Happy Halloween!

Today is Halloween, and it belongs to me. I am so excited. You can’t tell just from looking at me because it’s a cool, contained excitement you need to be a cat in order to recognize. You see, felines don’t get over-emotional or wear their emotions as dramatically and brazenly as humans and canines do. But it is MY night. I am a wicked ass black cat. The entire world fears me and bends to my every whim. No one dares to cross my path. I am a harbinger of bad luck… and destruction and chaos arise in my wake. Mischief and malevolent high jinks are my trade… and tonight I am truly alive and whole within my realm. Long ago, our witch mistresses would be ostracized by society and burned alive at the stake in the public square, where the community including children looked on in horror. We black cats were tortured and killed if captured. I honestly can’t understand what made them fear our mystical powers so. My mom is a witch, however, in today’s world she’s called a bitch. Luckily, they no longer kill bitches….but rather society simply does not give them respect and admiration their talents deserve.

Halloween is not just about costumes, candy, jack-o-lanterns, apple bobs, bonfires, and parties as my dim-witted, dopey canine brother would have you believe. It’s about magic, spells, hexes, supernatural forces, the sprits of the dead, séances and wreaking havoc upon the unsuspecting. Tonight my mom and I will gather around her cauldron and cast spells on the underlings who walk the earth among us.

By the way, the song “Thriller” is NOT an acceptable auditory icon with which I want Halloween to be associated. Halloween does NOT need a theme song, let alone a song from that freak Michael Jackson. While freaks may seem quite fitting with the spirit of Halloween, Michael Jackson is a different kind of freak. Hence, we do not want the association. If I hear “Thriller” one more time today, I am going to put a hex on Michael Jackson. Although considering his long history of unconventional and outright bizarre behavior, I don’t think there’s anything I could do that would make people even bat an eye. I could give him the head of a frog and people would just think it was another one of his plastic surgeries. He needs to just disappear. Hmmm, there’s an idea. Now if I can just find that spell, my jar of goat vomit and stash of warthog hair….

Curiosity Can't Kill Me

Well, it’s official. We’re all clueless. We cannot figure out what the hell is going on over at the House of Garbage next door and what exactly has spurred the sudden clean-up and home-improvement kick they’re on. Don’t get me wrong – the place still looks like ass. However, much to my surprise they have actually COMPLETED the painting of the fence… in its entirety. Not only is it the only intact structure on their property, but it’s the only thing that is one unified single color. To say that I'm amazed they have completed this task is an understatement, as it has been my observation that the only thing they’ve ever successfully completed was a six pack of beer.

You know that saying about curiosity killing the cat? Well, first of all I am curious beyond belief. Second, I am too old to be afraid of death… besides, I am as indestructible as I am beautiful. I will probably out live everyone I know. So, that being said, I need and will get to the bottom of this all. I have decided to run an ad in the Daily Beagle for a dog of any breed to be my mole. I believe all three dogs at the house are male, and I am torn between hiring a male or female for the job. A male could infiltrate, act as best buds and they’ll in all likelihood let him in on what’s going on around there but it would take time. However, males are quick to exclude or reject possible new members for the most ridiculous reasons. Males also are not so willing to share outside of their own little private societies. Also, you get more than 3 of them together and they begin functioning on 2 single brain cells between the three of them. It’s a collective stupidity tank. Another downfall and erhaps the worst of all… they may actually end up luring another male into their world, rendering an otherwise intelligent and moral male completely useless… making him one of them.

Now a female on the other hand, providing she’s hot, but not a whore, could get them to divulge even their deepest darkest secrets. Males become the weakest creatures on the planet around a female of their species. They also become more stupid, if that’s at all possible. So maybe a female will work best. Now how do I make sure she’s not easy? If she lets any of them hump her too soon, she’s out of the game. This particular female wil have to will power and moral fortitude to resist their sexual advancements as well as her own female urges. Once a male gets what he’s after, he’s got no use for the female. As long as she holds out and keeps them captivated, tongues lolling out of their mouths, drooling like hapless fools, she can get all the information she wants.

Yep, definitely need to hire a female for the job… if it’s to be done right.

Love, exciting and new.... come aboard, we're expecting you....

You ever just have a song stuck in your head that will just not get out no matter what you do? You think about everything else in the world BUT that song. And you sing or hum just about every other song you know hoping that it will replace or dislodge the one that’s stuck or just erase it altogether. Sometimes it works. You go about an hour without a single note, not a trace of music or a song in your head... and then something happens that shakes the tune back into your consciousness or nothing at all happens and you just find yourself absentmindedly singing it again out of the blue. And it always happens to be a completely hideously annoying song. Usually a product jingle, or even worse, a TV sitcom theme song. I have had the theme to the Love Boat stuck in my head for the last three days. The song in itself is not a bad one...but when I sing it, it sounds like Larry the Lounge Lizzard in some smoky, tacky Las Vegas dive. If this persists, I don’t think I can go on living....

Dr Drew - Season 2, Episode 1

Well, I am convinced that Gary Busey is out of his ever-lovin’ mind. The man is certifiably, feather-plucking insane! And it can’t all be from drugs. We are talking the result of major head trauma here. It’s actually really very sad. Head traumas and brain injuries really screw a person up. We’re talking major need for neuropsychotic medications here because their wiring has been jostled around. To an extent, it’s not their fault. I mean, the guy was manic and completely off the wall with every word and thought coming out of his mouth. You look in the man’s eyes and you can tell there’s no connection to reality. I got anxious and nervous just watching the guy on TV... I couldn’t imagine what it must be like being in a room with him. I’m amazed and astounded, however, even more so by Dr. Drew’s ability to handle Busey and the situation and ambiance he creates. The way Dr. Drew recognizes, takes control of and diffuses a situation or issue without drawing attention to the issue at all. He makes a silent, seemingly simple and casual pre-emptive strike. I love his facial expressions and responses as well. The man is a master with addicts. I love this man. If I was gay, I’d be IN love with this man. Besides, have you seen him in a t-shirt?!? Holy crap! The man is pretty ripped for a nerd! I think my mom secretly has the hots for him and dad just thinks that mom likes the drama of the addicts, but what she really lusts after is Dr. Drew Pinsky. Sensitivity, brains and a hod bod... What’s not to like? I bet he’s ultra passionate in bed and attentive to a woman’s needs.... Just what every woman wants.

And that Rodney King. Wow. All I can say is that I really feel for the guy. You know, I don’t like the fact that this show makes an issue of these "poor celebrities with drug problems and how it’s an overwhelming and increasing epidemic among them". That’s horse shit – there are millions of Average Joe Citizens who have these same exact problems ad it’s an increasing epidemic within society! I do not feel bad for these celebrities. What makes them more deserving of anyone’s attention and empathy? However, I do feel for Rodney King... especially if his addiction problems resulted from the beating and living the aftermath. Technically he’s no celebrity. He was Joe Citizen who never asked to be in any spotlight. And did you see how when Dr. Drew asked him vaguely about any "physical incidents or injury" how King didn’t even acknowledge the beating. Awful! This will be a season to watch.

Celebrity Rehab 2

Last night I tuned in for the new season of Celebrity Rehab starring my favorite Addiction MD, Dr. Drew Pinsky. Unfortunately, I passed out after 15 minutes… being in bed with mom is so warm and cozy, there’s nothing better. Relaxation and comfort overwhelmed me and I was a gonner. Luckily, mom recorded the show, and we’ll watch it in its entirety tonight. I must say I am amazed by the condition of some of those celebs. Steven Adler?!!!…. Mom used to want him in a major way when he was the drummer for Guns & Roses. I’ve seen his picture from the CD jacket – Whoa! He looks like something definitely chewed him up and spat him out… repeatedly! And forget drugs – I’m convinced after seeing the first 15 minutes that Gary Busey must have endured more than one brain trauma and/or head injury in his lifetime. That, my friends, is not the sole work of drugs!!!! Tawny Kittaen most definitely had work done on her. Too bad one of her procedures wasn’t a lobotomy. Anyway, tonight should be most entertaining.

Speaking of rehab… even in the midst of this new season’s premiere and long list of troubled patients, Dr. Drew did take the time to phone me personally to discuss Lenny and Squiggy’s progress. While both made it through detox, Lenny is withdrawn and silent in therapy. He is reluctant to share with other patients in group therapy, and even with Dr. Drew during their one-on-one session he remains guarded. It’s still early in the process, so Dr. Drew is being optimistic… sure that in time he will open up. Squiggy, on the other hand, takes on a strong participative role in both group and individual therapy. Dr. Drew is amazed by his ability to connect with the other patients and is very supportive of them. His ability to empathize and still remain objective and thoughtful makes him very popular among other patients. Dr. Drew deems him to be one of those special few who are natural-born confidants… the one to whom others innately are drawn and open up.

Well, time for a snack. I think I’ll munch on some of those roasted pumpkin seeds….

A Masterpiece

Ta-da! My Halloween jack-o-lantern masterpiece is complete. Not only was I blessed with great looks, but I’ve just tapped into a new talent... pumpkin carving. And the wonderful thing is that I’ve got Parker to do all the gross stuff and the grunt work. He removed all the pumpkin guts and was in charge of cleaning up all the little chunks of pumpkin shell as I toiled away, channeling my inner Michelangelo. Now wait a minute, don’t get me wrong – I am utterly fabulous, but I’m no Michelangelo. So right now, Parker’s in the kitchen rinsing the pumpkin seeds and salting them. Mom won’t trust him with the oven, so she’ll have to roast the seeds for us. Yum! Anyway, I’m thinking I’ll put my masterpiece outside by the front door and once it rots, I’ll stuff it with poop from my litter box and have Rufus drop it from a tree onto the white trash neighbor’s truck. Treats for me, tricks for them!

What Would You Do?....

I’m lying here on a very dreary and cold autumn day contemplating what I would do for a Klondike Bar. Just how far would I go? In the commercials, people do senseless, trivial stuff like imitate a monkey. Yeah, as if that’s a big stretch for most humans…. both by basic theory of evolution and physiology, and then mentally. Humans are not the most intelligent creatures on the planet and they tend to embarrass themselves easily and far too often. I’m continuously amazed by this fact. One would think that after 17 years observing the moronic behaviors of humans, that I would be unphased and unshockable by their actions. But they just keep plummeting in intelligence and dignity as they achieve new levels of idiocy. Take for example American Idol. I’ve watched the tryouts… forced myself to endure a few hours in the attempt to understand the hubbub and bizarre fascination with it. Suffice it to say, I just don’t get it. All I saw was frighteningly large masses of people very eager to make total asses of themselves on national television in from of millions of viewers. I understand that many of these morons are doing it as a ruse, for their own amusement… for the sole purpose of having the slim chance of their brief clip of ridiculousness being aired on television. And for this slim chance, they really don’t mind acting like assholes. They have no shame. And then you’ve got the poor clueless, tone-deaf buffoons for whom you almost feel sorry… the ones who succeed in making complete spectacles of themselves and who suck, but truly believe with every fiber of their being (and some with actual endorsement and praise from family and friends) that they are good. And some spectators even feel compelled to tears as they watch their reactions as Simon, Randy and Retardo Paula squash their egos and rip apart their performances.

So I wonder… how low would you go? And would you do it for a Klondike Bar?

...and hence, a fence!

Rufus has advised me that the dirtbags next door have been banging away all weekend at their "renovations". They have replaced only some portions of their rotting fence with new prefabricated fence slabs and left the other rotting ones there to, well, rot. I guess they have some half-wit system of determining which portions were in a worse state of decay and in more need of replacement. Staying true to form, in a pathetic half-assed, white-trash attempt to fake out passers-by and those who have more than 4 functioning brain cells, they have decided to camoflauge this now half rotted and half brand spanking new fence (which makes it a mediocre piece of crap fence) with brown paint. Now, I’m not quite sure why making this fence uniform in its appearance is of any particular concern to them...

You see, the shack they live in has four sides. Three of these sides have been refaced with aluminum siding in a surprisingly pleasant neutral shade of beige while the fourth is only half done with the unfinished portion left a blaring smurf blue. This has been like this for more than a year and a half. The shack also has a roof which has been re-shingled. Well, partially. To date, only 3/4 of the roof is done. The rest of the roof is covered with a plastic construction tarp, in that wonderful shade of smurf blue, which is held down by some strategically placed cinder blocks. This, too, has been like this for more than a year and a half. I’d like to reserve some optimism here in regard to the roof, as I believe it may get completed because at some point in the near future they will need those cinder blocks to support one of the many broken down wrecks they always have littering their yard.

So back to the fence, I’m not surprised by their choice in color - brown - it’s dark and it will cover all the dirt and rot and crap. But I’m willing to bet a lifetime supply of tuna that we will never see a completely brown fence. They will get half to three-quarters of the way done and just stop painting. And along that fence line, where they stop, something smurf blue colored will magically appear. You just wait and see....

October

October is my favorite month. Autumn truly begins, the air becomes cool and crisp, there is the delightful aroma of wood-burning stoves and fireplaces, the deliciousness of mom baking things with apples and pumpkins, mums decorate homes in their wonderful fall hues, there are days of apple picking and hay rides and corn mazes, hot mulled cider, a month of horror movies on cable TV in anticipation of Halloween and, of course, there is Halloween itself. I’m not big on candy, and being as stunningly handsome as I am, I feel it’s a sin to don a costume which would only mask my natural beauty. Instead, I take great pride in the basking in the glory of being a black cat. This is the only time of year that you can find any merchandise in stores bearing a black cat and the only time that people think black cats are cool... let alone give black cats a single thought. We’re a novelty, really. The rest of the year it’s all about tabby’s, soft grey kittens, siamese, calicos, etc.... everything BUT black cats. I could go on about how wrong this is, but I’m more than 17 years old and this is a fact of life to which become accustomed and simply accepted. It is what it is. But I’d like to take this opportunity to let everyone know that first and foremost, black cats are not unlucky or evil. Also, we do not bear any magical powers or ride on the backs of booms with witches. We are every bit as lovable as other cats. We just have a bum rap because the whole Halloween connection. So the next time you see a black cat, please think nice thoughts... we are not evil. And, have a happy Halloween.

Now if you'll excuse me... I must go as I have to get some eye of newt for a new potion I’ve got simmering in the cauldron, and I’ve got some eggs rotting to perfection so they’re just perfect for pelting at trick-or-treaters.

The Dirtbag Son Returns

I don’t know where he has been and I don’t know why he came back, but I sure as hell hope he isn’t staying. Rufus advised that the son has been seen in the white trash Sanford & Son (not red, but green) pick-up truck, the bed filled haphazardly with filthy old furniture, and a female passenger sitting up front. I’ve been told that this female passenger accompanying the dirtbag son does not look or behave like a typical dirtbag girlfriend, so we’ll have to pay close attention to this. I could not live with myself if I stood by and watched a nice girl get sucked down into the toilet with the likes of these people. Now if Parker was better behaved and if he could put his socialization issues aside for the good of the mission, I could send him over to the scumbag house to befriend the three resident dogs and he would be my mole. His job would be to infiltrate the group, act like and be accepted as one of them without causing suspicion. I’m going to give this some more thought… the idea is a good one and it might just work. After all, the squirrel can only get so close and he always stands the risk of being eaten by one of the dogs or being pelted out of a tree with rocks by an evil child. Parker may not be the right canine for the job, which means I’ll have to find another.

On a happier note, Lenny & Squiggy got off safely for the rehab in CA with Dr. Drew Pinsky. I did make two requests of the airline, that they were NOT to seat them anywhere near the rear of the plane where they may inhale the fumes from the fuel, and they were not to be served alcohol no matter what cute faces and soft purring noises they made. It would not be good for them to show up at the rehab high from vapor inhalation or drunk from airline booze. I should add that one cute little airline booze bottle may do nothing for a human’s consumption, but for a cat it’s like a full liter bottle! However, Dr. Drew called me not long ago to advise me that they arrived safely and not inebriated from any substances. In fact, they were so exhausted, that they did not protest the routine bag search at check-in and then went straight to their rooms to sleep. I’m told that once they clear detox, they will be allowed limited phone contact with family. Seeing as they are both strays, I somehow became assigned their guardian and am listed as their only kin. How did this fall upon me? I’m old. All I want is to spend these golden years lying in the sun, watching the birds, eating treats to excess and enjoying every moment of quiet time with mom. How did I become the master coordinator and general in charge of “Mission Find Out What’s Going On Next Door” and how did I become guardian to two juvenile delinquents? ~ sigh ~ Fucking bastard neighbors. God damn stupid kids.

The Evil Economy

I refuse to give in to the sweeping depression and widespread panic that has overcome the American public in regard to the turbulent economy. What is the point? I am a domestic house cat. I have no use for currency or investments, or any of the other day-to-day trappings that have humans so deeply tied into and influenced by the economy. The economy is not even a tangible, living entity. It’s a “thing”. I’m amazed by its power over people… It’s the equivalent of weather, perhaps… a force to be reckoned with? Something that can be glorious one minute and devastating the next? Although, humans created the stock market and capitalism, whereas weather is under no one’s control. It just simply is.

Anyway, if I were a panther in the wild, I’d live by my wits. I’d live day to day, roaming here and there, never knowing what’s on the menu and from where I’m going to get it… behind a rock? In a burrow? Knock it senseless from a tree? I would hunker down and sleep where I want… everything would be within my ability to possess, or not. Nothing would have value but the value you placed on it. If I were to return to the same place to sleep from the night before and find another creature there, I'd have several options: (1) to take the mentality of fairness telling myself “I shuffles my feet, I lose my seat” and mosey on to another spot, (2) decide to fight for the spot, (3) scare the creature out of the spot, or (4) make the creature my dinner and take said spot. I wouldn’t worry about college for my offspring…. I’d home school. Everything they need to know they can learn from me. Trends and fashions? Keeping up with the Joneses? I think not…. I have the ultimate fur coat and nothing with a Gucci label would endure the wilderness. BMW? No thanks, Ill walk. I walk everywhere. Besides, emmissions and the fuel to power these vehicles are destroying our ecosystem. And flashy hood ornaments stick out like a sore thumb… no way I’d get any hunting done with that thing blinging all over the place. And were I a creature of prey, I may as well just stand out in the wide open, place myself in a big bowl of salsa, stick a sprig of parsley behind my ear, wave a bright yellow flag and yell “come and get it” with a blow horn. I could go on and on, but I won’t. The point is, humans fuck everything up. I’m just sad that my mom has to get sucked down into all of it because of the greater human forces who created and control this whole economy.

Dr. Drew Pinsky's call

OK, Dr. Drew has returned my call about Lenny & Squiggy's drug addiction. He's happpy to hear that no intervention was necessary and relieved to know that they cannot get their paws on anymore street drugs, but he is extremely concerned about their withdrawal process. Given the amount they've smoked in the last week, and since it was continuous... he's concerned that going cold turkey (I love that expression... turkey is delicious leftover and cold) may be stressful and possibly traumatic to their systems. He's got them both booked for a flight out to CA and into a 28 day program at his clinic. They leave tomorrow evening. Until then, he suggested I ease their withdrawal by weaning... he's recommended a little bit of catnip at 4 hour intervals. ~ sigh ~

I'm too old for this shit.

Good to be home

Well, the parental units have returned home from their long weekend away. I’m not so much happy to see dad as I am mom. My mom, I must say, is the most wonderful creature on the face of the Earth (I’m second most wonderful, of course). While I did not mind the stay at the luxurious cat resort, there’s nothing quite like being home. And of course having mom’s love and attention. I hear her constantly telling the idiot (my canine brother, not dad) how much she loves him and how cute he is, but I know she tells him this constantly because he needs the extra special attention. He’s a dog, and unfortunately his sense of self worth is based solely on the praise and reassurance from humans. I don’t get it. But, whatever.

So it’s back to business as usual here at the homestead as my mission continues. I returned to see that the Scumbag neighbors have decided to do only a partial fence replacement. If the entire fence is a rotting piece of crap, would you not replace the entire thing and not just half? ~ sigh ~ It has also been noticed that none of the junk that has lied dormant in their yard has been removed, but I’m relieved to report that there is no new junk added to the lot. I believe I may have advised that Rufus last reported that all has been relatively quiet over there recently, and while he was especially vigilant in his watch while we were all away, Rufus reports that the dirtbag son has STILL not been seen at the house. This makes us all wonder. However, just last night, we all had the pleasure of overhearing a screaming match at the house. The screaming typically only occurs when the son is present. But we could not make out any actual words, nor could we identify the participants so we remain clueless as to the subject of the fight or what provoked it. At least it did not escalate to the point of police involvement.

Lenny and Squiggy have used up the last of the scumbag’s lost and forgotten ganja stash. I have placed a call to Dr. Drew Pinsky as I believe a stint in rehab would be for the best. They've been trying to score some new stuff for a couple of days now, but not many dealers sell to cats. It’s probably because dealers do not see any value in dead mice in exchange for their drugs. Mice just do not have sufficient street value in the human world, and I’ve tried explaining this to Lenny & Squiggy when they came to me all strung out and twitchy, but they just couldn’t grasp the concept of the currency in the form of paper. Anyway, Dr. Drew may have his hands full with his second season of Celebrity Rehab, especially seeing as he’s got Kennikie back for a SECOND time… man, what a train wreck he is… but I feel as though Dr. Drew will be particularly attentive to the specific circumstances of Feline Drug Withdrawal and the most knowledgeable in effective methods of attaining and maintaining abstinence.

things 'round here

I was unable to bring any of you up to date yesterday on the happenings at the Sanford & Son house for a number of reasons:

1 – It’s become uncharacteristically quiet and inactive over there which I find pleasant, yet a little discerning.

2 – Lenny & Squiggy have found a stash of ganja from the pile of rubble which was once the white trash’s makeshift garage and they’ve since morphed into Cheech & Chong. Who knows when I’ll see them again.

3 – Rufus is taking his tasks in this mission very seriously, and I believe he may have found his true calling. I also find some great irony in the fact that my two fellow feline have let me down, while a mentally challenged squirrel has risen to the occasion. Anyhow, seeing as that our white trash neighbors are night owls, Rufus has taken to sleeping during the day and doing his spying at night. I gave him sufficient funds to purchase the supplies he needs: night-vision goggles, fleece blanket & gloves for warmth and a thermos. Mom generously offered to supply the coffee but told Rufus he’d have to get his own thermos. I do realize that the schedule change Rufus has made for the sake of our mission is quite a sacrifice, as the cold weather sets in he should be spending the days foraging for his winter meals. As I do not want the little critter to starve this season, mom has agreed to set aside a stash of seeds and nuts for him all winter long.

4 – Parker has been monopolizing the computer to find out more information about this whole electric fence thing and is trying to come up with ways for Lily, the slut next door, to get around it without being shocked so that he can still see her walk by our house. I don’t want to break the poor mutt’s hopes and spirits, but unless Lily has a high threshold for pain fueled by deeper drive to break free or has masochist tendencies, I doubt he’ll be seeing her at all once that fence gets installed.

OK, going to catch up on some Z’s. Mom had a really rough night last night… when she doesn’t sleep, I don’t either….

Rufus the Super Squirrel

I received some feedback from some well-meaning friends who tried to discourage me from recruiting a the help of a squirrel in my mission to uncover the goings-on next door. I thought very long and hard about it. I feel that it is very unfair to judge one single squirrel based on the generalized reputation of the species on a whole. This particular squirrel, whose name is Rufus, is not only a warrior for me, but a warrior in life. Living with a mental disability, he has endured some of the cruelest taunting, been treated as an outcast and looked down upon by others as lesser. Rufus has fought all his life and only wants to be loved and accepted. He wants friends. This is something of which every one of us is worthy. I do not question his character in the slightest, nor will I tolerate it from others. I truly hope that all of my friends can look past their preconceived notions of squirrels and prior experiences and encounters with them, and only speak in favor of Rufus, rather than in opposition of him. He deserves a chance.

That being said, Rufus showed up on my window sill this afternoon happy, eager and ready to get right to work. He smiled at me, anxious to hear his mission for the day. When I told him I had added the responsiblity of keeping Lenny & Squiggy apart and in line, he smiled brightly at me and said, "Consider it done! I will do my best." No matter the outcome, I know he will have given it 110%. Before he lept away to head off on his task, he turned to me and and said, "I can do anything, Nuno... wanna know why?" When I replied that I would, he gave me smirk and did the following:

Mission Impossible

I am embarrassed to report a double failure in Operation Find Out What the Dirtbags Next Door Are Up To. Yesterday, a conversation took place in the Dirtbag’s yard which could have provided details that may have been crucial in my figuring out exactly what is going on over there. But both of my informants missed this opportunity to collect this vital information as they were too busy trying to catch a bunny. Evidently, both cohorts have been unsuccessful in their attempts at taking down a bunny on their own. So, they figured a tag-team effort would be more successful in awarding them a catch. It very well could have been a success were it not for the fact that the tag-team participants were the feline equivalent of Lenny & Squiggy. ~ sigh ~

So for today’s espionage mission, I have decided to split up "Lenny & Squiggy" and I've put the squirrel in charge….

Strange things are afoot....

Well, well, well…. Something very interesting is happening next door. The house on the corner, AKA The Sanford & Son house, which serves as home to the “people” my mother so delicately refers to as the “scumbag white trash next door”, is undergoing some exterior redecorating and clean-up. Now, my room happens to be on the other side of the house so I am unable to actually see what is going on over there. So I have recruited some informants. Even though Parker is on that side of the house, I can’t really rely on him to give me accurate reports seeing as he’s too obsessed with watching Lily and licking his privates. There are two outdoor neighborhood cats and a mentally-challenged squirrel who have agreed to observe, gather information and report back to me. The squirrel’s reports are basically confused & incoherent, rendering the information useless, but I admire his enthusiasm and effort – he gives it everything he’s got in every endeavor. The kid’s got heart. And, I just like him. I’ve also made the other two neighborhood cats in charge of his well-being. They know that should any harm come to the little guy, I will hold them personally responsible and sic Parker on their sorry asses.

So, it seems as though some unknown force has compelled these people to take down their makeshift “garage” – a dirt and lichen encrusted tarp stretched over a metal frame, which they’ve used to store two automobile skeletons and various greasy and rusty engine innards, tires, random & mismatched car pieces, tools, cigarette butts, beer cans and in all likelihood a stash of ganja and other illegal substances. The dirtbag son has not been seen or heard from in a month. It is suspected that he is in jail, as he is too much of a freeloading delinquent to get a place of his own. Of course, it is possible he may have shacked up with a junkie dirtball friend of his, but the prison scenario is a lot more probable. They have also repositioned the trampoline further into the yard, closer to the shack they call a house. I am hoping this was done to accommodate the removal of some of the wreckage they’ve been storing in their backyard... by moving the trampoline, they can now squeeze a dump truck in between it and the giant petri dish they call an-above-ground pool. I cannot describe to you what this yard looks like and the crap that is contained therein. You’ll have to take my word for it. Several new prefabricated fencing slabs have been spotted strewn on their front lawn. A logical assumption would be that they are intending to replace the rotting fence presently enclosing their junkyard. If the slabs lie there too long, they too will become as rotted as the fence already in place. ~ sigh ~

So, I have made two assumptions based on these recent events… (1) complaints about this property by surrounding neighbors have finally been taken seriously by the town who has now instructed the owners of this property to immediately bring their property up to acceptable standards, or (2) they have decided to move either due to free will or life events, and this sudden urge to fix things up is a desperate attempt to attract a buyer. I’ll keep you all posted. Here come my informants now with more information….

Happy to have mom home

Aaaah. Mom is home. There is some magical transformation that occurs in mom whenever she goes away from home and is away from me for even one night.... upon her return, she turns to complete mush. In addition to she and I spending a couple of hours lying like useless lumps in bed and snuggling, the house becomes filled with irresistable aromas from the kitchen.... you see, she walks thru the door upon her arrival, throws her bag on the floor (which she'll leave there unpacked for days which drives dad nuts - it's kind of funny, actually... she and I laugh about it behind his back) she greets me with hugs and kisses, and promises me our alone time will come soon.... and then she announces to the house that she is so happy to be home and she reuses to leave for the rest of the day. And then she turns into Martha Stewart on ecstacy. She sends dad out to do the grocery shopping while she starts 3 different mouth-watering delectable things a brewing in the kitchen. Our time together usually occurs in between baking or simmering times and lulls between dinner prep and actual dinner. I had to laugh... dad came home from the store, and mom starts prepping dinner and says "Punky (that's my dad) you're gonna love this... I need you to go to the store... I forgot to put mozzarella on the list". So I'm in my room chuckling quietly to myself, thinking how great that mom of mine is. She's sending him back to the store.... precious. So she's got the eggplant going in the oven, soup has simmered and is cooling on the stovetop before it gets pureed.... she's chopping garlic, snipping fresh herbs, cleaning up as she goes along. Dad comes back with the cheese and a gift for mom... a mini pumpkin with a face painted on it. Aw, how cute. She kisses him and thanks him. So sweet. And I'm thinking, "where is my barfbag?" I know dad's working on getting some tonight. Anyway, mom is clinking and clanking away, and more wonderful smells are wafting through the house... and dad is eating taco flavored Doritos on the couch and watching buttball. Not exactly setting the mood if he really wants to get anywhere with mom tonight. Anyway, mom finally goes on break from the kitchen and we now have our time... just the two of us napping and watching whatever we want to watch on TV from he warmth and comfort of bed. Eventually, mom has to return to the kitchen to finish her magic. Next thing I hear is "Babe, (that's my dad) you're not going to believe this. How is it possible that we don't have single box of pasta in the house? There's no pasta." I can't SEE dad, but I imagine his head is ready to explode and I'm sitting there with my paws over my mouth trying not to let him hear me laugh and I'm thankful my litterbox is close by because I'm about to pee myself. She's sending him BACK to the store, AGAIN... priceless! Oh mom.... gotta love her. What a cool chick.

Yes, OJ the murderer, NOT the juice inventor

Ah, my young friends, I keep forgetting how young you both are and that there are things that have occurred in my lifetime but not in yours. The phrase "white bronco police chase" means nothing to you. Well, OJ is a nickname for man whose given birth name is Orenthal James Simpson. Yes, OJ is cutesy nickname for a popular morning beverage, however, if I had a name like Orenthal, I’d let you call me anything but Orenthal... even Papa Smurf or Captain Doody.

Anyway, OJ was an extremely popular athlete (football). If you don’t want to sit thru reels of boring old NFL footage, you could watch him on YouTube in some old Hertz rent a car commercials, or have your mom and dad rent the comedies Naked Gun and Naked Gun 2. After he retired from pro-football, he had a role in both these imbecilic yet oddly amusing movies and also appeared in several ads for Hertz Rental Cars. In your lifetime, celebrity crossovers are a dime a dozen... but in 1994, OJ made a very unexpected crossover... into crime. He brutally murdered his ex-wife and her friend. You are both young and I don’t want to give you any of the details. All you need to know as that the murder was brutal, gruesome and purely evil. Now as you know, our judicial system is just as fucked up as our political system. Throw in money, power, fame and the overplayed supposed issue of race and this ultimately led to a obviously guilty man being set free. This murder trial had practically every American tuning in and following along. You could stay online for a year reading about this event and still not read everything. Anyway, since the court system declared him innocent and he was free to return to life as usual, his name has surfaced in the news from time to time, one skirmish or another. And with his involvement in a completely different crime over a decade after he was set free from the murder charges in 1994, the court system has finally rendered him guilty with something else. He is going to jail.

What it boils down to is this... OJ is a despicable, twisted, evil man. Life in prison, or even a long stint in prison, is not good enough for this foul piece of human garbage. He deserves a lot worse than what he’s ultimately getting....

OJ Found Guilty 13 Years Too Late

This is just so sad. OJ deserves to be behind bars... he actually deserves a lot worse. But our judicial system has done it's job of handing down the guity verdict 13 years too late and for the wrong crime. Not that he's not guity for this particuar crime, but it's an outrage and a travesty that he was not found guity 13 years ago for his worst crime ever. It saddens me. I really hope that the Brown and Goldman families find some sense of justice and solace knowing that OJ will NOT be living the rest of his life free and happy. Personally, I hope that 10 guys or so that are way larger than OJ decide to ake im their group bitch in prison. You can imagine the rest from there...

Autumn is in the Air

Well, it’s official…. Fall is here – summer is gone! Last night was wonderful sleeping all curled up in a ball between mom’s legs. Get your head out of the gutter and don’t be so disgusting… she is my mother and there is absolutely nothing “sexual” about this sleeping location. Humans make something sexual out of everything… what pitiful creatures. Anyhow, Dad, as usual, slept with just a sheet and thin blanket (as he is freakishly warm all the time). Mom, on the other hand, slept under three warm layers. This weekend she pulls out the heavy duty artillery… the comforter. I can’t wait.

I’ve decided not to be all bitter and resentful over Mom & Dad taking P with them to Jersey this weekend. I understand I’m a little more maintenance when it comes to travelling, not to mention my gramma’s husband is allergic to me. So, I couldn’t stay in their house… and I’ll be damned if I’m spending a night in the back of Dad’s the Blazer. No, I’ll be more comfortable, more content, here in my own home. And on the plus side, Aunt Jennifer will visit with me and I won’t have Parker’s intermittent barking outbursts to put up with throughout the day.

I’m starting to see a change in the bird species frequenting our yard. Living right by the salt marsh, I get to see so many varieties of birds I’ve only heard or read about. I’m going to go dust off my Bird Watching Guide so I can identify some of these new birds. I’ll also get out the cookbook… I wonder which will go best roasted served alongside some pumpkin risotto and roasted vegetables…

get me a lawyer!

I'd like to file a grievance. I don't know yet with whom, but I'd like it to go on record that I wish to file one. This weekend, my mom and dad are heading down to Jersey. In their absence, she has gotten me a "baby-sitter". What the FUCK is that about?!?! I am more than 17 years old... for what exactly do I need a baby-sitter? Granted, said baby-sitter is my Aunt Jennifer whom I love. She's cool and she loves me. She's known me all my life. However, and here is the point of contention here... mom and dad are not having her watch "us", no... she will be watching after ME, me and me alone.... the parental units are taking Parker with them to Jersey and leaving me here! What the hell!?!?!?!?!? This injustice is an outrage.

October 1st.... Lovely

My dear canine friend, Bob, has expressed concern over my self-bathing habits… he is fearful of my ingesting too much hair. While I wholly agree that fur is better covering the tummy as opposed to going in it, for some reason this is not a serious concern for cats. For one thing, amazingly enough, not very much hair actually gets ingested. Besides, if doing it was bad for us, we wouldn’t be blessed with the ability to do so, now would we? Besides, cats aren’t too fond of water. My mother will insist on bathing me with water herself every 6 months or so… I won’t say the episodes are traumatic in any way, but I still make it point to protest greatly (and loudly). I just can’t understand why she feels it necessary to put me through that when I do the job perfectly fine all by myself and in the way nature intended. Thanks for sharing your concern, Bob. I assure you that self-bathing & grooming is in no way harmful to us.

Happy October 1st everyone. October is my favorite month. Something about pumpkins and leaves changing and the wonderful smells of mom baking things like pumpkin bread and apple cake… and all sorts of things warm and homey with cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamom, etc…. Also, the warmer blankets come out of the closet and take up residency on mom & dad’s bed for the season. Well, mom’s side at least. Dad is a freak – he insists that even when the temperature goes down as low as 45 in the evenings, that it’s “too warm for blankets”. He IS quite hairy, but I really don't think it's adequate to keep him warm at night. As far as I’m concerned, it just gives me more reason to sleep cuddled up close with mom.