• I'm called Evie. Evie the cat. When I lived in North America then it sounded like I was the Queen of North America, even though I'm a cat.
    I have had loads of different beds because after a while I can't get to sleep properly in it. My first one was a 'cat-cot', a new cot for cats, so you need to lift the cat up (it'll be a struggle if it's heavy) then put it in the cot. The useless part is that you have to pick the cat up to get it out of bed, and I like oversleeping but they made me wake up early.
    They don't understand what attention cats need. Do they need to eat breakfast when they don't want to? Yes. I can't stick my owners.
    Doggie next door, yes, she's got very rich and famous and kind parents. I was invited to her next sleepover, which was...YESTERDAY (I wish). Not really. It's tomorrow. I wish it's today.
    But no such luck.
    One day I poke around the garden, trying to find some twigs to make a cosy bed. I find a blanket and twenty twigs. Whew, that's enough.
    I'm making my bed. I love beds.
    "Evie!" Rose, my owner, calls. "Time for din-din!"
    Ugh. They treat me like a TOTAL KITTEN.
    Kitten? I want to be a kitten. I love them. They're adorable.

    TO BE CONTINUED.