Sunday, September 7, 2008


My appetite isn't what it used to be. 

I used to gobble up my meals 1, 2, 3, but now, I don't know, nothing's really that appealing. Much to mom's consternation. (Know what they say about payback, hee hee.)

So she's bought me all sorts of stuff designed to entice me to chow down. There's the catnip. Makes my nutty housemate Casey go nuttier, so of course it's not my thing. Two types of treats, one crunchy, one moist. Eh. I can take 'em or leave 'em. Usually leave 'em. Mom really hates it when I whirl one in my mouth for a bit, maybe even bite into one, then spit out the soggy remains. Which is why I do it. That, and they're not so great, anyway.

But she hit one right on the whiskers: Kitty Kaviar. Oh. My. God. This stuff is awesome. They're see-through wisps of some super-smelly fish. Makes my mouth water. When I've had enough of the lightly warmed up Fancy Feast - 4-5 seconds in the microwave makes for a more appealing meal - mom smushes a piece or two into the food slightly and next thing I know I've cleaned my plate. 

I learned quick, though, that if I keep looking away from my food as if to say I'm done, mom keeps putting more Kaviar on my plate. This trick works a treat! Literally.

Here's what it looks like. Now don't hint. If your pet parents are as daft as mine can be, you know you can live out your nine lives before they catch a hint. Forward this to your folks and demand your own. Yes, Kitty Kaviar - because you're worth it! 

Thursday, September 4, 2008


This is not a recent picture of me. 

However, it captures perfectly my feelings today. 

Almost two weeks ago, I told you about my last trip to vet, and how mom may have to give me fluids.

Guess what.

Mom gets home, finally (most days it seems like she's gone forever), and begins doing some strange things. 

Let me clarify: stranger than usual.

Now, me, I'm the trusting sort. So when she stands on one of the dining room chairs, hangs a jiggly, clear bag to the chandelier using my rag string and lays a fluffy towel on the dining room table, I don't think anything about it. My mind is focused firmly on food. And how I don't have any.

She's fumbling with things. Mumbling to herself. Frowning so severely it looks like a pair of centipedes are fighting to the death on her forehead. (Yeah, ewww.)

I start to wonder what the hell has happened to the usual Hello, poopies!!! How are mommy's little babies? Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, dinner. I shift my weight from one snow-tipped paw to the other. As close as a delicate little lady like me gets to stomping her feet.

I wait another chunk of forever.

Curiously, she puts my plate on the table. I get to eat at the table, with the humans? Get. Out!

Next, I land on the table. In my dish are treats. Wow, I rate today! Obviously she hasn't spotted that hairball . . . 

I start to dig in. But their aroma triggers something, something I can't quite reach in my memory. Probably 'cause I'm starving.

Whatever. I start to dig in and then it hits me.

No, not the memory. A giant needle in my back!


Previously, I said giving me fluids would be a snap for mom. 

Never has a kitty been so wrong. 

I jerk away when I feel the jab (like, duh, who wouldn't?). Liquid spurts everywhere. She grabs me, grabs the line, finally figures out how to stop the flow. Her face is red, her T-shirt's wet, and what's that smell. Sniff, sniff. Sniff. Yep, ma's sweating like onions in an Indian restaurant. 

She's flustered now. She's pleading with me as she takes several more stabs at it, pun intended. Oh, what's that? A tear? Sure, that's gonna make me sit still. As if. Hey, I'm the one who should be crying here, I say. To myself.

But I'm tough, so I just snarl.

This scene actually would be quite comical - if it weren't happening to ME. 

Then she swoops me up and slobbers kisses all over my face while blathering on about what a good girl I am. 

Don't I know it.

Tuesday, September 2, 2008


Here's some fun. Can anyone guess what these cool pictures are of?

Monday, September 1, 2008


Just want to wish my step-brother M a super-happy birthday!

He's away at school now, but when he comes for visits, I always nab a spot at his side - that is, if that hug-hog Casey doesn't get there first! 

I beat Casey to a spot at my step-bro's side. Ha!

M's always reading interesting stuff. Well, politics put me to sleep, but there's no such thing as too much shut-eye, so that's good, too.

So, M, I hope you're having an awesome day. 

Miss you! 
{{   }}

Ahhh. Sleepy ... I'm getting very sleepy     

Saturday, August 30, 2008


I love movie night. Especially when dad's kids stay over. 

Naturally, they love me. LOVEME. (Like, who wouldn't, right?) I get brushed and cuddled and pet and squeezed and oohed and aahed over. As it should be.

Not only do I get to enjoy a movie, I get so many laps to choose from as they huddle on a plump air mattress-turned-makeshift sofa. I know. Don't ask. Anyway, it's a snuggle bunny's dream.

Lovin' on li'l ol' me
(Not that I'm old, mind you. ...
Not that I'm that old. ... Not that I'm~
Hey, not that it's any of your darn business!)

Recently, we watched That Darn Cat! (the original), one of my faves. 

First of all, the star D.C is purr-fectly dreamy, what with those blue eyes and solid build. He's a big boy, the kind that makes a girl feel safe. With his powerful paws, razor claws and lightning speed, D.C. practically makes mincemeat out of an FBI agent who stupidly tries to take his "finger"prints. Hysterical!

But not only does D.C. have meat on his bones, he has brains to boot, and helps the beyond-hapless FBI catch a couple of kidnapping crooks. 

Uh, huh, I'd like to be his Siamese twin, if you catch my drift. Me-wow!

           Here kitty, kitty: The dreamy D.C. (and, oh yeah, Hayley Mills, whoever) 

Wednesday, August 27, 2008


Today this blog is going to the birds.

Mother snapped this pic of an emu somewhere in California, near Ojai, she thinks. ... A little bedraggled, me thinks.

When we lived in Palm Beach County, me and the other cats loved watching these little guys from our second story porch. Grandma and grandpa used to come over often to feed them bread.

Here's mama duck and some of her brood.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008


"He is a heavy eater of beef. Me thinks it doth harm to his wit." 

- Shakespeare, Twelfth Night