I was born in July of 1999.  My kittenhood was, let’s just say, a little rough. By the time I was 3 months old I was behind bars in the county pound, with a few scrapes and bruises.  During my incarceration I had plenty of time to reflect upon the path my young life had taken. I was at rock bottom, in a cage, surrounded by others in cages, in a horrible cement and cinderblock place that reeked of fear and disinfectant.
How could this have happened to  me? I don’t mean to sound elitist, I know it sounds that way. But what would you think if you saw that you were the only one with opposable thumbs, not to mention the two different colored eyes? I was an outcast among the outcasts, an outlaw among the outlaws. I’d been thrown into the barrel of Not With The Program, and even there, I was odd man out.  That really got to me, I have to tell you.
And then, in those desperate hours in the cage, i realized i could cast out a spell and reel in my future! Believe me or not, I threw it out there for what I wanted. A quiet human, a 100 year old farmhouse with big sunny windows, plenty of nip, freedom to walk on countertops, tables, or anywhere else I pleased, plus a big yard with a garden and interesting wildlife of rabbits birds squirrels and possums. Oh, and a dryer on a sunporch, if it’s not too much trouble. No sooner did I request this than my human appeared! I raised my paw when she entered the room of cages, I was afraid for a moment that she might look at someone else! She saw my paw, and it was a done-deal. She said, “Extra toes! Me, too!”   What a match! We were both decimal system renegades!
She paid my bail and took me home (after a surgery I had to undergo before my release. I don’t remember much of it, but I was counseled later about not being tempted to spray window screens or chase after calico hoes on the streetcorner -- as if!). All I know is that it was the final inflicted pain from that old life that was going nowhere.
Home at last, perched on the window sill, leaning on a screen that I can’t for the life of me imagine why I would want to spray, I saw those calico hoes on the corner. Sure enough, I didn’t want to chase them, they were nasty, although I did notice the tomcats who flocked around them, looking all lonesome and broke (biker-chain wallets and cigarette smoke).
Not me. I was sitting pretty, and I stayed that way for years. The human supplied me well, I thought it would go on forever.
I should have seen it coming, but I had lived with humans for so long that I’m afraid I adopted their way of ignoring reality. Looking back, that’s so easy to see.
Remember, I got my human in the 1990s. What kind of a human did I get? Okay, I got a “graphic designer” who specialized in PRINT. Sure, laugh now, but back in the 1990s, PRINT was actually a lucrative thing. It didn’t matter if it was good or bad, just print it, and money showed up. Hey, who was I to go rocking the boat with predictions? The nip came in, the heat came on, the treats flowed freely.
and then it started to slow down.  PRINT was dead, at long last. hell of a run, from Gutenberg (1450!) to now, but damn, here I am in NOW, 562 years later. Excuse me, I was banking on it being good for at least 575 if not 600, but damn oh well guess not, and now I’ve got this obsolete human with all the marketable skills of a blacksmith!
Well, then.
What to do?  I sat down with my now unemployable 50-something year old human, finally, and said, “You need a job? I’ll give you a job!”  I walked angrily across the bookshelves, throwing volumes to the floor. Then I I tossed out boxes from under the bed, spilling beads and bangles and bottles of color at her feet.  “Consider yourself hired!” I told her, “You work for me, this is my farm, and your first task is to pick up the pieces!”  Oh, yes, it was a regular hissy fit, but it all settled down and now I am in charge, the human works for me, please buy the things she makes because I really dig living here in my Monkey House with the big sunny windows. 
Please also know that I am a good and fair CEO, I assure you that my human is treated most humanely, uncaged, with free run of the house and access to all furniture.
Know too that I have read volumes and understand a thing or two about motivational psychology. All I had to do was to state the obvious, and that caused the human to produce items for sale in my shop. Really, all I said was this:
“We’ve been living off Print all our lives and now Print is dead. How do you feel about that?”
Of course my human, incapable of speaking directly in cat language, began an interpretive dance resulting in actual pieces of visual art (as she is wont to do) and that’s how we’re fueling the shop with items.
Please visit the shop at www.etsy.com/shop/ChezMonkay