You know, in spite of what the People say, I’m not really a wuss. Yes, I enjoy lying in on my special window seats and staring at everything going on outside, but that doesn’t mean I want to go outside. Why would I? There are sticky little people outside, little creatures who would pull my tail and grab at my fur, while shrieking and screaming, and I have no desire to be that close to them.

There are also DOGS out there. I see them—the dog across the street, that white furry thing everyone calls “Lucky.” You might think he’s trained and well behaved, but if I put a shock collar on you, you’d do whatever I wanted, too. And face it, shock collar or not, if he wanted to take a bite out of me, he would.

And I’ve seen those birds. Those suckers are huge. We’re not talking dainty little sparrows here, we’re talking football sized crows. You have to respect a bird that could lift up one of those small sticky people and carry it off. They outweigh me. I see the odds.

But that doesn’t mean I’m a wuss, or chicken, or a ‘fraidy cat. It means I have brain, for Pete’s sake. Inside I have food almost on demand, several warm beds, several window seats, two laps to choose from, and a litter box that’s cleaned on an almost regular basis. Why would I want to go out there when I have all this in here?

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