Sir Sebastian Crises, pussy cat auteur, swaggering his own way, facial hair offering a hint of Lucifer, a little Stalin and a little Ghandi. Sebastian approaches passers by, sashaying, offering a little interest, a tail flick, a body rub, before moving away. The passers by follow Sebastian. Sebastian plays it aloof but is well aware that he is of much interest to humans.
Sebastian is of mixed race. Sebastian is homeless. Sebastian is something of a slut. All traits are perceived as positive within the feline world. Male cats want to be, and, or, murder him. Female cats, pussies, want to be fucked roughly, passionately and powerfully by him.
Sebastian finds pussies of little interest. They are no challenge to his wizened charms. Sebastian is only interested in seducing humans. Humans have thought, emotion and judgement; humans still find themselves helpless and turn to “coo”-ing embarrassments within his presence.
Sebastian despises dogs; he sees them as inbred, half-witted simpletons, whose incessant panting makes him sick to his stomach. Still, he remains aloof when confronted by dogs. Dogs are below Sebastian. Their existence does not bother him.
Sebastian is actually quite offended by the inter-breeding of dogs. Sebastian believes the practice to be barbaric; the human equivalent of brothers, sisters and cousins fucking. Sebastian finds it horrific how humans parade these abominations as pets, as happy go lucky animals who adore running aimlessly, being vigorously stroked and reigned in by restrictive leads.
Sebastian Crises often scrawls verses into wooden tables with his claws.
Alas, I will soon be done,
A short, animalistic life leaves one quite existentialist,
If I die, my friends, would I be remembered as banal or nihilistic?”
Sebastian sheds a single cat tear onto each scrawled poem, in the hope that an aimless human will find it and find sense in the world.
Sebastian often finds himself brushing against gravestones, teasing the dead and death itself; as an ideal. Sebastian does not fear death. He has spent much of his short life thinking about it and where he will go past his small mortal coil.
Oftentimes, people comment that Sebastian seems more than just a cat; his small, furry body undermining his intelligence, his wisdom and his alarming streak of darkness.
“I am more than this pussy coil,
I am more than this furry foil,
I am more than this world of fools,
I am more than my fellow creatures, kin of wool.”
Sebastian refuses to look into mirrors; some believe that this is because he is plagued with self hatred. Others simply believe he has ascended the notion of self esteem, appearance, looks. Sebastian merely looks anyway when anything is asked of him.
Sir Sebastian Crises is a cat of great creed, honour and interest. It is my honour to call him my friend.