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 

Monday, August 25, 2008


So it wasn't bad enough that we had a damn tropical storm - and another one on the way! - with all that nerve-racking rain and lightning and thunder. No. Little did I know I had scarier stuff ahead.

Today, mom plucked me from my comfy bed, stuffed me in a carrier and the next thing I knew, I was being deposited on a cold, hard surface in a bright room with strange sounds all around. The horror! (Oh, look who's a little drama queen! That was barking. - Ed.) 

A-ha! Dogs - even scarier than I thought, then.

So, yeah, in case you haven't figured it out, I was back at the vet. And I was not happy.

But all my vicious hissing somehow failed to stop Them. I was poked and squeezed in unpleasant places, I'll have you know, and even had my temperature taken. 

For all this torture, I was rewarded with some treats, which were very, very yummy. I gobbled them all up, but it was a trick. While I'm chomping away, someone sticks a needle in my back. And then another! What the - ?!

Still, as much as I hate to admit - and I hate to admit it - all this did make me feel better. It's possible, in fact, that mother may learn to give me fluids (that's what that first jab was) at home. Wouldn't be too difficult for her; she gave me insulin twice a day for six years. 

The other shot was a B-complex. That one burned a bit, but it did get me peppy.

Nevertheless, it's been a trying day.

I expect (hear that, mom!) a much better day tomorrow.

Casey comforts me

Saturday, August 23, 2008


Boy were we lucky!!!

Fay flooded about 98% of the state. But despite the days and days and days of scary thunderstorms, we were OK.

Everywhere else was underwater. A preview of the global-warming years to come.

But for now, the view is beautiful.

Thursday, August 21, 2008


If we do not change our direction, we are likely to end up where we are headed.

- Chinese Proverb

Tuesday, August 19, 2008


Well, that was a whole lotta nothing, I'm happy to report! 

The worst of Fay blew through last night, and right now I'm looking out at blue sky and sunshine and white caps crashing on the beach. 

Dad's playing something folksy on his beloved record player, mom's fragrant with the spices of their Indian lunch, Casey's asleep in his kitchen cubbyhole and I'm grateful for all of it.

Monday, August 18, 2008


Tropical storm Fay has been dumping rain on us since I stumbled out of my cozy spot in the closet at 6 this morning for breakfast. Probably was before then, too. 

But it's been blowing through very quickly. The outer bands, ma says. A few minutes of rain so dense the parking lot across the street practically disappears. Then calm - the sky a nice, dozy gray. Mom and I even went out on the porch for long while where she brushed me, my fur spiraling up and around in the breeze. I love that. 

It's expected to be wetter tomorrow and windier. But no evacuation horrors this time as it's over on Florida's west coast and we're down here hugging the southeast coast. I failed to mention that in my last hurricane post. Easy to be blase when you're not in the bulls-eye! 

The year after we moved from the beach bungalow (see Aug. 16 post) to this place, Hurricane Katrina plowed through, its eye passing just south of us. Mom took this photo from the 7-foot windows in our living room. 

At this point Katrina was a minimal hurricane, becoming the Cat. 5 monster after reaching the warm Gulf waters.

In our little part of the world, the worst hurricane was yet to come. Wilma struck exactly two months later. Mostly, I remember the wind shrieking as it whipped around the corner of the building, a corner our mostly glass living room is nestled in. From behind the hurricane windows, the folks watched debris large and small shoot up the street as if on high-speed rails. 

The cars parked below wiggled and jiggled so much that some ended up angled when they had originally been parked straight. Incredibly, slivers of space remained between the repositioned vehicles and none hit each other. 

Then the wind shifted and became so fierce, water blasted up through the windows panes all along the wall where my folks were standing and poured down to the floor. Every towel and blanket was put into action, but still my folks had to wring out the soaked linens into buckets.

When it was all over, almost a third of the state's population was without power - including us. That lasted six long days (for us). But we were lucky. After the water dried up, our window sills and floor were coated in sand, but at least those hurricane windows held out. Some of those in our building who had not upgraded sustained damage to their units when their old windows blew out. 

Mom didn't take any pictures of any of this. But while walking to the supermarket a few days later, she spotted something that made her laugh out loud. 

'Nuff said!

Saturday, August 16, 2008


In case you're just joining me, I live in Florida. Hurricane Alley.

Call me jaded, but I can't get worked up over a little wind and rain that I know is coming way in advance. I'm speaking, of course, of Tropical Storm Fay.

Besides, I've been through this before.

A few years back, my folks decided to take a mini-vacation to Key West. They got a deal to stay in a really nice suite for something like $39 a night in exchange for two hours of their lives having some shyster arm-twist them into buying a time share.

Well, they had the last laugh because they put off this requirement 'til their last day in the Conch Republic and, wouldn't you know it, they got kicked out of the resort before they could fulfill it, thanks to a hurricane.

There they were, sweating on some touristy trolley, thinking the guy in the guayabera talking about a mandatory evacuation was just joshing.

But no, the sun was setting on their Key West vacation.

Sun setting behind Sunset Key, as seen from Mallory Square

About two weeks after their forever-long crawl up US 1 back home, the alarm was called again. This was the fun one. 

We (there were five in our family then; another story) were all living in a bungalow just a few bouncy steps from the beach in what was basically a bowl. That is the technical term. 

Frances was a Cat. 4, heading right for us. The storm surge would have howled with laughter at the high ridge of dunes barricading the end of the street and barreled through into the low bowl our little house huddled in and that, my friends, would've been the end of that.

And there was hi-fi equipment and a thousand or so LPs to consider. This was my then almost-dad's (yes, my folks were living in sin) greatest concern.

We were renting and had no insurance. The only thing to do was to secure a storage unit out west, box up all we could and move it all out. We cats were not amused. We hissed to each other about it on the humans' bed while listening to the ocean murmur through the old-fashioned crank windows.

Almost 20 non-stop hours later, mom and dad had packed up everything but the furniture. The worst parts had been the long drives back and forth to the unit and the 20-odd back-breaking boxes of records.

Well, maybe the worst part was installing the hurricane shutters, which they'd never done before, a fact which would have been hysterically obvious to any passers-by.

Then again, the worst part might have been that when the evacuation order was issued, my folks were nevertheless called into work, and just as mom pulled out of the driveway, her year-old Passat inexplicably broke down. It wouldn't go faster than 10 miles an hour. 

It limped to the VW dealership just a couple of miles away, but they had already evacuated. No getting a loaner car that day! She left it in their lot in as safe a spot as she could find. 

Dad took her to work. After toiling away for a few hours, she finally told the tyrants-that-be, sorry, but she had to leave, and got a rental-car agency to pick her up.

But perhaps the worst bit was, in fact, that after all this, mom and dad had no idea where they actually were going to evacuate to. 

There were shelters, but they wouldn't take pets. Mom was not leaving her "babies" behind. I heard her say if she had to, she'd just drive west with us three in the back until storm or, most likely, traffic stopped her.

Dozens and dozens of calls later, a co-worker – bless him! - offered a solution: the condo he'd recently inherited from his father. It was just as he had left it and while it wasn't that far west, it was out of the evacuation zone.

Me, you can throw me in a carrier and let me out anywhere and I just make myself right at home. The boys I shared space with, not so much. Here I am hunkering down in our temporary shelter next to my temporary water bowl.

The power went out well in advance of Hurricane Frances.

It was humid and dark and my pet parents didn't even have a battery-operated radio to listen to. They had to go out and switch on the car radio to get updates on the storm.

To relieve the boredom, they played cards by candlelight. (Too hot, apparently, to do anything else.)

These are my dad's hands shuffling the deck. You can't see it, but he's in boxer shorts. Hee hee.

And that's Syl curled up on the couch after finally calming down. (I can't tell you about him yet because mom will start bawling and, honestly, I don't need to deal with that just now.) 

Not sure what the roll of toilet paper was doing there. ...

The storm had stalled. Long days passed before it went on the move again. Luckily for us, it had shifted north and luckily for its new target, it had lost some strength. 

When it was finally over, there was damage, but it could have been sooooo much worse. 

Below is one of many toppled trees in the neighborhood we had evacuated to.

My folks braved a drive to check out our house and were turned away by police who had blocked the bridge to the barrier island we lived on because of downed lines and debris.

So they checked on mom's car at the VW dealership. Some of the cars didn't fare too well. But, fortunately, that silver Passat in the picture below was not mom's. Hers had come through unscathed. Except, of course, that it was still broken down.

We were out of our home for 10 days, without power for a week of that time.

The neighborhood was still a mess, and the house was pitch dark and bare. As much as mom loved this funky beach town, she suggested that since they had pretty much packed up everything already, they should just move. Somewhere closer to dad's job.

They left all but one small shutter up, just in case.

You'd think they were feline with that kind of prescience. Not long after, they got their third evacuation order in six weeks.

This time, we were back home in under 48 hours.

But they lived out of boxes until they moved two months later. To this place. Another place by the sea.

Maybe they're not so smart after all.

Friday, August 15, 2008


Like many my age, I'm grateful every morning my eyes pop open and I'm in a familiar place with familiar people and familiar scents and familiar food in my familiar plate. 

Somehow I don't think that when we die we end up somewhere that looks exactly like where we left, although that would be a wicked trick, wouldn't it. 

I'm especially grateful when mom and I can cuddle on the couch and see a tequila sunrise like this one over the Atlantic. (Ignore the dirty window; goodness knows my folks do!) 

Yes, life is lovely - grime-covered panes and all.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008


How can this feline be my sibling? 

Oh, right, we're not really related. 

Although it is a remote possibility - shudder the thought - considering we're both from New York and were born in the same year. 

Anyhoo, best not to dwell on that!

Sophisti-cat that I am, I actually read the paper, see, while Casey here buries his nose in it in quite a different way. 

You know, I don't think he's even bright enough to even just look at the pictures.

Does look comfy, though.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008


The folks are getting ready for dinner. They get to break bread together only twice a week, so dad puts on a little dinner music. (Truth be told, boiling water is reason enough for my dad to put on music, so don't feel so special, mother dear.)

Tonight the selection is Alison Kraus & Union Station's 
I didn't think I was a country kind of girl, but this album is awesome. It's definitely worth a listen.

And on the menu? My little nose detects the delicate, floral fragrance of jasmine rice and the sweet, heady scent of a spicy, coconuty vegetable curry. 

Hmmph. Just how cute do I have to look to get a taste? Seems no one around here has heard of sharing, I grumble. Oh, sorry, that was my stomach.


"Non-violence leads to the highest ethics, which is the goal of all evolution. Until we stop harming all other living beings, we are still savages." 

- Thomas Edison

Sunday, August 10, 2008


It's Sunday. On this day of rest, guess what I'm gonna do.

So here are some sorta, not really, random pics my mom made over the years of which, inexplicably, I'm not the subject. In spite of that failure of judgment, they're quite good.

'Royal' route to Palm Beach

'Natural' beauty lines Palm Beach road

Of course they have a dog bar in Palm Beach. Of course they do

White caps off of Palm Beach

Charming Key West house complete with unique bicycle rack

The approach to Fort Jefferson, Dry Tortugas National Park (70 miles west of Key West), from a seaplane

Saturday, August 9, 2008


The Olympics opened yesterday and would you believe I missed it!

No, me either.

Sure I'm a little out of it, being sick and all, but what's mommy's excuse? (Um, I forgot - Editor, aka Mommy)

Someone around here needs to get her head out of her butler's pantry. By all accounts, I missed a spectacular show and heaven knows this kitty could use a little entertainment right now.

I am not happy.

All I can say is, come Christmas, I better have a DVD of it under that fake, tacky, 3-foot-tall tree they always put up!

Me sniffing
out the goods
last Christmas

Thursday, August 7, 2008


Still taking it easy. Sleeping a lot. More than usual, that is.

So I thought I'd share a video mom made of me with her ancient digital camera. I didn't know what she was doing - and you can tell when I stare daggers at her at the end. 

Yeah, it's grainy and mom's narrative is ridiculous - as if that needs to be said - but it stars me and I'm the cutest thing ever. Mommy says so, and sometimes the old lady is right. 

Monday, August 4, 2008


Say what you want about Pam Anderson, but this "girl on the loose" has found a fan in me.

True, for a few years now, she's become a caricature of herself. But Pammy is no dummy; she knows she is, and she's cool enough to make fun of herself. Just check out her turn in the loooow-brow blockbuster Borat movie.

And the girl loves animals. Loves them. I'm an animal, so I take special interest in her passion.

On her new show on E!, which mom and I caught last night, she said the two things she "loves the most in life are sex and animal rights."

So Pam's a human blow-up doll. So what. She works her, um, assets off for all they're worth. And if it takes T & A to grab the attention of some barbarian BBQ-er, then I'm glad she's got the goods!

She also put her material assets to good use by putting up a ginormous warehouse full of Pamela-bilia for sale with every penny going to PETA, while her kids made money for the California Wildlife Center with a lemonade stand. Very cool!

(Side note, PETA once sent mom
roses for an item she wrote shaming
some flea-brained fur-wearing celebrity.
Also very cool.)

So mom and I will tune in for the run of her 8-part series, even if, judging by the first episode, the show is a bit of a bore. Gotta support the animal lovers!


“Nothing will benefit human health and increase the chances for survival of life on Earth as much as the evolution to a vegetarian diet.” 

- Albert Einstein

Thursday, July 31, 2008


The less I say, the better - but this piece is truly a must-read.

Please click here.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008


Hello. I've taken to my bed. Doctor's orders. 

But I wanted to let all of you know that Mom finally figured out how to add links to my page. Check out some Good Stuff. And keep an eye out for more.

Sunday, July 27, 2008


As I mentioned earlier, I've come down with something, which is why I've been unusually quiet.

To give you an idea,
Casey here looks like I feel!


So Mom took me to see my doctor, who I'm sure is very nice. I'm not so sure, actually, but I am sure that I'd like her much better if she didn't poke and prod and stick things in my ears - and worse!

Get me outta here!!!

I had the whole work-up and, apparently, you can be too thin. Imagine that. Well, I guess I've just been sick of the prescription food I've been getting for so long now. Prescription food! I had no idea. Those sneaky humans.

Well, because mom wants me to put on some weight - hmmph, I bet she does - she's been buying me stuff I haven't tasted in years. Fancy, smelly stuff, swimming in gravy. To quote a foodie almost as cute as me: Yummo! (For those of you who've been living in a cat condo, that's Rachael Ray.)

It's working. A bit. I rather like the sleek new me. It's a big difference from some years ago.

(Gee, thanks a lot, mother, for posting me doing my best Jabba the Hutt impersonation. You might want to be careful, say, slipping on your shoes in the morning. Just sayin'.)

Anyway, as you can see, I was obviously a tad overweight, and that caused problems, namely diabetes. That's right. For several years, I endured twice daily injections of insulin and numerous trips to the vet.

Luckily, when I trimmed down, my need for insulin vanished along with all that extra insulation. I've been needle-free now for almost two years. Woo-hoo!

Tuesday, July 22, 2008


My good paw pal Lucy Liu turned me on to this. Great idea. Check it out!

Now if mom can only figure out how to add this button to my page instead of just this post, my readers can be reminded to visit this site every day. Humans.


I've been a little under the weather lately. Nothing makes me grumpy like a tummy ache. Tell you what, right now I am grum-pay!

So I thought, hey, why not take it out on someone. 

And since, truth be told, all sorts of things make me grumpy - take that bird-brained cat I share space with, for instance - I further thought, why not make this a regular feature. So here it is, Catty Corner.


Talking about indigestion, I just caught a rerun of Design Star, the one where Tracee gets booted.

How is it they didn't show her the scary elevator door before? I mean, my poop is prettier that the dirt-brown color she chose to paint that sunroom. Yes, sunroom. Yes, deep, dark, muddy brown. 'Cause mole-hole is the look you go for when decorating a sunroom.

Seems to me, HGTV realized quick that if they kicked off her whiny, spiteful, egotistical, delusional, back-stabbing behind, as it deserved to be on Day One, we'd all be reaching for the remote. That's assuming we weren't already fast asleep and drooling on it. Now, I don't mean to be catty - oh, wait, yes I do; cool! - but did this year's group study at the Sears Remedial School of Design? You know, the one in Snoozetown.

Anyway, when Tracee drew team leader for the infamous kitchen challenge, I heard the delightful sound of a nail gun going off on her coffin. And she did herself in, alright, by spending 7 hours shopping, while the others slaved away, returning with, like, 3 tchotchkes, and getting back way after, by her own timetable, the backsplash should've been tiled. Except it was up to her to get the tile. And she did. And she and the tile bonded during a lovely day la-la-lollygagging in various stores.

Stunned that tiling was no longer an option, Tracee declares it's time for creativity. If only! Her plan to fool this poor family into thinking they got their dream kitchen was to paint the bare backsplash brown. I swear she used paint leftover from that so-called sunroom. 

Never mind the lame effort, complete with a dishrag for a window valance. Since she failed to lay tile, she, in typical Tracee style, instead tried to lay blame – on everyone and everything else but her. And when that didn't fly, she claimed no one told her, the team leader, that maybe she should've dropped off the tile first. What, you need told?! For real? 

So Tracee leaves. And a gracious exit it is. Between sobs she manages to spit out: "These people just don't mean crap to me! ... I'm sick of being around a lot of ignorant people like that."

Pot meet Kettle.

That "ignorant" remark reminds me of the Real Housewives of New York City.

This show's a hoot! Can't wait 'til it comes back on. But can anyone explain why these ladies are friends with Ramona? She's proof that money can't buy class. She looks and sounds like trailer park trash scrubbed down then wrapped up in Prada.

Remember Bethenny's dinner party? Yeah, it was supposed to be a girls' night out, but Alex is, apparently, literally attached at the hip to her hubby, Simon, so he tags along. To a girls' night out. A little weird, those two are. Borderline creepy, even. But Ramona's screeching rudeness? Even Casey here has better manners - and he spits food on the wall! Just as well she gave some b-s excuse and left. Hate. Her.

Whew. Feels good to get that off my furry chest. It's like a dose of antacid!

I'll be doing more of that. Just keep your eye out for Catty Corner. 

BTW ... Love Jill! She's such a yenta! Yet, for all her gazillions, she's so down-to-earth, so likable, and best of all she lets her chihuahua - a glorified rat, if you ask me - lick her nostrils clean. Now that's a pet parent for ya. Meanwhile, god forbid I nuzzle (OK, nibble) mommie dearest's armpit.

Sunday, July 20, 2008


"Do the right thing. It will gratify some people and astonish the rest. "

- Mark Twain

Friday, July 18, 2008


My humans like the New York Times. So do I - lots of sections make for comfy napping.

Occasionally, something catches my eye.

I saw this and immediately thought of my mom. And not because of the skinny part, either, that's for sure! (Oops, I'm talking out loud again!) Anyway, she has a copy of this around here somewhere when it's not on loan.

Bless her bitchy heart - when I pointed the ad out to her she was so thrilled she got teary.

Yeah, she's strange like that.

Still, this slim book is a fun, fast read. See what other people are saying about Skinny Bitch.A million people can't be wrong.

Well, given the last presidential election, 62 million people can be horribly wrong, so let me rephrase that: Tazarina is never wrong. Do me proud - and earn me about 2.3 cents in the process - by getting your very own copy of Skinny Bitch right here.

Tuesday, July 15, 2008


As you know from my post last week, my pet parents saved all those photos of me, me, me and a few other things (like this fun one of an odd sight on a busy Florida street), so you may as well enjoy them to the fullest.

That's why I wanted to tell you - in case you didn't know - that when you click on any image here on my great space, it opens up to full size for your viewing pleasure.

Go ahead, try it! (I'll wait here and pick my back claws with my teeth, or something.)

. . . 

Awww-some, huh?

Monday, July 14, 2008


I've been around the block a few times. I know stuff. And I feel it's my duty to impart this worldly wisdom to you.

In bitty, bite-size doses, of course.

From other people's mouths.

So here's my first quote of the day, week, whatever, whenever I have a minute:

"The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated."

- Mahatma Gandhi

Sunday, July 13, 2008


A friend of mommy's is going to Key West this week. She wishes it was her.

And so do I!

I see me in a big, big house, so big I might never cross paths with Casey again. It has old, wood floors, water views and wraparound verandas where we can all laze in the island heat as a fan whirs sleepily above, whisking little beads of sweats off our noses.

There'd be a swing or two, of course. And dainty tables for resting cool drinks and good books. It'd be our very own Hemingway house! That's where I got the idea. Mom took this picture of his house from the top of the Key West Lighthouse Museum.

My folks love Key West and say it's very cat-friendly.

They're everywhere.

(And, if this fella is any indication, they're very used to strangers stepping over them.)

As are, oddly enough, chickens.

Anyway, I could sneak away from mom and slip in, say, to the Hemingway house, get shown around,
you know, blend in.

Oh, who am I kidding? What with these delicate feet.
I'd be spotted as an intruder immediately.

(Compare with Casey's huge cloppers. He'd fit right in with those six-toed freaks!)

Still, a kitty can dream. ....