It is meant to be Roast Day not Wash Day. YAWP! Why did I have to have a bath at all? I don't need a bath. I don't smell that bad, although, I suppose, if I admit it, my skin is a little irritated by all the pollen and antigens of this and that in the summer air. To top that off there is the distinct smell of dead rats too. Well, at least I think that is what the smell is? All these things added together are making me dirty apparently? News to me.
I spend so much time having to clean myself afterwards to return my smell back to where it belongs. I feel it terribly unfair that this happens at most, twelve times a year. Herrumph.
It does occur to me that if I wasn't washed at all, I wonder what exactly would happen? I might even have time to grow a coat or greater still a goaty beard like one of those long haired Rexes? I might even not smell, improving with age like a well used oilskin jacket? Or I might grow dirt on my feet so thick I could withstand any heat from the fishtank lids? Indeed, without all this washing and licking I could be an even bigger cat, with skin so thick they would call me rhino hide? Oh, wait, I have that already!
Either way, all this washing is of no use and it wastes time money and vital dishwater. Coupled together with the fact I have to have ponsy shampoo with names like 'peach fuzz' and 'feeling flakey'. I mean, really, for a boy? I would rather names like 'skunk' and 'humming'. I am no girl, I am no ponce. I am 100% pure King and if I want to pong my way through my reign, then that's my purrogative. These are my smelly feet. My filthy ears and my quivering 3rd eye.
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