Unsucky Holidays the Scary Mommy Way

ScaryMommyCover1I’m not sure what I did to Tom the turkey, Santa Claus, or the New Year baby to piss them off. I must have done something offensive because the shittiest things happen every holiday season. It all started twenty years ago, when my then fiancé, who became my first husband, threw me out of our apartment ten days before Christmas. I’m not sure why we got married after that, but anyway, the holiday suckiness didn’t end there. A few years ago, my father-in-law had a horrific accident while sharpening a gardening shovel (he is fine now). Two years ago, I was diagnosed with a DVT one day after Christmas. Last year, my husband had to have UPPP (in laymen’s terms – a melon-balling of the throat) surgery EIGHT days before Christmas. This year we had to euthanize our cat the week before Thanksgiving. Happy Frickin’ Holdays? No, how about HAPPY FUCKING HOLIDAYS!!

As you can imagine, I needed something to distract me from feeling like an evil pet parent after putting my sweet Morris to sleep. I needed to laugh, possibly drink a few cocktails, and eat delicious food.  So, it was perfect timing when Crystal from Mommifried, offered me a free copy of Scary Mommy’s Guide to Surviving the Holidays in exchange for an honest review. Crystal contributed a tasty and healthy Crock Pot cranberry sauce recipe to the book.

Since the book is full of humor and recipes, I couldn’t put Scary Mommy’s Guide down.  I read the whole thing in one afternoon, and there wasn’t any chapter I didn’t like, but, of course, I have my favorites. This is why I only have one kid; I always play favorites.

Before I could get into the funny stuff, I read Jill Smokler’s introduction to The Thanksgiving Project, a Scary Mommy Nation charity. Jill started The Thanksgiving Project in 2011 after reading posts in the Scary Mommy Confessions section from moms who could not afford to buy food. This made me a little teary-eyed, and a lot grateful for what I have. It also made me want to help, and if you want to help, click the link above for more information.

After I wiped my tears, I was ready to laugh. I NEEDED to laugh, damn it, and the wonderful contributors to Scary Mommy’s Guide did not let me down. My favorite humor piece was The Dysfunctional Family Drinking Game. This story made me laugh my ass off and want to go to Kathryn Leehane’s house for Thanksgiving. It also made me want a martini something fierce, but that is not unusual, especially considering the week I’ve had. I don’t want to give too much away, but basically Kathryn and her husband play a secret game involving liquor and their family’s bad behavior. Reading about it made me glad that I live nowhere near any of my family. I would have alcohol poisoning.

Speaking of cocktails, there are drink recipes in this book. Did I mention that I LOVE this book? Take a look at Sharon Green’s Seasonal Cocktails for Moms. There are enough recipes in her list to make you and your holidays merry and bright. If you are like me, and your nose turns red after two sips of any alcoholic beverage, you may also be able to replace Rudolph in Santa’s line-up.

If you’re going to be drinking, and you don’t want to barf all over your favorite ugly Christmas sweater (I buy mine here), you will need some food. In my chubby little opinion, all food should come in the form of cookies. I intend to make Jessica Griffin’s Show-Stealing Molasses Cookies many times this holiday season. Unlike 98% of the world, I am not in love with chocolate. I will eat dark chocolate in small doses, but for the most part, chocolate gathers in the back of my throat and makes me want to spit a loogie that would make a drunk, congested college boy jealous. Jessica’s yummy molasses cookies have no chocolate in them, so they are low on the loogie index. SCORE!

I could go on and on about this book, but it would not make sense to you because you haven’t read it, yet. So, stop reading this and head over to Amazon, or Barnes and Noble, or Simon and Schuster, and buy this book. Purchasing Scary Mommy’s Guide to Surviving the Holidays is a great way to help keep your own spirits up during the most stressful time of the year, and it is also a way to contribute to the Scary Mommy Nation. So, it is truly WINNING and I don’t mean that in a Charlie Sheen kind of way, even with all of the booze jokes.


Cathouse Breakdown

Sure – I live in a large house with my parents, the boy, and my canine and feline brother and sisters, but sometimes, I just want to move into my own place. I have found several small dwellings in my house. They seem to be delivered in a loud brown truck that pulls up on the car area outside. Even if I don’t see it the dog sisters alert me with their bark alarms. So, I jump and run to the small window near the door. A man with a brown suit carries a cat home or two to the door, and it sits outside the little window until Mother or Father or the Boy bring it in. You would think the big stupid dog would retrieve it, but she just stares at the truck and barks.  This is quite useless. If I had big jaws like that, I would carry the homes in myself.

Once a human carries the cathouse in, Mother opens it with a small sword of sorts. It pops in and out like claws. She then takes out a bunch of useless and stinky things, and leaves the home on the floor for me. I enter it immediately to claim it for myself. Usually, when I leave to use the facilities, or grab a bite to eat, one of my siblings tries to steal it.

Sometimes, I find Morris, the fat, orange useless male, or Boo Boo, my sister who poops on the floor in my home. I let them know in no uncertain terms that it is MY HOUSE. By let them know, I mean I kick their asses. I’m not afraid to let them know who is boss. I’m the alpha here. Even big and stupid knows it.

I wish I could say that my cathouses last forever, but they don’t. Mysteriously, something always happens to them. Sometimes, I find them flattened, and other times they just disappear entirely. I used to suspect that some sort of sorcery or weather issue was to blame for this. Then, I caught Mother cutting up my house with her claw sword. So, when I do have a house of my own, I enjoy it and have everyone take pictures of me in it. I want to share a few with you here.

One time, I had a convertible home.

One time, I had a convertible home.

 

The power company never turns the electricity on soon enough when you move.

The power company never turns the electricity on soon enough when you move.

 

Finally!

Finally!

 

I hate it when my brother just invites himself over.  I will need to disinfect the place.

I hate it when my brother just invites himself over. I will need to disinfect the place.

 

UGH! It still smells like Morris. I'd better let it air out.

UGH! It still smells like Morris. I’d better let it air out.

 

Here I am inspecting my roof and the adjoining terrace.

Here I am inspecting my roof and the adjoining terrace.

 

Once again, Mother has destroyed my home.  She just can't stand to have me living away from her.

Once again, Mother has destroyed my home. She just can’t stand to have me living away from her.

 

I will be comfy here on the couch until I have a home of my own again.

I will be comfy here on the couch until I have a home of my own again.

Metal Mom not a Soccer Mom

When we first moved here to Wisteria Lane, I knew we didn’t fit in. First of all, let me clarify, we don’t actually live on Wisteria Lane. We live in a cookie cutter subdivision where everyone has 2.5 children, a dog, and a vehicle with third row seating. Sure, everyone said hello when we moved in. It’s not like they stood around making the sign of the cross and hissing. They asked us where we had moved from, and what brought us here, etc. When they found out that we had a teen son, they asked us the question that pretty much ended any hopes that our son would have best friends in the neighborhood, “Does he play soccer?”

I may or may not have rolled my eyes before answering. Does every child have to play a sport? My son does not play soccer, or lacrosse, or football, or basketball, or baseball, or any sport. He plays guitar, and drums, and keyboard, and he sings and writes music. Metal music. My son is a musician, and I am a metal mom.

Whenever I told the new neighbors this, they gave me the uncomfortable smile. You know the one. It’s similar to the one you make when you’re at a crowded party and you have to fart. But this one wasn’t due to gas; this smile was because they thought my son was “bad.” They never said that in so many words, of course.

In reality, he’s not bad at all. As far as teens go, he’s actually kind of calm. He doesn’t do drugs. He doesn’t even drink alcohol except for the occasional beer I allow him to have at home. He only stays out late when he has a show or goes to another band’s concert. Other than that, he is in our basement practicing with his band or watching TV with his girlfriend. He cuddles with our dogs and cats, and passes out candy to the trick-or-treaters on Halloween. But, he does not play soccer, so most of the local kids and their parents didn’t know what to say to the weird new kid with the beard and the stretched earlobes.

That’s ok though. We are used to being odd, and in truth my family and I would rather be weird than “normal.” Normal sounds dreadfully boring. Personally, I would much rather be a metal mom than a soccer mom, and here’s why:

  • My car is way better than any soccer mom’s ride. I have a Volkswagen Jetta GTI Audubon Edition with paddle shifters (that I don’t know how to use), a Fender stereo system, satellite radio, and Bluetooth, not a minivan filled with fast food trash and dog hair.
  • My son has learned not to fit in. He doesn’t NEED to fit in. He will never do something just because the other kids are doing it.
  • He’s creative. My son wrote a song about all of the people who have died in our family. It is a beautiful song, and a great way to deal with grief.
  • Every season is metal season. My son can enjoy his hobby of choice at any time of the year. There’s no waiting until summer or fall or whatever.
  • I don’t have to sit outside at some field either sweating or freezing my ass off. His gigs are INSIDE, where there is some sort of climate control happening.
  • Also, his shows are usually at places with a full bar. Can you get a martini at the soccer field?
  • He’s more interesting to talk to, at least for me. I don’t want to hear about balls, and goals and coaches. BORING! My son can talk about how he is inspired by hair metal bands that I listened to in school. He also knows which songs are Ozzy Ozbourne and which are Black Sabbath. I don’t even know that.

Right now, there are at least 852 soccer moms who are just itching to post a nasty comment under this blog. Go for it. But before you do, take a look at the header on this site. It does not say Dr. Stork’s parenting advice column. It’s a humor blog. Don’t worry; I’m not going to run for president and make soccer illegal, so don’t get your panties in too much of a bunch.

First "drum" set

First “drum” set

Dog Murdering Hawthorn Tree

 

Hawthorn trees are toxic.

Hawthorn trees are toxic.

Hi Light Square People,

Sophie here. I’ve been embarrassed to talk about this, but since Mean Kitty already told you about the time I almost died, I figured I should probably tell you my side. As usual, Mean Kitty makes it sound like I’m just super stupid and decided to eat a poisonous tree. Um, no. That’s not how it happened.

Well, if you’ve read some of my other blogs, you know I like to chew stuff because it makes my teeth happy. Plus, it’s just something to do, you know? I’m home all day with boring Mama, cats, and an older dog that looks like a puppy (this still confuses me). Anyway, mama never plays with me because she is always staring at her light square, and kitties don’t really like to play. They just sleep, eat, and make motor or snake noises. They are super weird. Lola, my little dog older sister, plays with me, but she gets tired because she is like 70 in people time. So, a lot of times, I just sit and chew on something. I really like to chew on wood. I’ve chewed on a lot of wooden things in the house. Mama even got me a toy that was made of some kind of fake wood that I was allowed to chew on. I guess she didn’t like it when I left teeth marks on the dining room chairs.

I tried to eat the wall once.

I tried to eat the wall once.

I don’t just chew inside wood. Sometimes, I chew outside stuff, too. I have eaten some of the plants in my back yard. It’s OK though because Daddy made sure that he didn’t plant anything poisonous because he is a dog-loving kind of guy, and he knew I would probably chew on stuff. He forgot to check all of the trees though.

So, one day, like last fall, I was outside and I noticed this one tree that was different from the other trees in my yard. Most of the trees in my yard look like Christmas tress, but without the tasty ornaments and little blanket thing. This tree was really different, and it had pretty red berries on it. Red is usually a yummy color. Apples are red and I like them. So, I started nibbling at the tree a bit. Then, I went inside and had a cookie.

A little bit after that, Mama was sitting on the couch listening to people talk on the light square, and I was on the floor snoozing. My stomach started biting me and it woke me up. I went to the back door because I figured I had to poop, but Mama was just staring at the light square and didn’t see me. So, I just pooped all over the floor. Then, I walked a little bit and pooped again. I started to throw up, too. That’s when Mama noticed me. I had foamy stuff coming out of my mouth. She told me to go outside, and she called Daddy. Daddy came out to the back yard and put shorts on me because my butt was leaking. He put me in the car and took me to the doctor. I felt so sick at this point that someone had to carry me in to the doctor’s office.

I was so tired when I got home from the hospital.

I was so tired when I got home from the hospital.

I stayed in the hospital for like a really long time. I had all of these needles in me and bags of water stuff around me. I couldn’t eat food for days. I heard the doctor tell Mama and Daddy that she thought I was gonna cross the rainbow bridge because my tail wasn’t wagging like it usually does. But, the medicine worked and I’m still here.

While I was at the hospital, Mama was trying to figure out why I got so sick. First, she thought someone poisoned me. Then, she thought maybe I ate something outside. Daddy and the doctor told Mama that I just got into something and not to worry about it. Mama always worries though because she is a mama. One day, while she was looking around the back yard, she spotted that tree with the red berries and she just knew. See! She really is a witch.

Daddy took a piece of the tree to the plant store and they told him it was a Hawthorn tree. Hey, people and other dogs reading this, pay attention. Hawthorn trees are really bad for dogs. They are poisonous. Do not eat them, even if wood makes your teeth happy. Your tummy will be SO NOT happy. Plus, you could die. If my little older sister Lola had eaten some of that tree, she would have died because she is smaller than me.

This is the only safe wood to chew.

This is the only safe wood to chew.

So, I didn’t try to kill myself like Mean Kitty was saying. I just thought it was a good, normal tree and I wanted something to chew on. That tree isn’t in my yard anymore. Mama and Daddy had some guys take it out. You should make sure you don’t have one in your yard.

Thanks for reading this. If you like my blogs, leave me a comment. I will answer you.

Love and Sloppy Kisses,

Sophie

Clash of the Couples — Marital Arguments Gone Funny

So, if you follow me on the 1,273 social media sites I am on, you probably know that one of my snarky stories has been published in a real life book. It is something that has never appeared on my blog. I can’t print the entire thing now, but here is a taste:

Clash of the Couples would make and EXCELLENT Christmas gift.

Clash of the Couples would make and EXCELLENT Christmas gift.

Like a lot of people, I had a starter marriage — you know, that cute little legal promise you make when you’re in your twenties and really not that smart. Sure, you’re “in love” but you don’t exactly think about things like oh say what you actually have in common, or how you would co-parent. Unlike most people, my starter marriage was with Ricky Ricardo. Actually, he didn’t play the bongos, and he wasn’t THE Ricky Ricardo, as I would have had to dig him up to marry him. My ex-husband was and is (it’s not like he became Irish after we separated) a Cuban American. He moved to the United States when he was a preschooler, but he grew up in a home where only Spanish was spoken, and he went to school in a part of Miami that might as well require a passport for entry. So, as you can probably imagine, there were a series of unfortunate misunderstandings. All that was missing was bright red hair and a rousing rendition of Babalu.

That is just the first paragraph from my story in the super funny Clash of the Couples anthology. The rest of my story and FORTY-FIVE other funny, some of them funnier than mine, spousal arguments can be found here. That link will take you to Amazon so you can buy your very own copy of Clash of the Couples on Kindle or in paperback. The book is also available for the Nook via Barnes and Noble, and all things Apple via the iTunes application on your computer, iPad, or iPhone.

So far, everyone loves the book.

So far, everyone loves the book.

Crouching Kitty, Starving Tiger

This is my panic room.  There are shoes but no food.

This is my panic room. There are shoes but no food. I didn’t plan for a real attack.

I asked Trample (Sophie) to carry the light square up to my undisclosed location in the house so I could alert you to my scary situation. She is both the largest and stupidest pet, so she is the only one who could venture down to the common area to do this errand for me. You see, we have been invaded, and I fear for my life. I may even starve to death, as I have not eaten in 72 minutes.

I won’t be able to eat third lunch or first dinner because the food bowl is down the stairs in the small room where the litter boxes and the loud fur washing machines are. I don’t dare leave my hiding place as I suspect I would be killed. There are strangers in my house, and they smell and sound like monsters.

Strange visitors worry me.

Strange visitors worry me.

It all started shortly after my third afternoon nap, right after second lunch. The bell noise rang and my canine sisters sounded the bark alarm. I immediately ran upstairs to Mother’s book room, where my favorite daytime couch is. From there, I could look out the window and what I saw horrified me. There were at least four of those wheeled things that humans use to take poor, unsuspecting creatures to the vet. So, my first thought was that we were all going to the doctor. I hid behind the couch as any sane individual would. Little did I know it was worse than I imagined.

Several strange humans entered my home. I heard noise, a lot of noise, and strange smells. None of the smells were tuna fish or decent cat food. There were stinky drinks and bad human food smells, oh and feet. The humans removed their paw protectors and left their scent everywhere. This is when I made a run for the closet, or as I like to call it the panic room.

Mother and this stranger have turned Mean Ninja and Yippie Dog into flash lights.  This is scary.

Mother and this stranger have turned Mean Ninja and Yippie Dog into flash lights. This is scary.

I have been here ever since. As I have mentioned, my access to nourishment has been blocked. You know a manly cat of my frame needs a constant intake of calories. I may starve, or at least drop a few ounces. Please send help when you read this. The vet may be able to revive me with proper nourishment and fluids. Until then, I will stay here amongst Mother’s shoes.

 

Demopublican and Out of the Box

See! I'm not red or blue, I'm pinkish, but not in that 1950's "pinko" way.

See! I’m not red or blue, I’m pinkish, but not in that 1950’s “pinko” way.

I’m not going to sugarcoat it. I am so sick of everyone placing everyone else in a little box. “Oh, he’s a Muslim, so he wants to set my house on fire.” “He’s gay, so he is a hairdresser.” All of these assumptions and judgments are not helping any of us. They are making us more violent and hateful. And most of us don’t really fit into a box.

I’m also sick of all of the political ads. I live in a swing state (That doesn’t mean everyone shares partners), so every two years there are a bunch of political ads EVERYWHERE. My eyes nearly roll out of my head from all of the drama and deception. Oddly enough, I wrote about this same issue two years ago. You can read that blog here. At the end, I promised to add to that blog after the coffee kicked in. Well, color me caffeinated.

Basically, I’m not a follower of any political party. I am a registered Democrat, but that doesn’t mean I simply vote for all Democratic candidates. Really, I am a Demopublican. Here is what I think, no filter.

I don’t believe in God. The Bible is just a book to me. It should never be used to support an argument or a law.

I don’t own a gun and I’m not a big fan, but I know that criminals would not obey stricter gun laws. While the thought of any old yahoo being able to buy a gun scares me, I’m not sure what we can really do to manage that.

I grew up poor and I decided not to be poor when I grew up. As an adult, I have never received government assistance of any kind. I think all people should work hard and earn their own money.

I think healthcare should be free, if needed. I don’t think forcing people to buy expensive health insurance is the answer. We need to keep working on this one. I don’t think anyone should die because they don’t have money.

I think we need to stop bombing the fuck out of everyone. That’s why they hate us.

People who have worked with Ebola patients should be quarantined. If I were in their shoes, I would gladly submit to a quarantine. This isn’t about feelings or rights; it’s about keeping this disease from spreading.

I think it’s offensive to dress up as people of other races for Halloween.

There should be laws against breeding pets. Millions of pets are euthanized every year. We don’t need to make more just because people want a certain breed.

Other people’s sex lives and marriages are none of anyone’s business. I don’t care who marries whom, and I don’t understand why this is even an issue.

People should be hired based on their education and skills only. Race, gender, nationalities, and differing physical abilities should not be taken into consideration.

If a woman wants to have an abortion for the love of all that is sane, let her. Yes, adoption is an option, but a lot of times women end up keeping babies they don’t want and mistreating them.

Abstinence education does not work. Give the kids REAL information and give them condoms. A lot of times they are too broke or embarrassed to buy them. Denying them protection is not going to keep them from having sex if they want to. If you think kids won’t do something because you tell them not to, you are living in a fantasyland and you may be forgetting your own teen years.

The fact that we are even having the evolution vs. creation debate makes me grind my teeth.

I’m so tired of the great marijuana debate. It is not my thing at all, but I hope it is legalized so it can be regulated and so I can stop hearing about it.

Twenty should be the legal age for everything. No one is an adult at 18, and most people are not ready to drive at 16. Having different ages for different “rights” is confusing.

People should show identification to vote. We have to show ID for everything else. Identification cards should be free to those who don’t have driver’s licenses.

Child molesters should be executed. I will gladly pull the switch. They will not be “rehabilitated” in prison and limitations on where they live and work does not do diddly. Spoiler alert: they can drive to other neighborhoods.

That’s it. Those are my opinions on everything I could think of. You are welcome to post your own opinions in the comment section. Just know that I am not a debater or an arguer. We likely won’t change each other’s minds, so arguing is kind of pointless.

Mama is a WITCH!

Hi, light square people. I just figured something out about Mama and it made me super sick to my stomach. Like, I almost didn’t eat dinner, but then I did because dinner is tasty. So, you guys, I just found out that my mama is a witch.

Now, some of you out there who know my mama, and maybe went to school with her, or live near us, are bobbing your heads up and down and saying, “yes, Sophie. She is a bitch.” But I said WITCH. I’m not talking about mean and grouchy, or female dog. I’m talking about magic. My mama has special powers, and she just acts like a witch. Here’s my proof.

Mama gave me a voodoo doll as a present.

Mama gave me a voodoo doll as a present. It freaked Lola out.

Mama has the angel of death saved on her light square.

Mama has the angel of death saved on her light square.

Mama likes to drink red stuff and it looks like blood.

Mama likes to drink red stuff and it looks like blood.

Mama took the eyes out of my Easter bunny.  She probably used them for a spell.

Mama took the eyes out of my Easter bunny. She probably used them for a spell.

Mama wears witch clothes.

Mama wears witch clothes.

The most magical thing Mama did was train Morris how to beg.  Everyone knows that you can’t train a CAT!

See, my mama IS a witch. This kind of scares me because witches love cats and can even become cats. You never see a witch with a dog, even a pretty black dog like me. So, I hope Mama doesn’t try to turn me into a cat. Then, I would eat really slow and make snake noises. Humans, please leave a comment for Mama and tell her not to be a cat witch. Thank you. Sophie

My Head Just May Explode!

Must. not. let. head. explode.

Must. not. let. head. explode.

Most of the time, I am an easygoing hermit who is happy to just sit and pet a cat. I don’t need or want a whole lot. I’m thankful for climate control, plumbing, and gluten free burritos. There’s not a whole lot that makes me angry, and I don’t have super strong opinions on things (Stop laughing). But, like anyone, I have things that just drive me bat shit crazy. So, instead of rolling my eyes, and muttering to myself, as I do daily, I decided to share them with you in the hopes that I can get all of this out of my system and go back to petting cats. So, in no particular order, here are the things that might just give me a rage-induced aneurism.

Bullies — I hate it when people pick on others. Leave the gays, the atheists, the tattooed, the pierced, the transgendered, and everyone else who is not Casper Milkatoast bland alone. It’s none of your fucking business.

Humor deficiency — I cannot relate to people who do not have a sense of humor. Look, we are on a ball, speeding through unending darkness. At some point, we will die. It could be in 50 years, and it could be in 5 minutes. Enjoy life, eat ice cream, and don’t get your panties or boxers in a wad over everything.

Pushy Sales People — Whether it is by phone or personal visit, I loathe when people try to sell me anything.  If I want to buy something, I will go to Amazon.com like everyone should. Don’t knock on my door. No, I don’t want to hear about Jehovah either.

Vanity Sizing — If I was a size 7 in 1988, weighing 30 pounds less than I do now, I am pretty sure I’m not really a size 8 now. Just put real numbers on clothes, and stop judging people by their numbers.

Surveys — About 17 seconds after you purchase a good or service, you get a survey. This arrives via email, snail mail, telephone, or Harry Potter Owl.   I’m glad I don’t date because I’m pretty sure you probably get a survey the first time you have sex with someone now. And I have no filter, so some poor fella would probably be crying.

Solid Soup — Chicken noodle is a soup. Vegetable beef is a soup. Beer cheese potato bacon is not a soup; it’s a ticket to the cardiologist. Bring back normal soup.

Reply to all — I want to crawl through my computer screen and start smacking the crap out of people every time I get a reply to all message. All 982 of us do not need to witness you thanking the person who said they would bring cream cheese ginger cupcakes to the monthly budget meeting. Just stop the insanity already!

Super Foods — There’s acai everything, quinoa everything, avocado everything, and coconut oil everything. Unless they are wearing a cape and cooking themselves, they are not super foods. They are just things that Dr. Oz talked about while telling you to Neti pot with olive oil.

Thank you for listening. I feel loads better now, and you may have just saved my head from exploding. What about you? What drives you nutso? Let me hear from you in the comments.

Survey

Copyright All rights reserved by fwrdcrm

Maltese Agent and the Missing Jewels

I was not scheduled to write until next week, but this is an emergency. I need your help right this minute. If you have read my work before, you know that I am a secret agent or Designed Operational Guard. My work here in this house is very important. I am not a mere yippie white dog, as Andre would have you believe. I am a high-ranking member of the espionage community. Just like James Bond and Inspector Gadget, I have my tools of the trade. One of those tools was stolen from me.

You have all probably noticed my beautiful necklace in my photos. While I am very much into fashion, this necklace is not just your average bling. It contains my secret agent identification and credentials. Take a good look at this picture, and make sure you have not seen this essential apparatus in any of your local pawnshops or pet stores.

Lolatag

As you can plainly see, it has my name on it. What you cannot see is the microchip inside of the charm. It contains data that would be useful to the enemy agents: Communist Asshole Torturers, or C.A.Ts. I have three of them in my home. While it is possible one of them took it, I think the swiping more likely occurred at the beauty shop.

I had to go tend to my grooming last week. A shampoo, cut, and style were very much needed. When you work as hard as I do to protect your humans, it is easy to forget to keep up your own appearance. As per protocol, my necklace was removed before my bath. That was the last time I saw it. This means one of two things happened:

  1. A C.A.T at the beauty shop stole my necklace and has already scanned it, shared the data, and is planning world domination RIGHT NOW.
  2. Father neglected to take it from the top of my carrier and put it back around my neck after he picked me up from the spa.

Until my identification is found, you should all consider yourselves to be at risk for a C.A.T invasion.   Please keep a squirt bottle and a large dog near you at all times. Do not open a can of tuna or purchase any catnip until I tell you it is safe to do so. As a precaution, I have already begun interrogating the cats in my home.  Please watch this short video to observe my top secret technique.

Update: Mother found my necklace clipped to the handle of my carrier in the garage. My apologies to Andre.  Please carry on, now.

1 2 3 19