Dystopia

i shake my head in disgust
at my kitten,
she is stupid,
and irritating, and irresponsible and mean.
her name is Sweet-pea and
she came about as an imposition,
like my other cat,
who is also dumb,
but vindictive, older,
and crazed, to boot,
and who lurks about with
dark erratic intent
that nobody who enters my apartment,
no matter how dull or disinterested,
will fail to observe as sort of unsettling.
Hers is a retarded stolid stupidity
mixed up with bitterness.
her name is Maga
and no amount of sweetness ever
bloomed in her big neurotic eyes or
influenced her naming.

They hate each other
because they are both female,
and confined,
and what more is there to say,
except that
my living space is dominated by these hissing,
fit-throwing little Empresses,
who demand to be fed continuously,
and piss for any number of reasons,
for pleasure or spite,
for need, for boredom.
They are piss factories.
I shall discover a vital human need
for catpiss
and become rich.
If they could shit as much as they piss,
they would,
but i do not feed them enough.

the way they inform me
that the shitbox is full
is by shitting outside of the box,
which is not as clever as it sounds.
the only intelligence they have
ever demonstrated is in
the artful positioning
of these renegade shitpiles
precisely in magical zones
where i can
neither see nor avoid
treading through them.

they excrete and execrate and loathe each other
and screech about all over the wooden floors
with their floppy dewlaps of flab
wabbling crazily from their domesticated bellies,
and mostly end up atop my
prized material possession,
an elegant folding table
of beauty
past human description
that is now ruined by
many hideous little scratches.
Sweet-pea lies in wait for Maga,
and attacks her
severally throughout the day,
while Maga waits for
Satan to repossess her old bones,
and occasionally lashes back
psionically with the
tentacles of the wounded octopus of her soul.
They are the best room-mates
I ever had or imagined.