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.