I know I talk about Buster a lot, but when you’re unemployed and living at home with your parents there’s really only so much you have to work with. I was cleaning my room and came across several interesting things, including an essay I wrote on Buster while I was in 1st or 2nd grade. I’m no mathematician, but I’d say that puts him at about 110 in cat years.
I typed it out word for word, spelling errors included:
Buter (I even spelled his name wrong in the title.)
my insane cats name is Buster. He loves to eat and eat and eat. Buster goes bazoocas wehen you menchen food.
sometimes he remindes me of my old teacher because he is fat. (Hopefully this teacher wasn’t the recipient of my essay).
My old teacher (…end of sentence? Must have had writer’s block.)
He glimers in the suns raze. His fur is silkey like rabits fur. He walks around proudley the house with his tail high in the are (air?) like a flag post.
he smells like clean socks. he has an indeyin (indian) marking on his head.
While I’m sure no one will be able to fully appreciate this fine piece of literature, I think it explains a lot about my steadfast devotion to Buster and my fondness for plus-sized pets.