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 on my TV. 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.

Don’t F#$%ing Text and Drive!

Yes. I know. Everyone does it, right? I see people doing all kinds of crazy things while they are driving. I’ve seen people shaving and putting on make-up. Once, I saw a woman eating a bowl of cereal or soup. I couldn’t get a good look. The light turned green, so I couldn’t jump out of my car, bang on her window, and yell, “Just #$%^ing drive when you’re driving!” like I wanted to.

Horrific texting and driving accidents are things that happen to other people, right? I think all of us have our list of tragic things that will not happen to us. Until last week, my son being hit by a texting idiot was on my “not me” list. Then, I got “the call.” You know, the call you never want to get.

My husband was out of town last week, of course, so I was on single parent duty. My son and his girlfriend had gone to a movie premiere that she had tickets to. They took her car, a little, oldish, Honda. I knew they would be home at around 10:00, so I started getting ready for bed then. I washed the make-up off my face, brushed my teeth, put my night guard in (I’m a grinder), put on my pajamas, and took my Benedryl. I take Benedryl just about every night for allergies and sleeping. Lucky for everyone, I only took ONE pill.

About twenty minutes after I went through my routine, my phone rang. It was my son. I instantly got a stomach cramp because, like me, my son HATES to talk on the phone. So, if he wasn’t texting, something was wrong. I answered on the first half ring.

“Hello. Are you OK?”

“Mom, Um, I’ve been in an accident.” Hyperventilating noises.

“Is everyone OK?” I pictured him trapped in the car, and his girlfriend, a skinny little thing, dead.

He WAS trapped in the car. Both of them were because they were rear-ended by an idiot who was texting and the impact jammed the doors shut. My son’s girlfriend had hit the brakes to avoid a deer and the car in front of her, which had braked. The idiot behind them did not brake. She rammed into them going about 55 miles per hour. If there had been someone in the backseat, that person would not be walking and would possibly be dead.

Some nice couple came out of their house to help them. A man stopped to pull my son and his girlfriend out of the car window.   I wish I had thanked them all. I didn’t. I arrived on the scene about ten minutes after the call, in sweats and wearing my night guard. I immediately checked both of them for damage and noticed brown spots on my son’s sweater.

“Are you bleeding?” I asked him.

“No. I checked him first.” His wonderful girlfriend.

“No. It’s my cherry vanilla Coke from Johnny Rockets. It went everywhere.” My son.

That’s not all that went everywhere. His glasses flew off of his face. His girlfriend’s phone was found outside of the car. Her father had to climb in the car to retrieve some of her school things, carefully avoiding the glass from the busted in back window. Take a look at the pictures. It was a disaster.

So, what did the driver who hit them have to say? “I looked away for like half a sec.”

“For like half a sec?” Such casual language for such a horrific accident. I wanted to smack her so hard. I held back because I needed to be calm for my son, and because his girlfriend said, “It’s my friend from school!” I wanted to tell her that this person was NOT a friend. So not a friend. I bet the paramedics are sick of pulling dead bodies out of cars because of people like this friend who can’t wait five minutes to return a text.

I feel bad for my son, and his girlfriend, who are in physical pain from her actions, but I also feel bad for the other girl’s parents. They arrived on the scene in their work clothes, with their occupations printed on their shirts. I could tell there’s not a lot of free flowing cash there. So, totaling a car is definitely not an affordable thing. I hope her parents don’t buy her a new car. She doesn’t deserve a car. She deserves a kick in the ass, or fifty. I’m volunteering to do this for them, if needed.

She can never make this right. She can never do anything to make up for it. I do hope she has at least learned from this.  When she gets to drive again, I hope she just drives, rather than “looks away for half a sec.” I also hope she talks about this to everyone she knows. Her friends need to know that texting and driving accidents happen to real people.

My son and his girlfriend are OK for the most part. Both have neck and back pain. I’m told it could take years to really know what damage has been done. I’m grateful they weren’t killed, but I’m angry that the girlfriend lost her car, and both of them have pain because an idiot decided to take her eyes off the road. Just drive when you drive. It really can, and should, wait.

Is it worth it?

Is it worth it?

 

 

Andre Cat and his Boy

The other evening after I had settled into my nighttime spot on the soft red couch blanket, mother came out of her chambers dressed in the clothes she wears to leave the house. This was weird because she had already gone to bed for the night. I know this because she let that big, black stupid thing go outside to do its personal business. I don’t know why the creature cannot use the littler box as nature intended.

Mother left the house even though the sun had gone to bed hours ago. She was gone for quite a while, and I started to be concerned. Not only was she gone, but Father had left earlier that day carrying one of those things the humans take with them when they abandon us for a while.

My first thought was, “how I am I going to open my food with no thumbs?” Then, I wondered how soiled my litter would become without mother and her scoop. Finally, I began to plan how I would kill the big dog for food when my feline siblings and I could not get the door to the food room open.

Right as I was about to jump on the counter to try to get a knife from the block, Mother came in with the Boy. This was strange because the Boy had left with the Girl earlier in the evening. Normally, when they go out together they also come back together.

The Boy did not seem like himself. He sat on the couch with Mother. Normally, he likes to be in a different room from Mother, either the one with his bed or the one with the big TV. I jumped up on the Boy’s lap because he is my brother and I was worried about him.

There were some strange smells on him. His sweater smelled like that sweet fizzy drink he likes, the brown one. I also noticed that he smelled like the inside of a car. I hate that smell because it normally means I’m going to the doctor. I hate the doctor because he blows air at me that makes me go to sleep so I can’t kill him.

I noticed that the Boy had more water in his eyes than usual. It was fresh eye water, and some was dried on his cheeks. Normally, I would help by cleaning his face, but he pushed me off of his lap. So, like a gentleman, I stayed near him and allowed the white yippie dog to do her inspection.

Big, black, and stupid kept pawing at the Boy and trying to get him to play with her nasty, spit-filled toys. Of course, the Boy had no interest. Could the stupid creature not see that he was ill or sad or something. Could she not smell the scents on him and see the eye water?

I got angry because I knew that someone had hurt my brother. I don’t know what Mother was saying to him, but she was using her love voice, the one she uses if she has to give me medicine. I hate medicine. So, I knew something was wrong. I don’t have my paw swords anymore or I would have caused damage to the person who hurt the Boy. Instead, I jumped up on the back of the couch and kept watch over him.

I’m still not sure what happened to him, but Mother has been typing feverishly on her light square. So, I am certain you will hear the whole story on Thursday. She is a fierce mama cat. I’m surprised she didn’t bring home the carcass of the culprit.

I love my human brother. I'm glad he is OK.

I love my human brother. I’m glad he is OK.

Kangaroo Trash Moms

If you read this blog, you may have guessed that I love animals. I mean, after all, I do let my pets “write” every Monday. I love animals so much that I suckered, I mean asked, my husband if he would like to start volunteering at the zoo. Since he had a part in adopting the 5 creatures in our own personal herd, he said yes. So, every month or so, we head to the zoo and help out. Sometimes, we actually get to touch some baby animals.

I love meeting the zoo animals. Let’s face it as a hermit I’m never going to go on safari to meet them in the wild. Roughing it to me is a hotel with no room service and only basic cable. So, since the zoo is 20 minutes from my house, and has indoor plumbing, it has become my hermit safari. If you don’t have a fabulous zoo in your town or live in the Outback (Australia not the mediocre steak house), it’s OK. Thanks to the magic of the interwebs I can share my zoo experiences and newfound animal knowledge with you. Here we go.

Keeping my hair away from those teeth.  You can see the spit on the right side of my hair.

Keeping my hair away from those teeth. You can see the spit on the right side of my hair. She probably hates that hippie bag they carry her in. Get her a real purse!

First of all, as you may have guessed from the title, kangaroos are the trashy moms of the animal kingdom. The mothers frequently disown baby kangaroos. Other kangaroo moms will not take in an abandoned baby, either. There seems to be a very “sucks to be you” attitude among the female kangaroo community. If a kangaroo mom is sick while pregnant she will abort the baby herself. This may be because kangaroo babies will bite the ever-loving f*ck out of your hair. That’s what the one I held did to me. Imagine having that happen in your pouch. I mean, you probably don’t have a pouch, but imagine. You probably don’t have 3 vaginas either, but kangaroos do, and 2 uteruses. For real. That’s probably why they are so bitchy. It’s a good thing they don’t use tampons because they would go broke buying them.

I just have to be sporting BAD hair when I hold marsupials. And what's up with the hippie purse again?

I just have to be sporting BAD hair when I hold marsupials. And what’s up with the hippie purse again?

Wallabies are similar to kangaroos, though I’m not sure if their moms suck as bad as kangaroo moms. The zookeeper who let me hold a wallaby was not quite as chatty as the fella who handed me the roo. The easy way to tell the difference is size and fur. I mean the difference between a kangaroo and a wallaby, not the difference between zookeepers. Wallabies are smaller and their fur is shinier. Also, having held both a wallaby and a kangaroo, I can tell you that baby wallabies will not try to give you a Supercuts haircut with their teeth like kangaroo babies. Or maybe that kangaroo I held was just freaky.

"You talkin' to me?"

“You talkin’ to me?”

I got to pet a little penguin and her human held her beak shut so she couldn’t bite me. This feisty little South African penguin does not like other species. She will try to attack other animals. Her handler had to hold her constantly so she wouldn’t charge, as in run towards in anger not go on an Amazon.com binge. Why are all of the little girls so fierce? (hides face in shame) For such a harsh girl, she had super soft fur. I need to buy penguin conditioner, I guess.

I did not get to pet a cheetah or a yellow lab, but I got to learn about them from the guy holding the penguin. He told me she tries to attack the yellow labs they keep at the zoo. The dogs are used to help train cheetahs because they are very anxious creatures by nature, and the dogs teach them how to play and not be so freaked out. So, at least at the zoo, cats and dogs really do get along.

With ears like that, the serval is the Prince Charles of the animal kingdom.

With ears like that, the serval is the Prince Charles of the animal kingdom.

Speaking of cats, I got to pet a serval kitten. While people do keep servals as pets, it’s not really a good idea according to the zookeeper. They are still very hard to manage and they’re very muscular. At 35 to 40 pounds when full grown, they’re not really just little house cats. The zookeeper had trouble holding on to the 5-pound kitten he brought to the volunteer meeting. I was able to pet him (the kitten not the zookeeper) and he had the softest fur ever. Seriously, are they using some Aveda products at the zoo?

What's a little shredded skin between friends?

What’s a little shredded skin between friends?

Sadly, I wasn’t allowed to touch the baby lynx because they are unable to retract their claws. So, if he even pawed at me he would’ve left a flesh wound behind. Even so, I considered touching him because I am that much of a crazy cat lady. Plus, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t scratch me because he would smell the crazy on me and just lick my arm like my cats do.

Cats have the scratchiest tongues, but so do giraffes. I got to feed lettuce to a giraffe. Oh wow! I wasn’t expecting a large sandpaper tongue to go up my entire arm. I figured out why there were a bunch of Purell dispensers near the giraffe area. I also learned that you should never try to pet a giraffe. It freaks them out. Why do the yellowish spotted creatures have such anxiety? If you touch giraffes, they will shake and possibly end up hitting you with their large heads.

GiraffeMeFeed

These are the only animals I have met so far. I will write a follow up in a few months and let you know about any other interactions. If you love animals but can’t volunteer at a shelter because you will adopt 30 cats and 20 dogs and end up on the news (coughs and hides face), then volunteering at the zoo may be for you. There is no way they will ever let anyone adopt a tiger. So, I’m safe there.

Menopause not Drugs

Hello Humans,

I just read that libelous blog written by my tiger brother, Morris. While I would rather you not waste your time on such trash, you simply must read this garbage in order to understand my embarrassment and my anger. Here it is. Give it a quick skim; it’s not worth a full read.

Are you back? OK. As you can clearly see that orange moron accuses me of drug use and, um, having accidents. The embarrassing truth is that I have been having accidents. It’s unfortunate, but true. I refuse to lie about it. However, I do not use drugs. Yes, I do have a little catnip from time to time, but it is a harmless herb, not a drug. It’s not like I’m drinking the little stinky drinks like Mother does.

I wish Mother would make the air colder.

I wish Mother would make the air colder.

The reason I’m having accidents is because I am getting old. I’ve been trying to ignore the truth and keep up the façade of youth. That is why I sometimes just tear off running through the house like my tail is on fire, or try to wrestle my brother Andre even though he is larger and homicidal. I have been trying to maintain some semblance of kittenhood. Sadly, it is not to be. I am an old lady cat.

Like a lot of human women, my first clue was the devilish temperature increases known as hot flashes. They are miserable, aren’t they ladies? I try to find relief by lying on the cold tile, or staying near the air vent. I also drink a lot of water when it doesn’t stink of the large dog’s mouth. She is vile.

My next clue was my mood changes. I’ve become more secretive, and clingy. I hide in mother’s office and refuse to leave. I dive behind the couch or under the bed when I sense she is trying to shoo me out. I simply won’t stand for it. I need to be away from the dogs and this is the only way to do it.

Of course, my final sign was my, um accidents. I can’t seem to hold my bowels like I used to. When I have to go, it’s a sudden urge, like I have to release a beast from my behind or something. I just can’t wait until I get to the litter. I must squat wherever I am and push the feces from my body. Plus, I have arthritis in my toes. Have you ever walked on rocks? How about with arthritis?

Humans, thank you for bearing with me while I discuss such private things. I appreciate your kindness.  While I will try my best to remain close to a litter box at all times, I can’t promise there will be no more accidents. It’s a part of aging. If only there were Depend undergarments in my size.

Leave me alone!

Leave me alone!

Dayum, Dallas!

I’m headed to Florida with my son to visit the love of his life, his grandma. (Sorry, L!) On my way to the airport for this trip, I remembered that I never told you guys about my layover in Dallas back in July. The husband and I were on our way back from California and we got to spend about three hours in the Dallas airport. I have never actually visited Texas, but I do feel like I got a glimpse of this huge state just by visiting the airport.

I took lots of pictures to share with you, but then totally forgot to actually share them. I think I’m getting old. As you can imagine, a lot of the pictures were cow related, but some involved other kinds of dead animals. Everything may be bigger in Texas, but it’s also deader. It’s no mistake that the Bloggess, lover of taxidermy, is a Texas native.

So, this won’t be a wordy blog, more like a picture book. We can call it Dick and Jane Go to Dallas, but use Chris and Lisa instead. Sound good? OK. Get yourself a cup of juice and sit down on the rug. It’s story time.

I couldn't decide if this was high fashion or a cat toy made by someone who was high.

I couldn’t decide if this was high fashion or a cat toy made by someone who was high.

 

Her head is odd shaped, and her ears are huge, but she doesn't have to flat-iron, so I'm still jealous.

Her head is odd shaped, and her ears are huge, but she doesn’t have to flat-iron, so I’m still jealous.

 

Like anyone carries a fake gun in Texas.

Like anyone carries a fake gun in Texas.

 

Foxy lady! Um, dead foxy lady.

Foxy lady! Um, dead foxy lady. Is this a fox, guys?

 

Yes, there is a real barber shop in the airport.  The husband got a shave -- a head shave.  He also does not have to flat-iron.

Yes, there is a real barber shop in the airport. The husband got a shave — a head shave. He also does not have to flat-iron.

WHAT? Fox news in Texas? Huh?

WHAT? Fox news in Texas? Huh?

No thanks! I ate on the plane.

No thanks! I ate on the plane.

No, really.  I'm good.

No, really. I’m good.

None of your business, perv!

None of your business, perv!

Floor-Poopin’ Cat Sister Probs

Hey Peoples, Morris here. I finally got the light square away from Trample (Sophie). She thinks she’s the only one of us who can write. I actually write gooder than her but don’t tell her cause then she’ll chase me and run me over with her big tramply legs.

I feel safe way up here.

I feel safe way up here.

I mean it. She is scary big and stupid hyper. I think she scares my sister Pot Head Tiger (Boo Boo), too, because lately Pot Head has been avoiding the litter box. She poops on the floor, you guys. It’s just gross.

I try to cover the poop when she does it, but there is not really any litter on the tile or carpet. I gave myself rug burn trying to cover the evidence. No good. Mama still found it and yelled, “What the fuck, Boo?” Mom knows it’s her because she caught her doing it. Pot Head must be sniffing too much cat nip cause she just poops on the floor even when Mama or Daddy can see her.

See! It's gross!

See! It’s gross!

We all have accidents sometimes. I used to pee on the floor when I first moved to Mama’s house. That was because I was mad at Mean Ninja (Andre) for trying to beat me up. I’m still mad at him, but I don’t pee on the floor anymore. I just kick his ass. I’m bigger and stronger. So, I teach him a lesson when he needs it. I hate it when Mama breaks up our fights cause I don’t need her help. I’m a big man.

I gotta go follow Pot Head around and tell her to use the litter box. She is probably so drugged out that she just forgets where all of the boxes are. I’d rather hide on Daddy’s pile of dirty clothes, but if I don’t keep Pot Head from pooping on the floor, Trample or Yippie Dog (Lola) will eat it. Why are dogs so gross?

Thanks for listening.

Purrs and Drool,

Morris

P.S. If you are looking for my mama, she is over on Scary Mommy today talking about how much she loves my human brother, the boy. I don’t know why she is there cause she is not scary at all.

I love Daddy's clothes.

I love Daddy’s clothes.

1 2 3 19