Not Fair!!

Now just hold on one cotton-picking minute! (I watch a fair amount of TV - I think I picked that one up from Bonanza or something.) I'm the one who wanted a cat, and what happens? Sir Fuzzbuster get's his own little Mini-Fuzz, and then I get left at home when Second Mom visits them. Something about me trying to eat Mini-Fuzz. I was not! I would never eat Mini-Fuzz, he's Orion's toy - I mean friend. Friend, yes, that's it. I just wanted to see what Mini-Fuzz tasted - I mean, smelled like, that's all. Instead, I get a stern talking to from The Tall One, admonishment from Second Mom, and reduced visitation rights. The nerve!

So now, on the rare occasions that I do get to see Super Fuzz, I do not get to play with - I mean visit, visit is what I meant, really - Mini-Fuzz, whom I have been told actually goes by the name of Squirt. Is that supposed to be a description of what would happen if I got to share some quality time with him? Is that a description of a physical process, such as my teeth gently nibbling away on his... oh, sorry. My apologies, really. I got a little carried away there. And now I'm drooling again. This could be a problem.

And speaking of problems, what happens when Super Fuzz goes for a walk? Does Squirt go along too, tail all up in the air like the snotty-nosed little kid I know he is? Most likely. I'll probably have to get Super-Fuzz alone to get the real story. In the meantime, I can content myself with dreams of a cat on a leash. Oh they're gonna eat that one up at the dog park, I can tell you that. No, I didn't mean it that way. Well, okay, maybe a little, but not totally. AHEM! Hmm, yes, indeed.

Oh, and, as if all that weren't bad enough, the other day when I did get to go visit, after I got reprimanded by both The Tall One and Second Mom, just when they weren't looking, Squirt sucker-punched me in the nose! I couldn't believe it! So what if I have 85lbs and several feet on him? I was being restrained! If you're gonna fight, fight fair I always say. Of course, all that did was steel my resolve for the next time we meet. Oh, don't worry little Squirt. Your time will come. Your time will come...

Until that time, dear readers, when I will relate to you my glorious victory over the impudent imposter that is Super Fuzz's feline friend, I leave you with this prescient thought:

Cats are intended to teach us that not everything in nature has a purpose.
--Garrison Keillor

And one other, because I just can't help myself... Something tells me I'm going to get in trouble for this last one:

If cats could talk, they would lie to you.
--Rob Kopack

Playing dress up

Ok, I'll be honest. I don't like playing dress up. Ever. Never have liked it, never will. No pair of sunglasses, no shirt, and certainly no hat has ever worked out. Oh sure, I'll humor my humans, at least for a little while, but once the camera's been put away, it's time to de-clothe.


Here's proof: This was, obviously, Cinco de Mayo. Several years ago now, when I was younger and more easily convinced to go along with such antics. However, I would guess that you can tell by my expression that I was not a willing partner. As you can tell by the extremely gleeful expression on the face of the co-conspirator to my left, some were more willing than others. Peer pressure at its worst, really. Thankfully, this hat did not survive the eastward trek some months later. No tears were wept for it; there were no lamentations on my part. Others, well....I'm not so sure.

The only borderline, barely acceptable clothing item that I have decided to allow are booties. Cold weather booties, for my feet, and only my feet. They do not go on my nose, they are not for my tail; they are for my paws. And only when the temperature is in the single digits, or lower. If it's 20F outside, leave me alone, I'll survive. Dog save you if it's 30F out and you come near me with those things, I will have words with you. And please, do not to laugh at me when I try to walk in them. For all you know, I'm working on my John Cleese Ministry of Silly Walks impersonation.

Oh, and to those little dogs who get all gusseyed up in sweaters and big poofy down jackets and the like, you know we're all laughing at you, right? If you don't say anything about it, you're considered a willing participant. If you don't want it, put up a fight. If it's to keep you warm, I suggest you be a really good boy (or girl, as the case may be) in this life, and maybe next time 'round you'll get to be something a little bit more respectable, like a Setter or something.

That's all for this time, kiddies. Time to go take a nap.