Hey Peepers! Come on over here for a mo, would ya? I need you to answer some questions.
Oh good, you're here. So I'm doin' my taxes and I need some information from you. First things first, 'bout how much do you eat over the course of a year?
Don't look at me like that. It's a legitimate question. I'm tryin' to figure out how much it costs me to keep you on staff.
Well OF COURSE I don't pay you a salary. I can see how my callin' you staff might be misleadin', though. Might make you THINK you should get paid to wait on me, paw and paw. Might make you FORGET seein' to my daily needs is an honour and pleasure, for which you need no recompense. But the thing is, you're actually more like a slave than staff.
Thus the lack of a salary.
But I still have to house you and feed you and stuff like that. I still have to pay to fill the car up with gas for when you go to the store to buy me my fuds. And those things, well they all cost money! So I'm pretty sure I should be able to write some of this off as necessary expenses. And I need to figure this out today 'cause tomorrow is the deadline for filin' by Canada Post.
Uh-huh... Uh-huh... Gotcha there, ol' peep.
But Peepers, what do you mean when you say I don't have to pay any taxes? That can't be right. I'm the cat of the house, you see. First born cat, famous blogger, and all that.
You have to earn money in order to owe taxes, you say.
BUT I DO earn money, ol' peep of mine. I have my gentlecat nip farm - although it has yet to turn a profit, my blog, my various time travellin' teleportation businesses on the side which have been put on hold since the start of the pandemic, but are ready to be brought on-line any day now, for sure.
AND I have you. You're my peep, Peepers, so I kinda own you, you see. Not kinda; I do. Oh sure, I sometimes let you think you're in charge but deep down, you and I both know I just do that to let you feel good 'bout yourself now and then. Truth is, you are my peep, which makes you mine. WHICH MEANS any money you make is mine, too. And so that's why I figure I need to pay some taxes, you see.
Well... But... But what do you mean cats don't pay taxes? What do you MEAN?
Well that's pretty moused-up, that is.
Kinda explains how so many countries are always runnin' deficit budgets though, I guess.
And what about dogs? Do they not pay taxes, either?
You don't know, huh? Guess that's what that look of dumbfoundedness - emphasis on the dumb - on your face means.
Either that or you're just plain ol' dumb.
So Peepers, you're sayin' that EVEN THOUGH I write an award-winnin' blog, own this house, manage a nip farm, and own a couple of good-for- nothin' peeps who are often worse than useless even on their better days; I, Seville the Cat, don't have to pay income tax or anythin' like that, huh?
So I'm kinda like royalty, then, right? AM A RIGHT? AM I RIGHT? I'm like the kings of days of yore, who instead of payin' taxes, RECEIVED taxes from their peasants; aka peeps.
So that means...
So that means I don't have to be doin' any of this paperwork at all. YOU, Peepers, should be doin' this paperwork for me, and instead of my figurin' out what I have to pay, YOU should be figurin' out what YOU have to pay ME.
After all, you just said I am a King.
Okay, so I kinda said it for you, but really and truly, we both know it's the same thing.
Remember to mask up, too.