Meow.

Mood: still recovering from Wednesday's blow.
Music: RENT theme, which is stuck in my head.

Think of how much different your life would be if you were a cat. It would be so much better. You'd never have to work a day in your life, yet in this glorius day and age we live in, you'd be free to roam around in a house that probably costs upwards of $100,000.00.
Your life would consist of doing your three favourite things: Eating, napping, and bringing death to small, helpless animals that you find outside.
You would have larger, more intelligent creatures to serve you and do your bidding. Bringing home your food. Opening up the can upon request. Feeding you. Washing your dishes. Cleaning your toilet. Bringing you to the doctor. Paying for it. Petting you. Opening doors for you upon request.
And when you got tired, you could take a snooze at any old time. Anywhere you wanted to. ...On a bed. That is at least fifty times the size that you are.
(How come the Anneliese:bed ratio is not that large? It should be. Because that would be sweeeeet.)
Also think of the social issues that you would not have to deal with. I'll be damned if a fat cat feels insecure about their appearence. The only way the weight would hinder them is that they would become a poorer mouse chaser. But they are probably fat because they don't like chasing mice that much to begin with, so it all works out.
Get knocked up? No problem. No other cat is going to shun you. There is no school for you to drop out of, or job for you to quit: you live at home! There's no need to go on welfare. And you're not going to be stuck rearing your offspring for the next twenty years.
Also, another cat is not going to hate you baised on the colour of your fur.
Nor are they going to judge you baised on the collar you're wearing or something equally as stupid.

Ah, life as a cat. . .