Just gets stranger....

A few nights ago they went out and stood in the rain, apparently to watch a group of rocks roll down a hill in the rain at a place where horses race. Blob said they paid over $200 for the honor of seeing this event. They came home late that night soaking wet wearing these odd red T-shirts that had a pair of oversized lips and a tongue on them with horses in the middle.

They were singing some odd song, "I know, it's only rocks that roll, but I like it."

I knew they were boring, but paying $200 to watch pebbles roll down the hill makes me wonder if they aren't insane to boot.

Am I some sort of diety?

Maybe my purpose here has finally become clear. Today Maggie, Caring and the Blob were all excited about some upcoming event. Blog went downstairs and made 50 trips up with boxes of stuff for something they call Halloween. Inside each of the boxes were several odd items, including skeletons, ugly women with funny hats, what looked like sheets with eyeballs, and several black cats that looked like me, including one that screamed bloody murder everytime you pressed his paw. When I climbed up on a shelf to get a better view, Caring laughed and said, "Looks like we have another decoration this year!"

I saw blob inflating a gigantic version of me with an equally large fruit in the yard. It's obvious that this is some sort of religious ritual and I'm the centerpiece. Am I their God? And if I am, couldn't they find something better to feed me than these brown pellets they keep putting in my bowl? Where does Jax fit in to all of this? Is he one of my disciples?

I believe it's all coming together. Perhaps I can escape this dungeon by writing a message to Caring that she should release me and go sacrifice Blob in front of the giant Samantha out in the yard. I'll try it and see what happens. Until next time... Purrfect Dreams and May Your Litter Always Be Scooped!

Get them some Cat Lax

Everyone in the house appears to have a hairball. They're coughing and hacking, but nothing's coming up. It's not hard to see Blob with a hairball, given his general furryness and the stuff falling off his head, but I don't understand Maggie and Caring.

They also all keep taking what I have to guess are illegal substances. Both Caring and Rob kept taking foil packages of HUGE pills and dropped them in water. They bubbled like some sort of caldron of acid. Then they drank them down, with disgusted looks on their faces.

I thought it was medicine, but they both kept coughing. I have to assume its some method they use to get high, because I often see them zoned out after they take it, watching the big silver window like zombies.

I'm thinking of giving them some laxitives during the night. If it doesn't clear up their hairballs, it will at least be fun to watch.

Where is PETA when you need them.

Blob and Caring have been talking about how vocal I've been recently and how cute it is that I've been picking up one of the dresses Maggie has for her army of clones they call Barbie. Blob laughed at me as I carried the dress through the house. "Why do you want this one!?!?!" he said.

Look at it you fat sack of hamster droppings! It's fur lined. FUR IS MURDER! I've spent the whole day looking for a can of red paint I can throw on the stupid thing or dump on Blob's head. Since Maggie is young, I'm guessing she doesn't know better.

So I'll keep grabbing the dress and keep yelling at them. Maybe one day they'll pay attention.

Fund raising and fur raising

First off, Caring hasn't yet caught on that we're trying to save up money collected from Blobbo's pockets to rent a car or buy a ticket out of this place. Jax boy can lift a twist tie or hair thingie like a pro and dump it into his water, but he keep dropping nickels and dimes everywhere. Caring discovers them and keeps blaiming them on Blobbo. Which I guess is good, but I'd prefer Jax put them in the bank we've got in the basement.

Speaking of Blobbo, in the space of 30 minutes yesterday, he slammed Jax's tail in the microwave and stepped on my foot. 700 pounds on a tiny paw hurts like heck. Jax said he did it once before, slamming their former cat's tail in the basement door.

To top it off, the whole family thought it was funny watching me jump for a bug I couldn't get. They videotaped the thing and laughed their stupid human heads off. Next time a bug appears INSIDE, I'm going to put it in Caring's bite guard that she wears at night.

In case you want a laugh at my expense, check out the video below.

Sasquatch takes two lives

Okay, twice today, before sunlight even broke, the fat one snatched one of my lives. The first was this morning when some wind and rain outside woke me up from my slumber (similar to picture above). The power went out and I heard Blob wake up say something brilliant like "Oh my gosh, what's going on!" and ran down in his boxers (not pretty) saying "Caring! get up, get up, get up! Storm!"

Caring said, "Should I go to the basement, what's going on?!?!?!" Blob exercised his normal patience and said, "I DON'T KNOW!" and ran aroundlike a chicken with his head cut off (not to self... not a bad idea), as though he could make the rain go away by acting like a 7 year old girl who saw a mouse. Caring went into the closet in their room with Maggie. I'm guessing this was more to avoid Chubbo Stupido than to be safe from the storm.

As the storm raged, Blobbo was walking around in the dark trying to find something (his brain, perhaps?) and stepped down one of his half ton size twelves onto my tail. I let out a hail of expletives and ran away. Caring lived up to her name and said, "Is she okay?"

Blob's reply, "I have more important things to worry about." Like what? Filling out your form for the sissy club of America?

I licked my wounds and hid for awhile until the power came out. I went into Rob and Caring's room to rest on the edge of the bed. Blobbo was upstairs because Caring and Maggie had fallen asleep in his bed and there was no room for his bloated body. Then, around 11 AM, I heard a tremendous thunder upstairs. It sounded like the staircase was falling down. Then I heard crashes on the wood floor, and all of a sudden, this wall of humanity wearing a red tent for a shirt comes flying into the room, and suddenly goes into a motion like he's going to jump on the bed. Knowing I was going to die, I took off toward the window, hoping I could get enough speed to crash through. I looked behind me and saw it was Slobbo, laughing like a wicked witch at the fact he'd scared me.

I've since recovered, but I'm thinking that in the future I'm going to stay on the steps each night. If blob is going to step on me again, I'm at least going to take him down with me. Anyway, two of my nine lives are spent. Add that to the one I lost on the battlefields of Fairdale, and I'm down to six and I'm less than a year old.

Until next time... Purrfect Dreams and May Your Litter Always Be Scooped!

They came back.

Well, this past Monday they came back. Hat Trick fed us well, filling up three bowls with food and lots of water. He must be the caring one. Sadly, it was worse than when they left. Maggie came up to me and squeezed me like a roll of Charmin in a Mr. Whipple nightmare. To top it off, blob stepped on my foot (all 700 pounds of him) and left me sore for several days.

They're taking to calling me Samantha Roo. The roo in reference to my kangaroo stance that I've been taking. I'm just trying to take the pressure off my tender little feet.

More later! Until next time... Purrfect Dreams and May Your Litter Always Be Scooped!

Is their mission over?

Blob and Caring are both gone, taking Madeline with them. Where did they go? They were packed light, as though something scared them off. Jax and I were very concerned about the whole thing, especially how we were going to get something to eat. Then, Caring's dad came in and fed us food. Awfully nice of him. I tried to ask him where they went, but he kept saying, "how you doin' kitty cat?" I'll never admit it to them, but honestly, I miss the littlest one.

Something sinister is apaw.....

Okay, the good news first. Slob finally switched the litter in our litter boxes, replacing it with Tidy Cat Scoop Crystals blend. I'm not sure what "crystals are", but I'm worried that it's crystal meth and maybe I'm just too high to notice the smell. Obviously Blob has been too high to notice.

Caring's also been acting up. A few days ago I heard her going on and on to Slob about how she needed to change the color of the fur on her head. Obviously she's in preparation for some sort of job, because she called in someone named Laurie L. Why is it she doesn't feel safe to use the last name? I don't know when Laurie visited, but I do know that Caring had some sort of foam on her head and the house smelled like noxious chemicals for awhile.

Blob also got a haircut. Whereas before his hair made him look like some guy you'd see wearing a wifebeater and sitting in an apartment full of old newspapers on Cops, now he looks like a respectible jerk who just got a section 8 from the Marines.

Oh well, they hung up some sort of "Hummingbird Feeder" yesterday. I've been looking out the window to see if they catch any. It's filled with some sort of red substance. Obviously poison.

Until next time... Purrfect Dreams and May Your Litter Always Be Scooped!

It's been BORING!!!

Blob finally cleaned out our little box, getting rid of the newspaper bits in the bottom that were getting quite disgusting. He carried on about how bad it smelled. I had to laugh when he tried to dump it in the little white plastic bag and dumped half of it on the basement floor, then couldn't find a broom to sweep it up.

It's been HOT. Granted, I am inside in air conditioning, but when Senor Cheapskate doesn't turn down the AC in the mornings, I can roast upstairs in Maggie's room.

I still think these people are strange. Thursday night and last night they were talking about putting stuff out so they could sell their yard. Caring,Blob, and the guy they call Hat Trick brought up tons of stuff they keep down in the basement and never use. What this has to do with selling the yard, I can't tell you. The bigger mystery is why they'd sell the yard in the first place.

Uh oh, Caring's home. Blog is asking her how things went trying to sell our garage. What's wrong with these people? They just moved in here and now they're selling it piece by piece? I guess I'll be next. Until next time... Purrfect Dreams and May Your Litter Always Be Scooped!

Tea Time for Tabby

I have to admit that I'm just too cute for words in these pictures, especially sitting amongst Maggie's Tea Party. Now if only there were something to drink at this house. Gigantor finally went down and cleaned out the gigantic balls of poop out of our recycled newspaper, but didn't think to give us any water.

As you can tell, Jacks and I are exhausted today. Caring decided to bring over her family last night. Jacks did his usual disappearing act while I was left to entertain. Caring's sister, whose name is Liesle (like the girl in that movie with the chick spinning on the mountain top), is almost as dark as I am, and Leisle's daughter Amanda looks like her clone. I think she must be one of Karen's in-laws. Her mom and dad were here as well. They ordered some sort of round food that looked like a bread Frisbee covered in meat and vegetables and then locked us downstairs so we couldn't eat it. Like I was going to eat black olives. No cat in his right mind would eat those.

Finally, when they let us upstairs, they had the big silver window turned on again and there was an evil looking buzzard-man in suspenders with gigantic glasses staring back to me. I almost wet my fur. Caring's mom, Barbarino, mentioned something about Splat, Caring's dad, being addicted to shoes, I think. I thought Caring was the only one with that problem.

Anyway, this morning, Jackass Boy and I got caught up on some much needed sleep, and later I played Tea Party while Maggie wasn't looking. Oh crud, here come the peeps. Gotta go. Until then, wishing you Purrfect Dreams and May Your Litter Always Be Scooped!

Jackass Boy lives up to his name

I'm sitting on the edge of the couch, minding my own business,when Jackass Boy (see the picture below of the grey cat), jumps up and pushes me off. After a nice four feet fall unto hardwood, my new wounds started to sting. I'd had it with my lot in life and decided to go into the basement to decompress. I curled up on a nice comfy rolling cushion they'd placed downstairs, and there's a machine in the corner with a motor that makes a comforting noise. Plus I'd be closer to my food, rancid water, and my newspaper pellets in case I needed to eat, drink and be poopy.

As I was drifting off to sleep, the fat one and Mad Maggie started calling for me. Normally I'd respond, but the heck with them. They probably put the grey gob of goo up to pushing me off the couch. I tried to ignore them, but they wouldn't stop.

I heard Bob the Slob say he was going to get his shoes, or as I call them, the roaming stink bombs. It's okay for Jackass Boy and I to walk down in this filthy basement without them, but the big bad, 6 foot, Google pound owner can't walk down without his precious feet inside his Reeboks. I wonder if he's realized yet I sneezed a big booger in one.

Soon I hear him booming down the steps. I pray he won't find me, and am almost spared when I hear him say, "There you are." He scoops me up and says, "are you okay? How are your feet." Just as I start thinking that maybe he has a heart after all, he grabs something out of an envelope. It's another yellow transmitter. That's why he was so concerned. He'd lost track of me in the house. I've decided it's useless to resist. I swallowed the transmitter and figured I'd find a way to get rid of it later. I've been swallowing tons of hair in hopes of being able generate a hairball that will expel the blasted thing.

Well, I'm going back to find a place to curl up and plot. I was hoping to get Jax to help me in my plot to leave here, but after today's events, I realize I was wrong to trust him. THere's a brown furry monkey here that they all seem to talk to, but they all seem to dislike. Maybe I can enlist his help.... If I can stand his whining.

The hands are no longer lethal weapons....

A few days ago, El Gordo decided he would take me for a little ride. He put me in a little cage and put me in his car with Maggie. He dropped Maggie off at a safe house and then drove me miles and miles away. I assumed he was taking me back to where I came from. Unfortunately, the last car trip I had, the Matthews had me in some isolation chamber that didn't enable me to map the route. I meowed for a few miles, but then realizing it was fruitless to complain, decided to just sit and enjoy the ride.

We arrived at a rather plain looking building with metal fencing around it. Some sort of prison, I was sure. To the other side was a odd looking set of doorless garages and a big sign that said, Dog and Suds. Great. Going straight into the enemy camp. The fat one took me out of the car and walked to the entry way. There I saw a bunch of other cats, including one trapped in a contraption like the one I had around me. We walked in and there were a bunch of women in lab coats. "Egads!", I thought, I'm here for some science experiment. Jabba the Owner waited in line behind these other evil owners and kept looking at his watch. What??? Too busy to send me to my doom? We finally got up front and I heard Tubby getting upset over money and whether I had my shots. He then took me in a little room with some other woman in a lab coat. She poked and prodded me and looked in my ears. Enough with the ears already.

After that, it was a blur. I was locked in a cage surrounded by other screaming cats and dogs. There was a grey cat like Jax who complained louder than he ever did. What was this place? Eventually a lab coat came and injected me with something. A truth serum, no doubt. After that, it was dark for hours.

I don't remember much until Saturday, when I woke up and tried to claw the lab coat who was trying to feed me. My claws wouldn't come out. They'd cut off the very weapons I used to take care of myself. I fell asleep, feeling defeated by these evil people with cute puppies on their blouses. When I woke up again, I was wisked away by another lab coat and delivered back to Lard Butt, Caring, and Maggie. They stopped at a little store inside the laboratory and bought some more cat litter, made out of used newspapers. USED NEWSPAPERS!!!! LIKE A DOG.

They brought me home and treated me like royalty... with the exception of the newspaper litter, of course. Then El Robbo Roundo decided he would try and jam something down my throat. It was round and yellow. A tracking device of some sort, no doubt. I tried to resist, but he kept opening my mouth and thrusting it in. I bit him a few times, but he just laughed. Finally I submitted and swallowed the darned thing. About 8 hours later, he repeated the process. These people must be using some sort of inferior technology if their tracking devices only lasted eight hours.

Otherwise, I actually thought I may have found a good home when I heard Caring and Bobba Fatt talking about how sweet I was. Then the bomb dropped. Caring said that she thought since I was a shelter cat, I wouldn't be very friendly. That old stereotype rearing its ugly head again. As though cats you get from the Humane Society have some lock on pleasant personality. I made a note to myself to hack up a hairball on her late at night. Revenge will be mine.

Now it's back to nursing my wounds. Plus I have to pee. It's just wonderful having to do your business on a plastic container full of New York Times rejects.

Call Me Colgate

I just spent an entertaining 3 minutes watching Maggie and Caring pushing little plastic toys across the floor at each other. Every time they'd collide, Maggie would let out an insane giggle.

The little girl claims to love me, and makes it a point every hour or so to show me how much by grabbing me around the midsection and squeezing me like that tube of stuff Caring and the fat guy use on their mouths. When I meow in protest, she looks at me as though I'm crazy and says, "That's okay, Samamfa." No, it's not okay. The last time you did it, I think almost had an accident.

Speaking of accidents, what's up with the fat guy's scooping of our litter box. He comes down once a month with the scoop and then complains about how much we poop. Dude, if you didn't flush for a month, I think you'd need more than a scoop and a Wal-Mart bag to deal with it.

And why is it that Caring, Maggie and Lardo get to eat their dinners upstairs on a counter and Jackass Boy and I have to eat in the cold, damp, dirty, ugly and stinky (cuz' he never cleans our poop) basement?

I try to argue my point with Caring every morning as she beats her clothes with a pointed hot thing that spits out steam. I have cussed her out several times about the deplorable living conditions I'm faced with downstairs, and she merely throws my profanity back at me with a smile on her face. This morning I jumped on her back, hoping to wrestle her to the ground like Jackass Boy. I forgot, she's been working out at a place called Curves.

Speaking of working out, I think Jacks is on the same fitness plan as Baldy. He seems fatter everyday. I think he's trying to use his weight to gain the upper hand on me in our daily jousts. Maybe when he falls through the steps he'll realize it was a bad idea.

Caring's sitting on the green chair that she's tried to use several times to crush me and watching some show where they keep zooming in on closeups of concerned looking people while cheesy music plays in the background. There's a Jacks on here too. He's a lot better looking then the one in this house.

Oh well,it's back to the blue piece of string. I'm trying to figure out how to turn it into a garrote to take the big man down. Of course, to paraphrase that movie about the big fish I saw on TV the other day, "I'm gonna need a bigger string."

Feet Taste Good

I'm having quite a bit of fun here. My gas seems to have cleared up a bit, and I'm so cute and adorable, I'm able to get away with things that my chunky counterpart, Jax, cannot.

For instance, I woke up the fat guy yesterday and today at 7 AM meowing at him and clawing and chewing on his feet in bed. He started to pet me and laugh at my mischief. The idiot didn't seem to realize that I didn't want a backrub, I wanted someone to get up and give me some fresh water. On a scale of Sewage to Evian, my waterbowl rates a Rainwater. Yuck. I heard them talking about getting me one of those water cooler shaped things, but apparently Jax likes to knock them over.

Some pictures from my first few days....

First Entry -- Welcome to The Matthews Family

Or maybe it's Mattheu? I don't know. The blond haired one keeps picking things up before I can read them completely. I think her name is Caring, which is appropriate because she seems to be a big animal lover. The fat bald guy (pictured above) is named Bob, I think. He is very nice despite the fact that he looks like the guy from Full Metal Jacket. As an added bonus, I don't have to worry about HIM picking things up. I curled up next to him today while he napped. He does have breath that could knock a buzzard off a sewage pipe, but I got back at him by farting in his face. He thought it was funny. Go figure.

This whole adventure started when I wooed these guys from the tiny cage in the dingy cinderblock room of Louisville's Metro Animal Control. It's an ugly place, but obviously they thought enough of me to have me checked out, give me my shots, and make sure that I can't share my supercute gene pool with future generations.

Careing brought me home in a cardboard box with Bob riding shotgun. He took me out to pet me and commented on how fearless I was. Fearless? You try spending weeks in a windowless cinderblock room and you'll see I was merely seeing the sights.

I got taken home to another cat named Jacks Boy. He's got a dumb name, but he's a pretty sweet guy. He indicated he's been a bit depressed because his best friend left home one day and never came back. He's not sure what happened, but he knows that Bob, Caring, and the little human they call Maddie (or is it Maggie?) were all very sad too. He's tried to help them by getting closer to them. He says they're pretty good people, but they get bent out of shape when you puke on the carpet. He also says that they got mad at him for some unknown reason a few weeks back and locked him in the basement each night. They also have a weird habit of spraying their bed with some sort of spray and then wrapping it in vinyl.

They've named me Samantha. Not a bad name. Apparently it's from some thing that they've watched on the big silver window in the living room. I kind of like it. Oh well, I like it here, and I like the fact that they let me sleep on the huge couch.

Note to self.... gotta watch Fat Bald Bob. He was following me around and then seemed overly excited that I pooped in my litter box. He's a little weird.