Through The Eyes of Lolita: The Move to NY

Dear Amateur Gourmet Readers,Lolita the cat here. Please, I beg of you, contact PETA and relay to them the following.1. Last week, without any prior notice, my master--your Gourmet--suddenly removed all of my beloved furniture, including the bed I've slept on and under so many times, without any reason and/or explanation. I was left without a bed and without a blanket to scratch and chew.2. Then, suddenly, I was grabbed at 6:30 in the morning on Friday the 6th and held down, against my will, at which time my master--your Gourmet--shoved a small white pill down my throat. I began having hallucinations of a musical in which grown men and women dressed like me danced down the aisles of a theater while bad synthesizer music blared overhead. At the end I was on a floating tire and then I came to. I found myself on a strange windowsill in a strange city:3. Finally, while my tormentor went out to find elicit (ilicit? HISSSS, I hate spelling) drugs and prostitutes, I was able to hide myself under the air conditioner. When he returned he scampered all over the apartment looking for me, until he discovered my whereabouts:The jig was up and I was vulnerable, yet again, to the cruel caprice of a carniverous culinary caca-head. Please, I beg of you, to quote Aretha Franklin (or is it Fontella Bass? HISSS, I hate 60s music trivia): RESCUE ME.Sincerely,Lolita