Cats of Phi Phi: In-Depth Stories

My owner wore bowling shirts but never bowled. He like cigarettes and drinking at that pirate bar by Tonsai Pier. I know he wasn’t a stand-up guy, but he was a stand-up cat owner, at least I thought. He pet me everyday and kept treats in his back pocket.

He left two weeks ago, didn’t even say goodbye. I came home to an empty flat. We lived above a Mexican-Italian place that played music until 3 a.m. His stuff was all gone. He was gone. All I found was a bowl of crunchies and cat nip on a dirty floor. I felt so down that I moved to this beach resort. There’s a cat community here. It’s definitely a nicer place, but I have a tick on this arm and no one to pick it out.

I’m hunting lizards, what do you want?

It’s real hard being a cat on the Phi Phi Islands. I’ll be falling asleep in the sand under a palm. Then a tourist prods me with their chubby finger. I try to sleep in hotel lobbies like this one, people aren’t as inclined to enter a lobby just to prod a cat.

I liked this tie when I first got it. Now I think it looks ridiculous, what cat wears a tie? Also, it's dirty.

See that dude over. That one, yeah, sitting on the fencepost in the shadows. Creepy, right? I know. Zoom in. I don’t care if it’s too dark. Last Tuesday, he stole my girl Sheila, the foxy lady with the pink-patterned tie. We’re the cutest couple ever, I don’t know if you’ve seen her 'round here, but we are both orange, and all the tourists think that’s real adorable. So, I got four concrete reasons as to why that cat sucks, and Sheila should come back to me.

First, he didn’t give Sheila no cool tie.

Two, he never purrs. I don't know what you think, but I think that’s just weird.

Three, he has a rep as being all meow and no bite.

Four, I’m better looking.

And Sheila, I promise I’ll never talk to Patches again. My bed is cold. Come home.

Good evening, Madam. It's awfully dark out. I saw you speaking with Suds—the orange one having a standoff with me right now. He is quite upset. His sweetheart left him for me. Her name is Sheila, and she was tired of Suds coming home drunk and high off catnip every night. Myself, I prefer a quality book to a quality pub. Hemingway, if possible.

This is my abode. Suds has cornered me on my fencepost. I kept quiet, but he hasn’t left. Two hours have passed. It's too dark for this. I never expected such persistence from that drunkard. Now, I am trying to stay awake so he doesn’t take a swipe at me while I sleep. Suds is the type of cat to attack whilst you're asleep.

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