THE LEGEND OF THE EXCELLENCE KITTY
#SAVE PRO WRESTLING
I fucking hate everyone.
It was a glorious Sunday afternoon. Absolutely and positively glistening in the Florida Fall sun. Ophelia Knight sat on her luxurious leather couch, her fingers typing away upon her macbook as she listened to some HGTV supershow that featured Ty Pennington or whatever. A glass of white wine sat next to her on the console table embedded within the couch. Her hair was pulled up into a high tail and she wore glasses since it was very much a very off day.
Well, her, she’s okay.
A voice very similar and probably would be / is Chris Pratt but for production sake we’re not saying that since that would probably cost a lot more money than Pro Wrestling EXCELLENCE could afford issued over the scene upon the screen. Why a voiceover? Well, for none other than giving a voice to the most devilish and hateful of cats, of course.
Ollie Dorito reposed upon the back of the leather couch. His orange and white body was, for lack of a better term, chonky as shit. The sun hit him nicely, and he felt very, very relaxed. That’s what weekdays were like for he and his human. Not a care in the world, because he was a cat, and even if there were things to care about, he wouldn’t. Because he’s a cat.
His ears perked up as the cell phone rang from the side of Ophelia’s leg. He glanced at it, yellow eyes looking towards her in curiosity (which never killed him, he’ll have you know). It was probably Charlie. Or that one guy she was dating – what was his name? Steve? Sam? Piece of shit?
Ollie didn’t like Ophie’s boyfriends, obvi.
“Hey, how are you?” Her voice changed, and that was how Ollie knew it was one of the dumb boys she was talking to. She got up and shuffled into the kitchen. He stayed put – he was no stupid dog, he wasn’t going to just follow the dumb human, even if he loved her. Eventually, she would come back, sit down, and give him scritches on his noggin and he’d drift off to sleep again.
This was better though, than being at the ring. He didn’t know why Charlie insisted on using him as a wrestler. Maybe it was so ASPCA and PETA could get their name out there – or maybe it was just because it was a big ol’ joke. Job to the cat, or whatever Mickey said. He could not deny that he was very happy about being the Excellence Kitty, the mascot of the company. But to actually put him on the card…
Well, at least it made the card graphic look good. He couldn’t say that about a lot of people.
He’d go to the show. He’d “face” the stupid girl that rambled on Twitter. And then he’d go back and get more scritches.
Maybe from that Kayla chick.
She was nice.
—-
I guess I’m supposed to do something called promoting.
Ollie sits on the stool in the dressing room of a photoshoot. Or rather, just the vanity with a lot of lights looking upon his purr-fect orange and white figure. He licks his chomps, having obviously been given some delicious choices of Temptations(c) treats (SEAFOOD MEDLEY BITCHES). He liked that flavor. But we digress. The Chris-Pratt-but-Not-Chris-Pratt voice speaks for the Ollie cat.
I dunno what that is. I guess it’s where I talk in some monologue like Ham-and-Cheese Omelettes from Shakespurr. The most I can do is Meow off-kilter. Here, listen…
One of the techs from the shoot walks by. Ollie turns his head and literally screams.
OLLIE DORITO: OWWWWWWWW!!!!!!
The tech jumps, stumbling over.
See? Even the most dulcet of my tones are terrifying and upsetting. I am fierce. I am a LION. I AM EXCELLENCE KITTY.
TEE-EMM.
But you know, it’s easy when I’m who I am. Look at me, I’m fifteen pounds of fabulousness and all that people want to do is pet my ickle head. It’s easy to look like a sweetheart in this game, but turn into a destructive murderer. I mean, look at Tara Ayla. She’s definitely got some dead bodies up in that mansion thingy. She’s gotta. They’re deffo necrophi–
Sorry. Off topic.
But for realsies. I am what the ratings seek for. Everyone loves me. Everyone thinks I should win the Excellence Championship. Can you imagine, they’d have to make one for me? It’d be a collar. And you know bitches love collars.
Me-ow.
Ollie shakes, ruffling his fur a bit and stretching slightly. He leaps down, and the camera follows him as he trots towards the green screen. Ophelia said they were going to superimpose him onto Superman, whatever that meant, so that he’d look good for the stills. As he did so, he couldn’t help but hear the cheers in his head from the Ovaltational.
His. Ovaltational.
That’s right. My Ovaltational that Adrien Cochrane won. That one. THE ONE PEOPLE LOOKED AT. YEAAAAH. Check that money, making bank, account number. That’s the shit that’s never getting bounced on ya. Bitch I do the money dance, I just made a hundred bands…wait, that’s the lyrics from Money by that BLACKPINK singer Lisa. She’s cool beans.
Unlike Chelsea Skye.
Oh no. Was I supposed to say that?
Ollie pauses, and then he shrugs.
She can get over it if I wasn’t supposed to. You see, she should be looking at this as a chance to wipe all cats from wrestling. I mean, that’s impossible. We multiply like bunnies and honestly, my whiskers get more likes than her red hair, but that’s all gravy and stuff. She’s trained. She’s athletic. And we hear about it every week. Not only that, she tries to do some guitar stuff and thinks that five weeks into learning how to play it she’s suddenly a rock star. I mean, congrats, she won a title in REVO whatever, but Ciela Luiz was here at the beginning and I know she’s there now. And I kinda…scratched her off the face of Pro Wrestling EXCELLENCE.
Not that I’ma do that here, but look. I am loved. Chelsea is not. And the fact that she went overboard trying to tear me down on Twitter tells us that she is so upset that she has to face me. I mean, I would be too. I’m the Excellence Kitty. I literally have the name of the company in my monipurr.
Whine about it some more.
I’ma get my face on some more pictures for the company, and you?
You’re gonna get scratched and clawed.
Maybe I’ll get you a collar to wear for your third relationship since August.
Heard you like ‘em.
