Ok, so a few days ago I peed in a box in the living room, because the litter box was not in pristine enough condition to suit my needs.

In that box were three of Buddah's toys. One happened to be his favorite toy.

So...the Woman said I had to replace it. With my own money! Now, I told Buddah I was sorry. I didn't pee on his toys on purpose; they were just there, and I really needed to use that box. He understood, and it didn't seem to bother him. But no, I have to buy him a new toy.

Ok, so I got online and found where Santa bought it from.

And they're out of stock.

So now I have to check like every day, because if I don't buy him a new toy I will never hear the end of it.

In other news, while I like this new template, it doesn't feel like me. It needs a little sump'in-sump'in...as soon as I figure out what that is, it may change again.

We're changing the template again...it might change a lot tonight. Or it might not change much at all, of we can figure out why the date isn't showing. In any case, we're trying to spiffy the place up for those who don't read the blog via a reader. I'd like it to look classy, but seeing the help I have...not holding my breath.

Ok, doods, Blog Paws was this past weekend, and I was up for Best Meow Blog.

No, I did not win. But that's okay because

MOUSEBREATH DID!

And since mousebreath! is like one of the best things on the Internet, we all need to do the Snoopy dance!

Ok, I admit it. There was a box in the living room that had 3 of Buddah's toys in it, and I peed in it this morning.

Twice.

But in my defense, the litter box was unacceptable, so I found the next appropriate thing. I could have whizzed on the bed, or in someone's shoes, or the laundry basket, but I picked a box.

It's not my fault Buddah left his toys in there.

The Woman was not happy. She was not happy enough that I went to bed and curled up, lest I have to listen to "That was not nice" one more time.

I wish mine was red. But it's blue.

And I got to christen it first.

But the freaky thing is that she knew I had to pee.

How the heck did she know???

Look.

First she squeezed me.

Then she STEPPED ON MY TAIL.

And tonight? Tonight she made herself a waffle, and it smelled awesome, with all the butter and stuff, but would she let me have a taste?

NO.

I asked nicely and everything. I even repeated myself 52 times to make sure she understood that I wasn't begging, but that I would like just the tiniest of tastes, because I've never had a waffle.

NO.

Doods, I felt like Miles Meezer, not getting the deserved French Toast. WHICH I HAVE ALSO NOT TASTED.

I hope she remembers this at 3 in the morning, because that's when I am filing my Official Complaint.

In triplicate.

200 times.

This guy...I really like this guy. He totally gets me, even though he doesn't know me. And if you don't know who he is, well, I am so sorry.

(Psst...that's Jackson Galaxy; he speaks cat. And he rocks.)

Every week, the Woman records My Cat From Hell, and we watch it together the next evening. I sit on her lap and root for the kitties, and she sits there and grumbles at the people. Well, not all the people. Just the clueless ones.

I've mentioned it before, but she's kind of a pain after she watches it because she spends the next hour chasing me around the house saying carp like Let me love you, kitty cat! and it's a royal pain the the tuckus.

But tonight? Man...we got a couple weeks behind and just watched the episode where this cute little girl kitty was totally being bullied by a boy kitty named Buddy. It wasn't really Buddy's fault; his person was a total doosh, and Buddy had to have taken his bully cues from the doosh.

Well, this just got the woman all riled up and she was hissing some not so nice things at the TV, and doods, she was all YAY when the girl kitty's person split from the boy kitty's doosh. But that wasn't even the worst of it.

Holy cripes, she felt so bad and then so good for the girl kitty that SHE SQUEEZED ME! She'd been petting me all nice and then WHAM.

Sqqqqquuueeeeeeeze.

It's not like she squeezed me hard. It was just undignified. And doods, no one should be undignified when the great Jackson Galaxy is in their living room, even if he is just on the TV.

I am so humiliated.

One of the ones I'm not allowed to use

I really didn't mean to go 5 whole days without blogging anything but real life stuff got in the way. Plus, the Woman was not forthcoming with the laptop. And she won't let me use the ginormous iMac or her MacAir because "those aren't toys and aren't for kitties." Well, duh. The laptop's not technically a toy, either, but I need it to write my mousebreath column and my blog and my books.

Well, I got fed up with her hogging it--because she CAN use the other computers--so I did what any respectable cat would do. I unplugged the cord from the power supply thingy, and a couple hours later the laptop just turned itself off, and she was all "well, hell, my computer just croaked."

She wasn't as upset about it as I thought she would be; I mean, I figured there would be wailing and crying and gnashing of teeth and some I DON'T WANT TO BUY A NEW ONE RIGHT NOW but she was just, "Hmm." She whined about it on FB using her phone, but that was it.

That was really disappointing. And even moreso when it occurred to her a little while later to check the power supply. She plugged it back it and started hogging it all over again.

But aside from that, there's been writing going on. Like my column and we're starting a new book. We haven't gotten very far, but we've started. And Buddah will probably get to write a chapter or two; I asked on Facebook and tons of people said they would like it if he did.

And that's not a figurative tons. I figure if I piled all those people and kitties on an industrial scale, I'd get a good 2 tons out if it. Maybe just 1.25...depends on whether or not people have peed ahead of time.

Just because I like the sentiment...

And oh! Those boobie pens sold so fast that a lot of people who wanted one did get one so the Man ordered a bunch more stuff to make them and should get it all next week, then he has to actually make them. If the Woman has chores for him or wants to drag him to San Francisco to buy chit for her, that might take a while. The last couple of nights he made a few pens out of wood, because not everyone likes acrylic. Some of them look almost classy.

You know, as classy as people can get. 

All right, here's the rule: if a person is having a meal and the kitty is good and does not beg nor get on the table or do anything really obnoxious, the kitty gets a bite. If it's something the kitty cannot have, the kitty gets a crunchy treat. THAT'S THE RULE.

So tonight the Woman had a baked potato. I don't care if she had it for a snack, that's a meal food, which means all rules are in place. I sat there on the floor being VERY GOOD and didn't even meow at her to remind her I was there. I held up my end of the bargain.

So when she finished, I expected a crunchy treat. But doods, not only did I not get a treat, she looked at me and said, "You just ate your gooshy food like five minutes ago."

So?
SO?

That's not the point! The point is that I followed the rule! WHERE'S MY CRUNCHY TREAT??!?!!?

[next day edit: all the Boobie pens have been sold. The Man ordered the supplies today (5-3-13) to make 15 more and he should get that stuff next week. And I shoulda said before, the only ones he has for sale--any of the pens or letter openers or keychains--are what's already in his store. There's no ordering of large quantities, because each pen is hand-turned and takes 2-3 hours to make. Each one is unique; no two will ever be exactly alike. But once he gets the supplies, he'll make more boobie pens...and those crystals? I did not know before, but they're Swarovsky Crystal, so when you write with your boobie pen, your little finger should be stuck out because that's classy. Anyway, I apologize to the couple of people who wanted a bunch of one pen and/or enough to use as their own fundraisers. These just aren't mass manufactured; they're done one at a time, and take a whole lot of time.]

Okay, they're not made out of actual boobies, but they're FOR boobies. Well, not for boobies to USE or even to be used ON boobies, but they're FOR boobies.

BOOBIES!


Y'all know the Man likes to hang out in the room where the rumbly bikes sleep, right? He has these machines that he feeds chunks of wood or acrylic into, and he stands there and does things to it, and when he's done he has a pen. He's made a lot of them and sells them because the Woman is all OHMYGAWD HOW MANY PENS DO YOU NEED? Plus it's kind of cool when people go oooh and ahhh over them, because they are kind of spiffy.

He decided that he could be even more useful and made a few pens that are specifically for breast cancer walk fundraisers. If he sells them, he's giving all the money to someone who is doing a walk. Not necessarily the Woman...she's crewing the 3 Day this year and is self funding her Avon Walk, so that means he'll be donating to someone else.

That makes them BOOBIE PENS!

If you want to see them up close, you can look at them RIGHT HERE. If you want to see them in his Etsy shop, you can GO RIGHT THERE. He's got lots of pens there now, and even some keychains and letter openers, and these thingies that help people put bracelets on when there's no one around to lend an extra hand.

Apparently that's an issue. Who knew?

Anyway, the pens are spiffy and shiny, and it gave me another chance to say BOOBIES!!!

Because...boobies.

boobies

I have two of these fountains; I love these fountains. The water comes out of them at just the right speed, and it filter it so that my water isn't just sitting there all day.

But guys...once in a while these things just lose control.

Like, this morning. Something was wrong and I tried to wake the Woman up, but she just rolled over and told me to be quiet. So I was quiet for a few minutes, went back into the kitchen to double check--because the one in the kitchen is my favorite one--and when nothing had improved, I went back into the bedroom, jumped on the bed, and stood on her chest.

"Woman," I said firmly, "the fountain just peed all over the floor. PEED. Go make it stop."

"You ate already," he grumbled.

"Fountain. Peed. FIX IT."

She finally got up, stumbled into the giant litter box room and took care of all her needs before bothering to follow me across the house to see what the problem was. I marched her right to the fountain, and she looked down at it, but didn't seem to sense the urgency.

"Filter must be clogged," she muttered when she saw the entire contents of the fountain puddled into the mat they keep under the fountain for just this reason. She put a bunch of paper towels down and then said, "I'll deal with it in a little while."

I Googled "a little while." This came up...

A little while?

A LITTLE WHILE?

I could have died of thirst before she defined "a little while."

"Go use the other one," she grumbled as she headed into the living room to sit down.

The other one?

THE OTHER ONE?

"THAT'S my fountain," I told her firmly. "FIX IT."

But she didn't jump back up to fix it. No, she was quite content to leave fountain pee pooling there on the mat, being drawn up into flimsy paper towels.

(And no, I don't drink pee. When it's IN the fountain, it's water. When it's all over the floor, it's pee. Kind of like when a person drinks from a can, that's soda or beer. When they let it back out, well...pee.

Trust me on this.)

I complained a few more times but she still didn't get up, so I went to the back of the house for a nap. And doods, when I got back up I was totally expecting the paper towels to still be there, but instead I found a dry mat and a fountain full of water and working perfectly.

I can only conclude that the Man got up, saw it, fixed it, and then went back to bed.

Because the Woman? Sheesh. Lazy.

This is pretty much how my day has gone:


I've been snoozing on the back of the sofa with that stupid chicken Jax watching me, and that rabbit that never even moves right beside him. I ignored them both, though. They're quiet and even though Jax annoys the bejeebers out of me, he doesn't actually get in my way, so I didn't kick him off the back there.

The beauty of napping here? This afternoon Buddah had the munchies, and pulled out all the cute he could to work the Woman, and eventually she caved in and got him some crunchy treats.

Doods, I didn't even have to move. She brought them to me. I nommed right there on the back of the sofa and went right back to sleep.

Life is good, mis amigos.

Just figured we needed something to make us smile, after such a sucky day for everyone.

She keeps calling me "Buddy." I am not a Buddy. Nor a Bud. I will answer to Big Guy or Mister Max, but not Buddy.

And tonight? Tonight she walks through the door and is all, "Hey, Buddy," and acts like I'm supposed to be glad she's home AND calling me by someone else's name.

I tell you what, I would have totally ignored her and turned around and walked away if not for the chunk of real live fresh dead cow she had for me.

For steak, I'll play along for a few seconds.

But as soon as I'd had my steak...doods, I turned my back on her.

Buddy, my asterisk.

They came home, and the Grandma left. Plus, they smelled all wrong. Apparently, Las Vegas doesn't have showers...

You know what happened as soon as the Grandma walked in the door?

TREATS HAPPENED!

Clearly, the People are not well trained enough, even after all these years. I might have to go live with the Grandma. She gets me.

Srsly.

Sanjee 8/1/2001 – 4/1/2013