notable entertainment luminary who enjoyed the choicest parts in major productions from Top Cat, in which he was cast in leading role of the laid back, not in the flat out recumbent sloth role you witness here but, lovable rapscallion alley cat gang leader TC to the similarly typecast handsome heart winning rouge Abraham D'Lacey Guiseppe Casey Thomas O'Malley the Alley Cat who successfully wooed above his scavenging, among Parisian, not quite gourmet filled, dustbins, station in that tatters to Toffdom type tale of said Parisian feline Aristocracy The Aristocats.
 
He was however only merely understudy, to The Rum Tum Tigger in the Globally acclaimed musical Cats and still to this day, does harbour a festering, and tedious when you have been the unfortunate recipient of its relentless relate, rage, born from, he steadfastly believes the fact that he was deprived of the lead by a deliberately late and misinformed notice as to casting as a result of he adamantly states a cat conspiracy from, as he puts it in true sourpuss style, “There was only one to shine therefore gain LemMe from my misinformed therefore missed casting misfortune ”

But sadly these are no more than faded memories and due, as old` sourpuss` did woefully, in his perpetual wallowing of stage and screen deprived melancholy, state, to the new wave of all things cat and kittah, Yes my old feline friend was suffering from the fall out this new wave of feline fame plague yes apparently any feline with the fiscal capacity to subscribe to a monthly Tinterweb provider could readily jump aboard the star bound express.

Well yours truly, in cruel to be kind as only close comrade could mode, and due to being miffed at his casting of gloom filled clouds, gave him short thrift and did state in an attempt to jump-start him from his debris bedecked state

“Frankly I’m perplexed as to how you appear to not be buried under a mountain of scripts, yes with your award winning portrayal of slovenly wastrel why tis a better rendition of that indolent cad Garfield than portrayed by himself,  Your incessant wallowing on now jaded stardom is superior to that old theatre cat Gus, that said forget a remake of Mr Jinks,  you could not partake in the practise of methodic dramatics and state in all honesty “you hate meeces to pieces” when you lounge in the midst of a bevy of the little bounders cavorting all around your recumbent state in ridicule why I think that little rodent blighter over there is clutching his girth as he, without any apparent fear, chuckles at your plight and please don’t harbour notions of playing any Cheshire cat types as why your miserable countenance is barely bearable, and you're barely fit, pardon the pun, to endorse nutritious feline foods, however with that physique so engorged you could
replace the Cheezburger consuming cat. 

Why I order you to dispose of that control of remote type tis the tool to the pool of too many untoward temptations and viciously cruel teasers of what has or might have been no wonder you require optical aid in the form of spectacles you have perused far too many programmes and of no doubt dubious entertainment   Look at the hypocrisy of your attire why it implies, nay! screams a keen interest in professional or recreational activity of athletical type yet the only activities of remotely athletic type within a mile of this place are the aforementioned meeces running volumous circuits around your portly protruding girth whilst foraging for your gluttonous droppings.  No I stand corrected there I detect a wind sport yes the offensive odour of your apartment, suggests a highly unsociable and blatantly unashamed one man(cat)sport of flatulent type brought about no doubt through your clearly negligent diet and too much imbibing of yeast derived beverage, yes well you may clutch for comfort your bottle of devils brew, why you're far too shabby for my tastes these days and I'll have you know my positive mental state assures that I have producers of artistic blockbusting masterpieces beating down proverbial paths to my positive door"
 

Suffice to say having seen, through partially closed hands, `Whatever Happened to Baby Jane` which was admittedly, not a tale of cat type puss but non the less riddled with much cattiness relating the consequences of another spurned artisan of the dramatic arts driven to vengeful envy in order to remove obstacles of bar to coveted acclaim I felt it best to impart news of my desire to depart and did so without delay.