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The other day Scooby, Shaggy, and Scout commented that the title of my next book should be How To Completely Befuddle Your People.

Close.

The Working title is The Rules: A Guide For People Owned By Cats. It's almost done, I just need to finish the illustrations, and let me tell you, it's hard to draw when you don't have opposable thumbs. The pen keeps shooting out from between my paws, and I'm getting ink all over everything.

You'd think the Woman would be of more help, but she just keeps saying "I've got my own book to work on. You figure it out."

As soon as she's done with her book and prints it out, I'm treating it to a toothy death.

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All right...so we got the Woman to put our old food back out, but in the spiffy new ceramic dishes. That was a nice feat, and she did cave easily, so I got to thinking--there must be more. We must torture her just a little longer, just to show her who's really in charge.

So we refused to eat. We wouldn't eat the new food (mixed with the old) in the spiffy new dishes, then we wouldn't eat the old food in the spiffy new dishes. She was all kinds of upset when we went all day Friday and most of Saturday without eating (well, we did accept treats), and the Man mused that perhaps we wanted our old metal dishes back.

Now, Saturday morning she decided that we felt bad after the shots and just couldn't get started eating again after feeling a little queasy, so she went out and bought salmon steaks for the Man to have for dinner, and for him to share with us. And she bought shrimp. SHRIMP!

She put our old food back into our old dishes, and then put the new dishes up on the counter, and the Man cooked the salmon. When he was done the Woman cut up almost an entire salmon steak and put it on two plates for us.

But we refused to eat it.

She was exasperated.

Then the Man said, "Well, wasn't it the salmon they wouldn't eat when they were getting canned food?" and the light bulb went off over her head. I could practically see the soft glow of glassy incandescence about 2 inches above her hair, and the word DUH throbbing in the middle of that bulb.

So...they cut up shrimp. Not just a little shrimp, but like 4 whole shrimps for each of us.

Okay, a guy can only hold out for so long. I would have to be half dead to pass up shrimp, and Buddah was hungry enough by then he wanted his share, too.

So we scarfed it down and the Woman felt all warm and fuzzy inside because they managed to get food inside us. And then the People talked about buying a few more metal dishes, and they'd just wash them a lot more. It was too bad the ceramic didn't pan out, but they were cheap, so it was all right.

Heh.

The Woman went to sit down, and I jumped up on the counter.

And I ate out of the spiffy new dishes.

Just because I could.

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The new food...it is Teh Suck. It sucketh so much that neither Buddah nor I have eaten since the Woman mixed some of it in with our old food. Last night she went to refill our dishes (new, ceramic, very shallow) and realized they were still full.

This morning they were still full, and we sat in front of them, staring forlornly at the two dishes full of suck. I was hungry; Buddah was hungry. But we were not eating that...stuff.

We are stubborn kitties, she knows that. So she dumped the new mixed up food and filled our spiffy new ceramic dishes with the old, and said "All right...you win. Food you won't eat isn't worth the money."

I could have told her that, but it's not like she would have listened to me. No, she listened to the stabby lady, who insulted me by hinting that I was fat, and then she wasted good money on sucky food.

I bet it was my money, too. You know the People wouldn't spend any of their money.

=sigh=

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Ha! I knew it! ZITS! It's just ZITS! IN YOUR FACE, PEOPLE!!!

Now...I was a very good kitty at the vet today, I figure I needed to set an example for Buddah. And we saw the nice lady stabby person, not the bald guy. I didn't even see him there, so I'm not sure what was up with that. I think maybe he was just afraid of the Magnificence of Max, and called in sick.

She looked at Buddah first, and he squirmed a little because he was trying to look around the room, but he didn't even holler when she stabbed him--TWICE.

She was a little afraid of the Magnificence of Max, too, because she wouldn't even let me out of my plastic tomb in the little room with the cold, hard table. She had another lady take me into the back room so she could have help looking at my zits and stabbing me THREE times. THREE! Like there was a penalty stab! I think it was retribution for pooping just as they were taking me out of my tomb.

Come on, I had to do it. A trip to the stabby place is not complete without a little Max poop. But since it was the nice stabby lady, I didn't go on a pooping rampage, I only let loose enough to remind them of my glory.

Oh, and then I peed in the tomb, so the people would have something to enjoy on the way home.

She's a nice lady, but she says I'm still fat, so we have a new food the People have to mix in with our regular food. Buddah's not fat but he is 15 pounds, and they don't want him to get fat, so he can eat the new food, too.

So...we're healthy, I have zits, and I am still the Poop-At-Will-King!

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Someone, hide me! The Woman went somewhere today on her rumbly bike and when she came back she smelled like the stabby place. And THEN I heard her tell the Man she "picked up Max's happy pill" so that can only mean that tomorrow they're taking me to the stabby place!

Oh, that steak the other night so totally does not make up for this! I bet that bald guy is going to shove things up my butt and he's going to stab me with needles, and then he'll make me really, really mad by looking at my zits.

FANDANGOIT, PEOPLE, IT'S ZITS, IT'S NOT FACE CANCER! Leave me alone!

I am not pooping tonight or tomorrow morning, just so I have enough on board to let the entire stabby place know exactly what I think of the whole thing.

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There was steak tonight! And I got a bite! Best thing yet, Buddah didn't get any! He was asleep upstairs and the People didn't call him down.

What bothers me is that the Woman mumbled something about "Remember this on Thursday," and that's never a good thing to hear.

I suspect something is gonna happen that will make me want to poop on someone's pillow...

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Oh man, I was so close...this morning while the Woman was reading the paper I jumped up on the counter and very quietly pulled open the drawer where the People keep the crunchy treats, and I almost had the bag out when she looked up and asked what I thought I was doing.

So I said, "Getting what you didn't get me. Duh." She got up and picked me up and put me on the floor, so I looked around and spotted a good crunchy treat substitute, so I jumped up on the table and started to open the package with my teeth, but she saw that, too and said, "We don't eat Oroes for breakfast."

Well, that idea was just gross. I didn't want to eat Oreo, I wanted a cookie. She took the package away and put it in the pantry.

Next time, I'm waiting until she's not around. But now I know I can totally get the crunchy treat drawer open, and we all know it doesn't take much effort to rip one open with sharp teeth. It's going to be Crunchy Treat Heaven.

Oh yeah.

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Man...there was no shrimp or real live fresh dead fish or even a can of tuna today. Just dry crunchy food. And some stuff I licked out of the sink.

I don't see ANYTHING good about this Friday...!

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Happiness is being the first one to really foul up a newly cleaned box filled with all-fresh litter.

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Happy St. Patrick's Day!

I think these people are looking for Skeezix...they want him to join their Mother's Milk team.



I think he'd be a fine addition!


May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind always be at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face,

and rains fall soft upon your fields.

And until we meet again,

May God hold you in the palm of His hand.


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First things first...I did receive a nice email from the blog owner so it's definitely over, and I hope that as she kitty blogs that we can welcome her 6 fur friends into cat blogosphere. Seriously. Getting to know new kitties is always a good thing.

And

TODAY IS BUDDAH'S THIRD BIRTHDAY!!!

Enuff!See how nice we were to each other?

Ok, this was after we played nicely with his presents. He got a little pink sock (well, 2 of them, and he let me play with one) from the Woman and the Man, and I gave him a crinkle sack.

Cool!He's not too sure about it yet, but he inspected it for a little bit...and then went and played with his little pink sock some more. I have to admit, the socks are kind of irresistible. Whatever crack the People filled them with, it's the good stuff.

There are more pictures at Flickr. And later there's going to be shrimp!

Tell ya what, if Buddah didn't have a good birthday, *I* sure enjoyed it!

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Buds...I very much appreciate how much you all had my back on this picture thing. I know some people (perhaps kitties, too) think I was making something big out of something little...and sure, in the grand scheme of things it was something little. It's not like someone had reached through my blog and stabbed me with a dirty poky finger that had been wedged up their nose; it was just a picture. And the blogger in question has taken all the kitty pictures down, and I am grateful for that.

So now...I think we oughta leave her alone. Maybe someday she'll come back with a real cat blog, and if she does I'll be happy to welcome her to the cat blog community, because we all do things that defy explanation once in a while.

Now, an explanation would have been nice, but none of my emails were even acknowledged. Still, a grudge is a terrible thing to carry, so since it's over, it's over. Does that make sense? I'm going to go on the assumption that she didn't realize it was not a nice thing to do, and let it go at that.

For the record, if anyone else wants to use my pictures for caption contests or even to just say "Lookit Max...why would he do this? CRACKHEAD!" that's cool. I don't mind stuff like that, and I am too beautiful to bypass sometimes*. It's imposterizing that bugs me.

Thanks for standing up for me. And for not pointing and laughing at my panties that were caught in a knot. I've taken them off now, and they're in the laundry.

*Yes I am! I am too THAT beautiful!!! Heh.

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Hmmm...This is bugging me...I got a link request and because I like adding new kitty blogs to my blogroll, I added it. But then I started looking at the page and realized MY picture is on it, as if I was one of the kitties blogging there. The picture been Photoshopped to remove my collar, but other tell tale signs show that it is definitely my picture. So then I started wondering if any of those other kitties pictured are actually a part of that blog or not. You might wanna go see for yourself,* to see if your picture is there on the sidebar. I emailed and asked about my picture, but I haven't really given them a chance to reply...but I can't think of a single good reason why they're using my image without my permission, especially without acknowledging that it's me. And why remove my collar??? It's really, really bugging me.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Buddah's birthday is in 2 days! Don't tell him, but I got him a present. And the Woman is making something for him. I hope there's shrimp, but I doubt it since he doesn't like t that much. But I can still hope.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Don't forget to ask me a question! Some of the ones I've already gotten are REALLY good!

*A trailing thought, in case the image gets removed before you can check for yourself...I captured it and saved it. I may be making a mountain out of a molehill, but... it's my picture so I'm gonna be pissy about it.

The original, sized down a little...


EDIT LATER: Now I'm really pissed off. They're trying to pass me off as a cat named Mindy. WTH???

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A Dog's Tale... or, The Longest Blog Post I've Ever Made

I'm going to tell you a story today. It's not about a kitty, which would be a fine thing to write about; it's about a woofy (as Buddah is apt to call them.) I don't know why I am telling you this story, other than that it's a true story, and it has a Golden Retriever, which is a fine kind of woofy to have, if you have to have a woofy. I used to have one named Hank, and the People still miss him, but this story is not about Hank, even though there are lots of nice Hank stories to tell.

Once upon a time, there was a man we'll call 2Tall, because he is very very tall, and he has a hard time finding pants that are long enough, so obviously he is too tall. 2Tall loves dogs; he had a yellow lab named Striker, but Striker met an unfortunate end when his collar got caught at the top of a six foot tall fence. No one knows why Striker tried to jump that fence, but 2Tall felt very bad about it for a very long time, and thought he would never have another dog as long as he lived.

Then a couple of years passed and he met A Girl and he fell in love and decided she was pretty spiffy, so he would give up his bachelor ways and not eat Trix and Ding Dongs every day. This was a very big deal, because he loved Trix and Ding Dongs, but she loved vegetables, so he was going to eat vegetables. She had a cat that did not care much for him, and he did not care much for the cat because the cat would sneak under the blankets and bite him in places he should not be bitten. The cat's name was Trubble, and he agreed she was well named.

2Tall had known the Woman (my Woman) since they were both Medium Sticky People. He told the Woman all about Trubble, and she laughed at him because, frankly, it's funny when someone else's fun parts are getting bit by a kitty. The Woman also knew that 2Tall really missed having a dog, so she spoke to 2Tall's Wife, and said "His birthday is coming up, and another friend and I would like to get him a dog."

2Tall's Wife thought that was a fine idea, so the Woman and her friend Sandy pooled their pennies together and bought him a puppy. THis was about the time that the Man (mine) had kidney stones, so in honor of his friends and his friend's owie, 2Tall named the puppy "Sandy'n'Thump's Stoner." But he called the puppy Stoner for short.

Stoner was a smart puppy, smarter than the average dog. That was apparent right from the beginning. 2Tall liked to run for no reason other than running itself, which seems kind of odd to me since running just makes you tired and hungry. Soon Stoner was running with 2Tall, and every day after work 2Tall would say "Run, Stoner!" and Stoner would fetch his leash so that they could go on a long run together, like 20 miles, or maybe just 5.

Stoner also learned how to open the refrigerator. If you said "Stoner, Coke!" Stoner would run to the fridge and open it, grab a can from the bottom shelf--you couldn't be too picky about what you actually got because Stoner never did learn how to read--and bring it back to you. Sometimes Stoner would open the fridge even when no one asked him to, so his people learned that it was not a good idea to put steak or other doggy temptations on the bottom shelf.

Not too long after Stoner mastered running and Coke fetching, 2Tall and his wife had a baby boy. We'll call him Sticky One, because they are awfully sticky for the first eight or ten years. When Sticky One was tiny, Stoner learned that "Back five" meant he had to take five steps away from Sticky One, and he was only allowed closer than that when 2Tall or his wife was right there. He did not mind, and when Sticky One was awake he sat and watched the baby. When Sticky One was a little older and learning to crawl, Stoner was not asked to "back five" because they knew he would be very very gentle.

In fact, Stoner was so gentle that he would let Sticky One grab his fur and hold onto it as he learned to stand up. He didn't cry when Sticky One pulled his ears or his tail. And as Sticky One got older, Stoner kept watch over him all the time, even when 2Tall and his wife had other sticky little people. When Sticky One started school, Stoner waited by the front door or on the porch, so that he would be sure to see him when he came home, so they could play together in the back yard. Sticky One loved to throw the ball for Stoner, and Stoner always brought it back. Then when 2Tall came home they would go for a run while Sticky One did homework, then they played again after dinner.

He knew his job: he had to make sure that 2Tall ran every day, and he had to make sure that Sticky One got outside for fresh air every day, and it was up to him to make sure the other sticky people got to play, too. He watched over them carefully, and did not let anyone else near the yard when they were outside playing. He took his job very seriously, because he loved it so much.

One day 2Tall's Wife took Trubble outside and was gone for a long time, and when she came home Trubble was not with her. She was crying, so Stoner didn't sit at the door waiting for Sticky One, he thought it was more important to lay his head on her lap, and hopefully she would feel better. He knew where Trubble was, and wanted her to understand it was all right. Trubble was happy where she was, and would wait for him when it was his turn.

As the years went past, the Sticky One grew very tall, almost as tall as 2Tall. His sister was not as tall, and his brother was very much not tall, but they were happy and fun and Stoner loved them all, but most off all he loved 2Tall and Sticky one. 2Tall still liked to go for long runs, but Stoner found himself slowing down. 2Tall slowed down for him, but after some time he admitted that perhaps Stoner was just too old to keep running. One day he asked hopefully, "Stoner, run?" but Stoner did not go get his leash, so 2Tall told him that was all right. He had run for thousands of happy miles and he deserved to rest.

He still played in the yard with Sticky One, but he didn't like to chase the ball quite as much. He liked to lay there and watch as Sticky One and his little brother threw the ball back and forth, and was quite content in his leisure.

Then one day 2Tall said "Stoner, car!" and Stoner knew that it was not a request. Everyone was getting in the car, so he padded over and waited for someone to help him get into the back seat. He could do it himself, but he thought that at his age, he deserved some help. Sticky Person lifted all 75 pounds of him, and helped him get settled onto the back seat.

Stoner was not happy when they pulled up to the Stabby Place. Nothing good every happens there, and he did not want to go inside. "It's all right," 2Tall said to him. "You're only getting a checkup. Not even shots." (I know what you're thinking, but don't worry, it was not That Visit to the stabby place.) So Stoner sighed and got out of the car, and wandered inside with the whole family. Sticky Person promised him it would be fine, and afterwards they were going to go for a picnic. Stoner was going to get a whole hamburger for himself!

That sounded mighty fine to Stoner, so he crawled onto the scale to be weighed, and let the stabby guy look in his ears and eyes, and didn't struggle when his mouth was pryed open. He took all the poking and prodding like a man, because, after all, that's what he was. Stoner was a Man dog, a gentleman dog.

When he left the stabby room the rest of his people were oohing and ahhh-ing over a box, so he wandered over to see what they were looking at. He peered inside the box, and there was a little yellow puppy, not much bigger than a sneeze, or at least what Stoner imagined a sneeze would lok like if he could only see one. The puppy was squealing and squirmning, and working hard to get out of the box.

"He's the last one," Stoner heard a strange woman saying. "We're moving, so the vet is keeping him until a home could be found."

Stoner looked back at the puppy. He knew what might happen if there was never a home found for the little guy. This was a happy puppy, and probably pretty smart. He heard the man say "I had a dog just like him once." The puppy yipped, and Stoner put his head further into the box to let the puppy lick him, which made Sticky One's sister giggle. Stoner could feel the idea begin in his head. He was too old to run with 2Tall anymore, and he couldn't play with the sticky people as much as he liked, but he still had a few years left, he was sure of it. And in those few years he could probably steach a puppy a whole lot of things about making a person happy.

2Tall said "Stoner, car!" and Stoner knew he had to work fast. He grabbed the edge of the box between his teeth and began to walk backwards, pulling the puppy along with him.

The sticky people laughed, and 2Tall said, "He's not a toy, Stoner," but Stoner knew. He knew what his people did not. He pulled harder, trying with all his might to get the box out to the car, because once the box was in the car, they had no choice.

"Stoner," 2Tall said, "car!"

He had never disobeyed 2Tall before. Not once, not since he learned how to undertsand. He didn't want to make his master upset, but it was time for him to learn to understand, too. Stoner got a new grip on the box, and pulled even harder.

"2Tall," his wife said, "I think he wants the puppy."

"For what? Dinner?"

Everyone laughed, so Stoner knew he was not in trouble. He stuck his head in the box and licked the puppy on top of the head, and then looked up at Sticky One. If anyone would understand, it would be him. He whimpered, then grabbed the box with his teeth again.

"Dad, Sticky One said seriously, "I think he really does want the puppy."

2Tall knelt down and looked at the little yellow puppy, and grinned when it yelped at him. Then he looked at Stoner. "You really want a puppy, Big Guy?" he asked. Then he looked at his wife, and said hopefully, "He is awfully cute. And I could use a new jogging partner."

"Stoner wants to be a daddy!" Sticky One's sister giggled.

2Tall's wife was smiling. She said it might not be the best idea to adopt a dog on impulse, but sometimes you have to do what's right, and it sure seemed like that little yellow furball was the right thing to do.

The puppy's woman said it would make her very, very happy to know that he was going to a very good home, where he would have a Daddy puppy and kids to play with. If they gave the puppy a home, he would never have to live in a cage at the stabby place, and we all know the stabby place is no place for a kitty or puppy or even a hamster to have to live.

So instead of going on a picnic, they went to a pet store where they bought a new bed and toys and puppy food. Stoner sat on the seat, looking down at the puppy, whose box had been placed on the floor behind the front seat, since they didn't have a PTU for him. Then they went home and let the puppy out of the box in the back yard in case he needed to take care of bizness, hoping he would get the right idea from Stoner.

Stoner showed the puppy where to pee, and where to do other bizness, and then he barked and ran, inviting the puppy to chase him.

"Look at that," 2Tall said. "He's running."

Stoner ran and jumped and bounded with the new puppy, dodging out of the way when the little guy tried to run right into him (which earned him the name "Tank" because he's always trying to run things over) and when the puppy was tired they curled up on the back porch to watch the sticky people play. 2Tall and his wife sat in chairs near them, sometimes watching their sticky people play, sometimes watching the dogs curled up together.

They did not talk about how old Stoner was, or that someday, someday sooner than they would like, he would go off to the Rainbow Bridge where he would find Trubble. They did not dwell on Stoner's graying face, his years painted in bright speckles against his rust colored fur. They did not think about anything other than how happy Stoner seemed, and wondered if he would teach his new puppy to open the refrigerator, and if he would be upset if Sticky One got close to Tank.

Stoner spends his days now playing with his puppy, and while he doesn't go for long runs with 2Tall, he romps in the back yard and barks his enthusiasm when Sticky One throws a ball for the little furball. He can enjoy himself now, because he knows he's prepared his people for That Inevitable Day by making sure they have someone else to wrap their hearts around. He thinks he has a few good years left, maybe as much as 3 or 4, and by then Tank will be grown and will know all he needs to know.


And that's the story of Stoner, a very smart dog, and someone we should admire even though he barks and sheds and poops in the back yard. Once in a while he leaves a comment and calls himself "Some Wandom Woofy" and that makes me laugh. Or it would, if I could actually laugh.

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Okay, I'm finally getting the Woman to stop spending so much time on her own book so she can help me with mine. Like I did in the last book I want to have a chapter where I answer questions, because I am that smart and I'm pretty sure I have an answer for everything.

So help me out! Ask me a question! Send your questions to askthepsychokitty@gmail.com...Sign the email in the way you want your name to appear in the book, and remember, if you send in a question that's the same as giving me permission to use it!

I can't wait to see what you guys ask... Heh.

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=snork=

Chicka sent this to the Woman. She says "typical cats" but *I* say, sucks to be the human!



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Tonight the Woman opened a whole new bag of food and filled out dishes, and as we were scarfing it down--because it is REALLY good--she muttered, "I bought the wrong freaking food."

How? How is it possible that something that tastes this good is WRONG?

I think when she was horking up her toenails, some of her brain cells came out, too.

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The Woman isn't feeling so hot, so Buddah and I are taking turns laying on her and purring really hard. It's tough work, since she doesn't always lie still and seems to think she needs to roll over every now and then. She's feeling better than she did yesterday (I don't think Buddah's ever seen a barfing person before...he was fascinated) but she just mentioned going back to bed, and I think it's my turn to purr on her since Buddah took the 4 a.m. shift...

I bet she doesn't even appreciate our hard work. People just never seem to realize what we do for them.