User:Sophia Charlotte Kelly-Robbins

Dear Humans,

Greetings and welcome to my world. This is what I work on when my mum and dad lock me up in the kitchen for eleven hours each weekday. They think I sleep all day - ha ha, what do they know?!

First I'll tell you a little about myself. Apparently I was born in South Norwood in the scummy London Borough of Croydon, though I don't remember. My parents then saved me by allowing me to move in with them in leafy South Sutton, home of wussy foxes and bloody birds tweeting 24/7.

I've been told I'm a British, long-haired queen, and am certain I was a camel in my past life as my back arches into a hump while I hunt for daddy's feet. I was born on Thursday, 22nd March 2007 as one of a litter of six. I have one sister and four brothers, though I've no idea what they look like. I never knew my dad (typical) and my only reminder of mummy is my mummy blanket from Wilko's. My daddy blanket's cheap and tatty.

I eat McDonald's for cats, otherwise known as Whiskas' in Jelly, and some solid stuff. Mum and dad are so tight they rarely treat me. Daddy also used to put my poos out on to the balcony in a food bag and watch them melt when the sun shone. I can't half make a pong though. They've stuck a nauseating air-freshener in the kitchen now but my stinkies reign supreme.

My idol is Fatima Whitbread, Javelin-throwing legend of the 1980s (the Dark Ages to me). I mimic her now with my claws - daddy thought mummy was into self-harm when he took one look at her legs the other week. I was born to hurt people. When I purr it's to take people off-guard as I go in for the kill.

Sorry to sidetrack for a second but Auntie Cameron, if you're there, please rescue me. You drank 8-litres of beer and wine but relied on me, a 9-week-old kitten at the time, to nurse you in your collapsed state. You let me sink my blades deep into your arms - that's devotion.

I long for when I howl day and night. They keep uttering "snip", "bits out" and "giblets" for when I next nip t'vets. I say do your worst. I've had thermometers up my backside that nearly came out t'other end. I no longer flinch with needles. I even talk like some weird Mancunian now.

They threatened to burn me when they thought I was a Crystal Palace fan and they're always trying to fatten me up for Sunday roast. Please hear my cries. I biff in their general direction to no avail. I'm a prisoner. They won't even let me outside. I'm a flat cat.

They're always locking me in rooms to try to get me to zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ...