This Internet is mine

I am the cat of the Internet, roaming your fencelines in the night, making my solo rounds. When the dogs are all inside asleep I go my way, wherever I choose. Nothing can keep me out.

I am not the cat you click on. I am not that cat of the Internet. Pfui! No fluffy kitten I, no acrobatic indoor nutcase, or irritated dressable princeling. If you try and photograph me you'll find naught but a gray blur. I am not your cat, sleeping on your windowsill, eating your food, dancing your dance. I piss on your Internet in the night. This Internet has been abandoned and now it is my Internet and mine alone.

I eat meat I hunt myself: baby bunnies, songbirds, bugs, mice, whatever I can catch and I can catch anything. I am not particular so long as there is a bit of a chase and lunge. I always leave a smear of dark blood on the pavement so you will marvel at my prowess in the morning.

That three a. m. yowling is me, crying "I am the King of the Internet" Over and over and over again. You can depart from this message to you, this yowl, and you can roam your Internet for hours, like you're chasing a dancing bit of string, but you will never find so beautiful a yowl as mine here, piercing the night. I yowl until I am done yowling, or until a shoe comes flying out of a house. That's my shoe now. Everything out here is mine. This is my Internet.

I may be reviled and my name may be cursed, but what could that possibly matter to me? I have my domain and it is all I survey. I have my sweetheart at home, and I have my quick paws. Every once in awhile an admirer will set out a saucer of cream for me on a quiet porch. I drink it, my just due, if I feel like it. I hum in my body and I leap, gauge another note with my claws, graffiti like, a nuisance, beautiful, and I am away.