Don't you call me a pussy (Cats at war)

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Good evening from the field, due to feline security I dare not state my location for fear of cat-wrath but needless to say that danger is around every corner. For those whom have been living under the media black-out imposed by the BBC (Big Black Cat) I feel that I must state our cause. This pirateYarrrrgh station may be discovered at any moment… Hear our plight.
My hairy daughter Rizzo, as hier to my estate once lived a happy carefree exsistance of staring at birds, playing fetch and getting cuddles. Then one fine summer morn, a trade delegation arrived, they hailed from the distance land of ‘Just up the street’ wherever that may be? Rizzo, being a friendly cat approached this delegation, only to be informed that unless territories and sunny spots were ceded at once hostilities may follow. The threat was re-inforced with spitting. Shock ran through our peacefull nation. Rizzo spoke with her advisors, the mystical bed mice, they knew not what to do. In haste the fence was manned almost daily, at first this seemed to do the trick, Riz sat there and glared at the BBC Army, peace returned. For a while.
The BBC was however out-flanking us, using weaker territories to the north and south… Riz realised too late, we have been invaded. I must go…"

I know that paw-on-head, eyes-shut, please-stop-blinking-so-loud look. Looks more like Riz was out all night drinking with the opposition. Mayhap thou hast a traitor?

The Hussy. Guards! Guards!

You need to call your Men At Arms.

That is one big-ass picture.

She looks like she’s sleeping it off to me. What “it” is, I cannot say. I’d suggest a full vet exam, including STDs, meself.