This morning we were delighted to learn more about our favorite celebrity kitten, Choupette. The fluffy Siamese kitten is the kept woman of eccentric Chanel fashion designer Karl Lagerfeld. Herr Karl revealed recently that Choupette takes her dinner on top of the table, plays with an iPad, and “has two personal maids, for both day and night.” You know, as you do, cats.
But Karl’s most intriguing reveal about Choupette’s lifestyle is the way her young life is being painstakingly chronicled. When her daddy is traveling, details of Choupette’s day are kept in a notebook for him to review later. “When I am not there, the maids take down, in little books, everything she did, from what she ate, to how she behaved, if she was tired, and if she wasn’t sleeping,” Karl explained. “In the nine months, we already have almost 600 pages.”
And wouldn’t you know, we were able to get our hands on a page from Choupette the kitten’s diary. Imagine you’re reading it in a highly pitched, feminine Austrian accent … punctuated by occasional crotch licking.
Monday, June 5, 2012
11 a.m.: Awake inside a Timeless CC, bathed in sunlight. Where is my sashimi? Breakfast should be waiting for me when I get up.
11:30 a.m.: The maids bathed me in champagne. Karl does not wash his own hair; nor do I. Spritzed me with Coco Mademoiselle. Blow dried thoroughly. Off to the dressing room for my bow.
11:50 a.m.: Played with the iPad for a bit. Did I say the iPad? I mean my iPad.
12:30 p.m.: Yawn. Bored. So incredibly bored.
12:40 p.m.: Relieved my bowels on the latest issue of Vogue. Baptiste Giabiconi wiped my tiny bottom with Chanel scarf. Litter is so uncivilized.
1 p.m.: Diane Kruger stops by for a belly rub. Mine, of course. That bitch has Joshua Jackson to rub her own belly.
1:30 p.m.: Lunch brought to me the dining room table. Filet mignon sprinkled with caviar. Watching my figure; I know Karl called that husky British singer fat. Sparing myself the mortification.
1:55 p.m.: Beyond bored. I am a prisoner here.
2:15 p.m.: Stare out the window at the streets of Paris. Look, there is the Louvre. And there is the Seine! Who are those cats walking on the sidewalk? Don’t they know their feet are getting dirty?
2:30 p.m.: Catnip flown in by Tajikistan, followed by beauty sleep. No, I am not stoned. Beauty sleep.
3:30 p.m.: Karl has returned. Today he called a small child fat and made her cry. He strokes my head and tells me, “You’re the only one who understands me, princess.” Purr.
4:15 p.m.: Bored again. Life is … so hard.
Contact the author of this post at Jessica@TheFrisky.com. Follow me on Twitter at @JessicaWakeman.