Howdy, my name is Esther and I was born February 6, 1999.
I joined this outfit when Leslie came to check out some Hedgehogs in the pet store where I was being held. Let me tell ya, I threw myself onto that cage wall and I yelled fit to bust. Well com padres, Leslie took one look at me, sensed my predicament, paid my fine, and we rode outta there.
Leslie never did get to see those Hedgehogs; boys, I owe ya one.
Now y'all can well imagine that being incarcerated at such a young age, and having done no crime other than being born, I was a mess. My catness was sound, but I hadn't stuck around my family long enough to get schoolin'.
Well, salvation sashayed into town in the guise of Miss Cellar Kitty, and she set to work to make me a lady. She would hold me down and wash and groom until my white parts dazzled like the noonday sun off the mesa. Heck, she rode me like the pony express until I had that cleaning and grooming down pat, but when she tried to make me walk instead of run, and she wanted me to sit like a lady, well I could feel that rebellion welling up inside. Miss Cellar called me a “Spitfire” but the plain truth was that I was more bronco than Broadway and we went our separate ways.
It's true that I wasn't always as respectful of Miss Cellar as I should have been, heck, you should've seen her gather up her skirts and skedaddle when I came bustin' outta the brush spittin' and a'hissin for all I was worth.
Now, I never did forget the lessons of those days, I still shine like a silver dollar, but a leopard can't change it's spots, and a bronco can't accept no bridle, and finally Miss Cellar has accepted the fact that I ain't no lady and never will be, and that's just fine by me.
I joined this outfit when Leslie came to check out some Hedgehogs in the pet store where I was being held. Let me tell ya, I threw myself onto that cage wall and I yelled fit to bust. Well com padres, Leslie took one look at me, sensed my predicament, paid my fine, and we rode outta there.
Leslie never did get to see those Hedgehogs; boys, I owe ya one.
Now y'all can well imagine that being incarcerated at such a young age, and having done no crime other than being born, I was a mess. My catness was sound, but I hadn't stuck around my family long enough to get schoolin'.
Well, salvation sashayed into town in the guise of Miss Cellar Kitty, and she set to work to make me a lady. She would hold me down and wash and groom until my white parts dazzled like the noonday sun off the mesa. Heck, she rode me like the pony express until I had that cleaning and grooming down pat, but when she tried to make me walk instead of run, and she wanted me to sit like a lady, well I could feel that rebellion welling up inside. Miss Cellar called me a “Spitfire” but the plain truth was that I was more bronco than Broadway and we went our separate ways.
It's true that I wasn't always as respectful of Miss Cellar as I should have been, heck, you should've seen her gather up her skirts and skedaddle when I came bustin' outta the brush spittin' and a'hissin for all I was worth.
Now, I never did forget the lessons of those days, I still shine like a silver dollar, but a leopard can't change it's spots, and a bronco can't accept no bridle, and finally Miss Cellar has accepted the fact that I ain't no lady and never will be, and that's just fine by me.