I Do Not Think That Word Means What You Think It Means

I spent most of yesterday at Green M&M’s house doing laundry.  We have a long-standing arrangement, that might some day be explained in another post, where I come over to her house every other Saturday to do my laundry (the machines in my duplex cost $2.00 per load per machine) and it gives us an opportunity to hang out together.  I like it ’cause it’s a more convenient way to do my laundry (really) and it guarantees we will hang out, without having to put much thought into it or spend a lot of money.

Yesterday was our “anniversary” of sorts.  We don’t really have an anniversary, but the first time we saw each other socially, was when I invited her to come over for dinner and to watch a movie, 10 years ago.  I was new to the Bay Area and didn’t have any friends and we’d gotten to know each other at work and become friends.  I invited her over and it didn’t dawn on me until she showed up at my door-step with flowers (Tulips, which happen to be my favorites) that it was in fact Valentine’s Day.

We went to lunch at Applebee’s.  My food wasn’t what I’d hoped for but we had fun anyway.  Then we went to Target for some brief shopping.  We went back to her apartment, I did my laundry, we watched Transformers, and had Surf and Turf for dinner.  I was home by 11:00 much to Scared Kitty’s delight.  (He hadn’t been fed since I left him twelve hours earlier.)

menu_sweet_corn_tamale_cakesToday we went to The Cheesecake Factory.  I’d heard the hosts of my favorite morning radio show talking about it earlier this week and I was craving it after that.  It’s been pouring rain since the middle of last night and I really expected Green M&M to tell me she didn’t want to go, but she showed up at my house at noon as planned.  It’s an eighteen mile drive to the nearest Cheesecake Factory and we got there just in time to wait for thirty  minutes for a table.  A year and a half ago I was introduced to the Sweet Corn Tamale Cakes and was astonished at how completely delicious they were.  Don’t be fooled by what you see in this picture!  Each of these tamale cakes is four inches in diameter and piled high with fixin’s!  They are listed on the appetizer menu, but they are more than sufficient as a meal!  Especially if you want to have Cheesecake later!  Even still, I eat the tamale cakes at the restaurant and bring cheesecake home for later!

Looking forward to the Sweet Corn Tamale Cakes all week, I didn’t even need to look at the menu when we were seated.  I knew what I wanted!

You know how sometimes you build something up in your head as being so tremendously wonderful?   You know how sometimes when you actually get that thing, it can’t compare to the build-up in your mind?  😦  That’s what happened today.  This was the fourth or fifth consecutive visit in which the Sweet Corn Tamale Cakes have been my entree, but this time, they just didn’t measure up.  Such a disappointment!  Cest la vie!  It was probably just a fluke.

Green M&M was born on St. Patrick’s Day and she wanted to go into the mall to look for St. Patrick’s Day t-shirts and buy a birthday gift for her Step-sister who’s birthday just passed.  While we were in one of a department stores I saw this:  p-640-480-38ae9513-9345-4b03-80a1-8734653408a4.jpeg

Notice the tag:  “Floor Ready Date: 2/13”.  Today is the 15th.  Somehow I don’t think this is what they meant!

The drive home was quite exciting.  Torrential rain left visibilities at just a few hundred yards.  Interstate 580 West bound between Pleasanton and Oakland is not a terribly fun stretch to drive in the first place, but with the bad conditions it’s even worse.  Driving 55 miles per hour and white nucklin’ it all the way.  I was starting to relax as we got closer to my exit when suddenly there was a sea of red lights ahead of me.  Fortunately, I was able to get off the highway before I got to the stand-still so I didn’t actually see what happened.  I can only assume a major accident.  Somebody had a bad day.  I’ve been there.  Glad it wasn’t me.

I drove the last six miles home on city streets I did not know, following the instructions of Gidget the gadget (that’s what I call my GPS system.  I figure any woman who gets to boss me around oughta have a name!)  But I made it home, safe and sound, all in one piece with no dings or dents and none the worse for the wear…  Except for the three different pieces of cheesecake in my fridge.  I never can decide on just one when I’m there.

Prayers for A Drunk

Today has been a bit of a mixed bag of feelings and somehow I don’t think it’s done yet.

As a part of my efforts to reclaim control of my life I made the conscious decision to go to bed at “a reasonable time” (is 11:30 a reasonable time?) last night so that I could get up at “a reasonable time” (is 7:30 a reasonable time?) this morning.  My routine tardiness at work has not gone unnoticed and has gotten quite a bit worse in recent months as my general motivation to attend has been dismal at best.  Part of the problem, I realized is that I have a hard time getting up early enough in the mornings.  So I thought it wise to attempt to adhere to the recommendations of so many “experts” and try stick to a regular sleep schedule, even on the weekends.  Now, I’ll grant you that sleeping from 11:30 to 7:30 is probably not the best sleep schedule to have when you work a theoretically 8-5 job, but since I’ve been getting out of bed between 7:30 and 8:00 for the last few weeks it seems wise to start rolling that schedule back at a gradual pace.

At any rate, I was feeling pretty good about myself and my decision to work on my sleep schedule and when my second alarm, on the other side of the room went off at 7:00 this morning, I only snoozed it three separate times before I forced myself not to get back in bed when I turned it off.  I put on my robe, (it’s much too cold for my not at all uncommon state of undress that often meets my mornings) and went for my morning pee, after which I went into the kitchen to feed a very demanding Scared Kitty.  He still had a bit of food in his bowl from last night but if you ever needed a lesson in how to act as if you’re starving, Scared Kitty would be an excellent coach. grand-marnier After feeding his royal highness, I went on to make myself a pot of coffee and sort out breakfast.  I finally decided on the Gladware bowl of orange segments I had in the refrigerator.  The segments are lefter over after using the peels to start my own batch of homemade Grand Marnier last weekend, for which I found a recipe a few weeks back.  It takes seven weeks and I’m not really all that optimistic about the outcome but I thought it would be fun to give it a shot,  you should pardon the pun.

I brought my carafe of coffee and my bowl of orange pieces into the living room, sat down in my recliner, threw a blanket over my legs and propped my feet up to watch some television.  My DVR tends to build up during the week and I try to clear it back out on the weekends so I don’t get too far behind.  Three episodes of the much maligned and barely watched General Hospital, one episode of Ghost Whisperer, five episodes of The Click List: Best in Short Film, and a misnamed movie all awaited my attention.

Natalia Livingston

Natalia Livingston

Tyler Christopher

Tyler Christopher

I actually just started recording General Hospital again this week after many months of freedom because Green M&M told me there’s some weird event happening at the beginning of each episode that I wanted to investigate and because I read that Natalia Livingston, who played Emily Quartermaine for several years until she was murdered about a year ago in a “very dramatic” story line, has returned to the show but supposedly not as Emily Quartermaine.  Her character has not really been explained yet, but whoever she is, she does seem to have a considerable fascination with Nikolas Cassadine, played by Tyler Christopher, not that I can blame her.

Since I’m on the subject, while looking for a good picture of Tyler to include here, I happened across this rather unexpected gem:


Anyway, I don’t watch very much of General Hospital because I’m really not all that interested in most of the characters and I don’t want to get sucked back in, therefore I was able to watch all three episodes pretty quickly.

Jennifeir Love Hewitt

Jennifer Love Hewitt

Then it was on to Ghost Whisperer.  I enjoy this show and I have been a fan of Jennifer Love Big Tits– er, Hewitt since she first showed up on Party of Five.  I’m a bit tired of the current, on-going story line, since they killed Jim off and his spirit is now inhabiting the body of another man who died and crossed over.  But I’m still watching… for now.

The Click List: Best in Short Film doesn’t show episode descriptions in the on-screen guide and I think I may have seen all of the current shorts, but I record it anyway, just in case something new comes across.  I “watch” that on four times fast forward and there was nothing new so I was done with that in five minutes.  And that left me with just the misnamed movie.

The play list in my DVR said the movie was called “The Killer Condom”, but the movie that was actually aired in that time slot turned out to be “Dead Serious.”  If you haven’t seen it, I strongly encourage you not to.  It’s about vampires and it’s lame as all get out, but had a sexy hero so I watched it anyway.  Two hours of my life I’ll never get back.

When the movie was over it was only 11:00 and I decided to go out and get my shopping done early.  I made a list of things I needed and wanted from Target and the grocery.  I also needed cat food and gasoline.  With my list made, I hopped in the shower and then got dressed to head out.  I decided to take a second look at my finances before I left and it’s a good thing I did.  I just got paid yesterday but I have to pay my rent and car insurance and after those things happen I only have about $185.00 for the next two weeks.

So much for my positive feelings about myself and my new leaf of better money management.  Yes, I’m essentially up to date with my bills and my rent and car insurance are important, but I was starting to feel like I had things more under control and I wasn’t gong to be hurting for money and then this realization.  I went back over the list and eliminated everything I didn’t need and pared my trip down to just the grocery store.  I forgot about the gas station and the cat food and now those will have to wait for another day, but I spent $90.00 at the grocery and put $40.00 walking around money in my pocket (I only had $5.00 before that.)

I also sent a text message to Green M&M and canceled our plans to go into San Francisco tomorrow.  Wheeler Dealer Landlady lives in The Haight and I have a couple pieces of mail for her so I thought I’d go in and drop those off along with my February rent check and then we could go and play after.  Now I realize I do not have any money for that and it reminds me that I’m not really so well off after all.  Now I’m going to have to spend the next two weeks trying not to spend any money.  I’ve got $50.00 left in the bank that isn’t already spent on paper, and I have to get food for Scared Kitty and gas for the vehicle with that.  I may have to use a credit card (which I’m trying to pay off) for one or both of those things and I hate that idea, but I guess it’s better than having my account overdrawn again.

As soon as I hit publish on this post, I’m going to put the computer down and watch the Lifetime movie Prayers for Bobby.  I made up my mind to watch this movie after I read an article about it in the most recent issue of The Advocate, however, I suspect, unfortunately, that this movie will be difficult for me to watch as, from what I already know about it, I would expect to be able to relate to it pretty closely.  I too, am the son of a “devout” woman who is convinced that to be gay is to be damned.  It’s an issue that is very difficult for me and it wouldn’t really surprise me to find that the movie is a hard pill to swallow.  I guess it’s time to find out.

Who Needs You, Baby


Scared Kitty

A few months back, we had a little health scare with Scared Kitty.  He turned out to be ok, but the doctor recommended that I switch him from dry food to canned food.  An idea which Scared Kitty was only too happy to go along with.

The first week or so, I used regular spoons out of my silver wear drawer to scoop out and chop up the food I was feeding him, but I decided that I needed to get some spoons specifically for this purpose so I wouldn’t be using up my human spoons supply on the cat food endeavor, so I  bought a six pack of toddler spoons at Target just for this purpose.

Today I was at Target again and I stopped in the baby section to look for more spoons, not sure if I really needed to buy more of them (I did not), and for a moment, while looking at all the baby supplies, bottles, sippy cups, bibs, utencils, etc., the thought crossed my mine, “Awww…  maybe I want a baby.”

Ten minutes later, I was in the video section and walked down what I liked to call the, “Kill Me Now” aisle.  You know the one.  It’s the aisle where on one side are all the Disney movies ever made, each for sale for $19.99 a piece, never to go on sale because they know that you’ll make the mistake of taking your child down that aisle and the child will see, “Disney’s Princesses on Crystal Meth” and your own little princess (who may or may not someday be on Crystal Meth) will grab the DVD case and beg you, “Daddy, Daddy, can I have the Crystal Meth Movie?  Can I Daddy?  Can I, please, Please?  PPPPLLLLLEEEEAAAASSSSSEEEEEUH?” and they know that the only way to get your precious little future crack head to shut up is if you agree to buy the movie, no matter what the cost.

And on the other side of the aisle is all the educational type videos.  Little Einstein, and Elmo and (God forbid) Barney.  The “Kill me now” aisle, otherwise known as the “Birth Control Aisle”, not because you buy Condoms and spermicidal jellies there, but because one trip down this aisle reminds you that you never want to procreate, ever, EVER in your life.

Yes, I looked at the babby aisle and thought, “Awww….  maybe I want a baby.”  And then I walked down the “Kill Me Now” aisle, took one look at a Hannah Montanna video cover and said, “Nope!  No!  I don’t!  No baby for me, thank you!”

Shaking Things Up

I’ve never really claimed to be clairvoyant or to otherwise have ESPN, but from time to time things happen where I feel like I could predict the future.

Actually, I should take a step back.  When I was a child of roughly 11 years old we had an event at our family church.  There was a traveling minister that the pastor had brought in, and on the last night of his little conference, he asked for the parents to let him pray over their children before we were sent off to the children’s services for the evening.  I choose not to make a statement one way or the other about my beliefs of what this man had to offer.  It would be an entirely separate post unto itself.  But suffice it to say that I do not imagine that he was a complete quack, though perhaps took some things over board.

“I’d like for the children to line up here, in the front of the auditorium,” he said, “and I’ll hold my hand over them and pray for them.  If the Lord gives me a special message for or about any of them I’ll share that.”

We all went to the front of the church as asked and lined up for him to pray for us.  As I recall it, and we’ve already established that my memory is less than exact, he held his hand above our heads, one by one and praying for us alternately in tongues and in English.  There were six or eight children before me, two of whom were the pastors children, but nothing happened with any of them.  And then he came to me.  And he froze.  And he said, “The gift of prophesy.  God has given the gift of prophesy to this young man.”

Boy, was I excited at the prospect of being able to predict the future.  What a wonderful gift, i thought.  Naturally, Vengeful Mother was right there to shit on it.

“It’ll only happen if you stay in the church and honor God’s will.”  She might as well have said the rest of what she was thinking, “in the way that I see fit.

For years after that I lived with the simultaneous thrill of possibly being able to “predict” the future, and the fear of not measuring up to God’s (Vengeful Mother‘s) expectations.  Eventually, I reached a point of not wanting the gift if I had to “be good enough” for it.  I wanted to be “good enough” just the way I was.  I found myself being unwilling, or afraid to experience this “gift of the spirit”.  And yet, in the back of my mind, I repeatedly heard this minister, “God has given the gift of prophesy to this young man.”  The minister didn’t mention any conditions.  Just “God has given….”

I’ve experienced a lot of instances where I felt like “I’ve been here before.” or “I’ve seen this before.”  Lot’s of people would tell you , “Oh that’s just deja vu.  It happens to everybody.  Here’s the biochemical explanation for that….”  But to me, it doesn’t just feel like “Oh it’s just deja vu.”  It feels like more than that.  It feels like more than just an after-image, or a synapse misfire.  It feels real.  It feels like something I already knew about. And, it’s happened a few times.

Nearly ten years ago, Vengeful Mother, told me about a car accident that the parents (married for over 50 years) of D-Lite‘s (Vengeful Mother‘s best friend’s) husband had been in.  They were both left in comas immediately following the accident.  The husband of the couple died of internal injuries a few hours after they’d been admitted to the hospital and the wife was still in a coma but had broken both of her legs and was really banged up, but was expected to live.

I asked Vengeful Mother, “What do you think will happen when she wakes up?”

“What do you mean?” VM asked me.

“Well,” I said, “I know that this is kind of mellow-dramatic, but I know it’s been known to happen where people in a situation like this are heartbroken over their loss and end up dying for no reason other than that.”

VM expressed that she couldn’t answer to that and we’d just have to wait and see.  Two days later, when I got to work, I got an e-mail from VM that said something along the lines of, “You have always been very spiritually attuned, even if we don’t really realize it until later on…  D-Lite‘s Mother-in-law woke up from her coma yesterday afternoon.  After they confirmed that she was relatively stable, they informed her of her husband’s death.  Shortly before midnight she went to sleep.  She never woke up.”  There was some mention of her not wanting to go on without her husband.

In that instance, I didn’t even realize I’d had that certain sensation, but I did, in fact, know that this would happen.  Over the years I have had hit and miss experiences to help me learn to trust that feeling.

Most recently was the morning I woke up having dreamed that my Grandfather had died and about the result of his death.  I hoped I’d be wrong and as the time wore on, I began to feel like maybe I was wrong, and then I got the call.  Fifteen hours after I woke up from my dream, I was informed that Papa had just died.  I had known it would happen.  I wanted to be wrong, but I knew it would happen and I wasn’t surprised when I was informed.

I woke up yesterday morning, with one of those feelings.  It’s been nearly 48 hours since I had the dream and things are looking up…

But, the night, before last, I dreamt, that at some point, during the day whilst I was away from my home, the Bay Area was rocked by a six point something earthquake.  In my dream the shaking lasted more than 30 seconds, which, for those who aren’t familiar, usually guarantees considerable damage.  For instance the Loma Prieta Earthquake of 1989 was a magnitude 6.9 and lasted only 15-20 seconds but did billions of dollars worth of damage.

Now I don’t say there WILL BE an earthquake of such significance anytime soon.  I certainly had no indication in the dream of what the date and time was.  I just know that I woke up from the dream feeling apprehensive and relieved, because while the earthquake was serious and real in my dream, here was a minimal amount of damage done…  At least in my own world.  I can’t actually speak for the Bay Area as a whole.

At any rate, I didn’t write this to be alarmist, I don’t expect anyone to believe it.  I’m not sure I believe it myself.  I said that over the years I’d learned to trust that feeling.  That may be an overstatement.  Over the years I’ve learned not to discount that feeling.  So. I hope I’m wrong, and I probably am, but in the meantime, every time I feel a shake, every time I hear an odd rumble, I’m looking up.  I’m checking fluid levels in bottles and glasses for vibration.  I’m checking my hanging Philodendron, “Phil,” for sway.  And I’m watching the surest barometer of all, Scared Kitty who will freeze in place, and then coming running for comfort and safety.  I check all these things to make sure I’m imagining it all.

Eventually, the feeling will subside.  I’ll lower my defenses…  And that ultimately, will be the point of no return, the point when the next big earthquake will hit.  Until then, I just wait for my premonition, to be proved.  It has to happen eventually, right?

Just Like Riding a Bike

I wasn’t very good at sex, and if you don’t believe me I’m sure “She” will agree with me. There were certainly some mitigating circumstances, like chemically induced erection rejection and anatomical disinterest that was yet to be detected. I’d like to think that if and when I get another chance, WITH A DUDE, that will change.

But the phrase “It’s just like riding a bike” took on a whole new meaning to me yesterday.

Thanks to the time change, I managed to wake up before noon on a Sunday. More importantly, I woke up before what would have been noon even if the time change hadn’t happened. I decided this was a good time to go out and blow the dust off the bicycle I bought more than a month ago with the intention of getting my sorry ass out for some much needed exercise. I got up, had some breakfast, fed Scared Kitty got dressed and went out to the bike. I took the bike down to the street, hopped on and started peddling… badly.

I haven’t been on a non-stationary bike, in more than 20 years so this turned out to be a much more difficult proposition than you might expect. It became apparent that my tires were under inflated (Even though I inflated them when I bought the bike) and that my seat was too low (I was kneeing myself in the chest with each revolution.) I only rode one time around the block and nearly got myself killed twice.

This is a 21 speed bike which I selected mostly based on the scientific conclusion that it’s orange and I like orange. But I have never been on a bike with “speeds” before. My last bike was a red and silver BMX bike and I was half my weight and two feet shorter then. Anyway, this bike has 21 speeds and I don’t have a clue what “speed” I should start off with and I’m pretty sure I was getting too much speed/distance with each revolution of peddling and I had a lot of trouble controlling my speed (not unlike with sex.) I made a wide turn that almost ran me into a curb (not unlike sex) (OK, even I don’t know what that means.)

When I turned the next corner I turned out in front of an on coming car that almost took me out. By the time I got back to my house I was done! I carried the bike back up to my locked porch, inflated the tires some more, raised the seat and called it a day. I was exhausted and drenched in sweat after only a few short minutes of effort – not unlike— Well you get the idea.


Well, it would be interesting to know how many people read this post JUST BECAUSE IT’S CALLED “Poop”.

When I spoke to Scared Kitty‘s Doctor on Friday he told me to give SK the weekend and see if he has a bowel movement.  IF he does, than he’s pretty much fine (Thank God!) and if not to give them a call and bring him back in.

Well, when I woke up on Saturday morning, there it was, like a sacred golden chalice, or the Holy Grail (I guess technically those are the same things, huh?) right in the middle of the couch cushion.  One single, solitary, tiny turd.  I didn’t even care that it was on the couch!

It was one week to the day since his last bowel movement and I was starting to worry again that maybe he wasn’t ok after all, but he gave me “the sign” if you will.

We’re still working on full recovery.  He doesn’t eat a whole lot.  While his evil plan to get himself canned food has worked like a charm, he still is only eating about one 3 oz can a day (which means lots of expensive canned food is being thrown out – none to happy about that) but it’s a start.

All Part of My Evil Plan

My name is Scared Kitty. I’m told I’m “16 years” old. I like that number better. As far as I know I’m 56 cat years old.

Finally, my evil plan has come together.

When I was just a wee Scared Kitty I was introduced to the joy that is wet cat food. My Daddy has always fed me dry food. I like it when it’s a freshly opened bag. Daddy has to parse it out to me a little at a time, though, or I’ll eat too much, too fast. Then I go and barf it on the couch, or the carpeted part of the floor (I wonder if that’s why there’s no carpet where we live now?) or on a bed. That part’s not so much fun, but the food sure tastes good.

Anyway, 39 cat years ago, my Aunt was really fat. I mean, she was REALLY fat! She had this big ole belly that used to swing back and forth when she’d walk, and it almost dragged on the floor. When I was new in the house, I used to like to play with my Aunt and Uncle. Uncle Muppet was really grumpy. He’d grunt and growl at me and sometimes he’d bat at my head and run away. Aunt Miss Kitty though, she was more fun. Mostly she was just too fat to run away so she’d just plop down on the floor and take it. I’d pounce on her and bite her neck and she’d just sigh and wait till Daddy or Vengeful Grandma yelled at me and made me go for time out. They didn’t know it but I did it on purpose. I was sleepy and needed a nap but I was trying to hide it. I’d jump on Aunt Miss Kitty and they’d make me go in my Daddy’s room and they’d close the door. I’d take a quick cat nap (I wonder why they call it that?) and then I’d be ready to come out and be good for a while.

Well, finally Vengeful Grandma decided that Aunt Miss Kitty was too fat so she put her on a diet. She made Aunt Miss Kitty eat this funny food that was supposed to make her loose weight, but she didn’t really like it. I guess it musta been really nasty because she would always throw it up after she ate. Pretty soon Vengeful Grandma gave up on the idea and let Aunt Miss Kitty come back to eating the same old stuff as me and Uncle Muppet. It was weird though, ‘cause all of a sudden she didn’t really like that food either. Pretty soon she just stopped eating all together.

Vengeful Grandma got nervous and took Aunt Miss Kitty to the mean ole doctors (sure was glad I didn’t have to go.) They said she was allergic to something they called “fillers”. Don’t know what that means. I think all food is filling if you eat enough of it. Anyway, they said that she couldn’t eat the stuff me and Uncle Muppet were eating, anymore. They gave her some fancy shmancy stuff that was supposed to be sooo much better than what we were eatin’. Pfft. Whatever. Joke was on them. She didn’t eat that stuff either. It did get kinda scary though. Pretty soon Aunt Miss Kitty was so skinny you could count her ribs… I mean, you could if you knew your numbers.

Vengeful Grandma went away for a couple days. They said my Aunt CPA Sis did something exciting. College Graduation? Who wants College? I think you have to leave the house for that. Ewww. But it was a big deal to Vengeful Grandma so everybody packed up, including Aunt Miss Kitty (but not Uncle Muppet and me) and left. I heard Aunt Miss Kitty didn’t actually go with them. I heard she had to go stay with the mean Doctor.  Yikes! Don’t really know what happened, but I heard she went a little bonkers when the nurse opened a can of wet food to purée and put in Aunt Miss Kitty’s tummy.

When everybody came home, something wonderful happened. Vengeful Grandma started feeding this fancy new wet food to Aunt Miss Kitty. It smelled sooo good. I don’t know what a venison is but I sure smelled tasty. Only thing is, they wouldn’t let me have it. She didn’t seem so interested with it to me. She still wanted to eat my food. So Vengeful Grandma decided we had to eat at specific times. Uncle Muppet and me would eat in Daddy’s bedroom with the door closed and Aunt Miss Kitty ate in Vengeful Grandma’s room. Every day at six and six we would go in our rooms and eat. It was pretty awesome though, ‘cause Aunt Miss Kitty never quite finished her food. When they’d let me outta Daddy’s room, I’d go straight to her bowl and eat whatever venison was left. Mmmm. Yum!

Well, 30 cat years ago, the rug was pulled out from under me. Mean ole, Aunt CPA Sis stuck me in a bag with windows and took me outta the house. They took me on a long ride in the car. I hate that. But then they took me to this loud scary place, and on a thing that made my ears hurt. And when it was all over I was in a weird place, but my Daddy was there. After a week, Vengeful Grandma and Aunt CPA Sis left, but they didn’t take me with them. Ever since then it’s been nothing but dry food, and it’s always there. Even when it’s not six.

Well, it’s been 30 cat years but I finally figured out my evil plan. I stopped eating. I didn’t really drink enough water. I started barfing a lot. Pretty soon there was nothin’ in the barf but water. Daddy got worried. I guess my fur was lookin’ pretty shabby. Daddy brushed me and got a whole bunch of hair off me. He said it looked like something called a trouble—triple—Tribble? Don’t know. I still didn’t look too good though and I was kinda pooped for a while after that. Daddy calls it evening crazies, but I just call it running around a little nuts. Whatever you call it, I didn’t have the energy for it anymore.

Then my evil plan backfired a little. Once day last week, Daddy came home and brought that bag up. He took me to another mean ole Doctor. He pulled on my eye lids and tried to make me open my mouth. He squeezed my tummy and my back. He put a cold round thing on my sides. They said he was listening to my heart, but I don’t see how. His ears weren’t anywhere near me! And then he stuck a thing in my butt and then said my temperature was low.

They took some blood and made me pee in a cup and put some water in my back ‘cause they said I was dehydr—dehide—I needed water. Daddy looked worried when he took me home.

It was a kinda long week-end and he kept giving me something called baby-food. Don’t know what baby in its right mind would eat that stuff. It’s icky. But it all paid off. Last night?!? Last night, Daddy came home with some of that yummy wet food and I went to town! Good stuff!!! He says I get that from now on, so I guess my evil plan worked after all!

Genius! Sheer Evil Genius!