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.
Sunday, April 23, 2006
Sunday, April 16, 2006
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.
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.
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