Let me tell you where you can ship that crate

Richell Mobile Pet Pen 940 - Medium

This beautifully crafted mobile pen is loaded with safety features! The slide-locking system on door and top, plus lockable base and casters ensure your pet is safe and secure in his/her "own" special space. Casters allow you to move the pen from room to room without lifting. Plastic base removes easily for cleaning. The pen's beautiful hardwood construction complements Richell's other fine wood pet products.

Assembly required.

Features:
Slide lock system on door and wire top
Latch-locked base provide additional security
Lockable casters provide
easy mobility and safety
Removable wire top and base
Beautiful hardwood
construction
Easy to assemble

Price: $165.00

EXCUSE ME, HUMAN PET!

WHEN HAVE YOU EVER SPENT $165.00

ON SOMETHING FOR ME?!

This tail is more than meets the eye

I don't intend to just conquer this poopilicious puppy simply by means of physical force (Or phorce if you're so inclined. The ph blend in English is phabulous if I do say so!). That simply would not be my style. Anyone who has ever known me or has read my blog realizes I am a feline with an unstoppable intellect, and if it's one thing I know with all the fibers of my feline being, it is that I can outwit, outplay, and outlast a poopilicious puppy.

[I know you're sitting there, reading it, but you know if you were to let it slip through your lips, you'd lose it. Let's segway one moment to allow you to say it out loud: Poopilicious puppy. Ten bucks says you can't say it without laughing, giggling, or at the very least, snarfing. Ah, the magic of the word 'poop'.]

[Unfortunately, on this blog, we, the staff, are very easily amused...]

Where was I? Poop? The ph- sound?

Oh yes, surviving the puppy.

I have taken it upon myself to read Be the Pack Leader: Use Cesar's Way to Transform Your Dog...and Your Life by the man himself, Cesar Millan. When I first read the title, I was hoping that the book would address how to channel the power of Optimus Prime in order to defeat the plump, poopilicious, puppy named Ares Megatron (In my mind, I could see it happening, just like this.). After a few pages, though, it was clear Mr. Millan didn't know anything about Transformers, and I was sadly disappointed.

I'd been hoping to cock back a cybertronium alloy plasma cannon on that puppy's ass.

No worries, though!

I'm sure it's in the sequel, Calm-Assertive Energy: Utilizing the Power of the Cybertronium Alloy Plasma Cannon to Transform Your Dog...Into a Pile of Ash.

I'm about to put forth a hurtin'

Dear human pet,

I want you to know what I am going to do to that puppy from the moment he steps paw into this house:



While I do believe this cat took it easy, trust me: I will show no mercy. I am going to bring some serious whoop-ass down upon him. When you beg me to stop, I will not. When you cry, "Please, Zeus, don't hurt him," I will not hear your pleas. When you come to me to scoop me up to remove me from the pummeling, I will leap out and continue my onslaught of furious paws.

This is how it will be.

This is my house. We play by my rules.

I bring you an offering of peace

So here's my thinking...

If I make a collage dedicated to my human pet, maybe she will abandon this whole crazy puppy business she's conducting.

Want to make your own stylish collages? Check out Polyvore. Special thanks to Pink Chihuahua Princess for the tip!

I filled...in this meme because my heart is broken

I found this on Bone's blog on Wednesday, and I decided to use it as a springboard for writing this Friday's post. Feel free to participate if you want.


I am...an amazing attention whore.
I think...about whether or not my food bowl is empty all the time.
I know...how to communicate with squirrels in the yard.
I want...to be constantly pet and adored.
I have...allergies, and oh, are they a doozy.
I wish...I could go outside, just once.
I hate...being left alone.
I miss...my human pet when she is away for too long (Please do not tell her that right now. I'm still...angrier than a russled fire ant hill.)
I fear...going to the vet. No, really. It's terrifying.
I feel...replaced.
I hear...dripping coming from the sink.
I smell...like Downey fabric softener for some reason.
I regret...nothing.
I love...Cesar Milan.
I care...that I have a full food bowl.
I always...am the packleader. (See "I love...")
I am not...a whiner, contrary to popular belief.
I believe...I'm the best there ever was, ever is, ever will be.
I dance...on occasion. I like rap.
I sing...to my own tune.
I write...to prove there are other sentient beings on this planet.
I win...every time.
I lose...to no one.
I never...want to exercise.
I listen...when I want to.
I can usually be found...sleeping on my pet's bed.
I am scared when...Diet Coke cans are opened in my presence.
I read...facial expressions very well.
I forget...all of the bad stuff eventually.
I just...licked my hoohahless hoohahs. I bet most human males out there are now jealous.
I am happy about...everything, everyday.

Also, a few categories that Bone added...

I only...moan when I have to get something done.
I need...a place to myself when this damn puppy arrives.
I wonder...if I will ever become famous from working on this blog and be interviewed by Matt Lauer on the Today show.

And one I'm adding just to show off...

I pounce...on mosquito hawks that decide to infiltrate my home.

Betrayal

Dear human pet woman in the house,

Consider the words of the prophet, Muhammad:

There are three signs of a hypocrite: when he speaks he speaks lies, when he makes a promise he breaks it, and when he is trusted he betrays his trust.

You, Marina, are a hypocrite.

A blasphemous betrayer.

A backstabbing, malicious, evil forked-tongue wench.

There is no depth of hate that I can put into words that can describe the sheer outrage boiling and teeming inside of my feline belly. Though some might consider it to be hunger (and it more than likely is), it is not a hunger for food. It is a hunger for justice!

How could you DO this to me?

I must admit that I was lingering in denial, unable to bring myself to the truth which so desperately wanted to be brought into the proverbial light. I saw the scraps of a photograph, and I defended you to my friends. "She's moving on to someone else, Zeus," they said, but did I listen?

No! Not once!

I refused to believe that you would take my tiny, beating heart into your hands and crush it in your grubby fingers. You, of all people, have known me, cherished me, loved me for eight long years, but clearly, 2920 days spent together in blissful companionship has meant absolutely nothing to you. I suppose it might have meant something to you had we managed to make it to 3000. You always did like clean, unfiltered numbers.

Nonetheless, I digress...

What woman stands there before me? I know her not. Yesterday, I knew her, but today - today, she is like an unfinished portrait, awaiting the master's stroke to be complete. She is nothing more than a collection of vile, sinful, and evil ways. (Speaking of vile, sinful, and evil ways, I highly suggest that since you're Catholic, you make your way to confession right this instant. A sin of this magnitude might very well keep you from entering the heavenly gates.)

In the end, I wish I could say, "It's not you; it's me," but that would be lying. It is all you - you and the Boston Terrier puppy you have named Ares that is coming home with you on April 7, 2009.


I heart you no longer.

A trail of bread crumbs commences...

Another scrap of paper found today in the pocket of my human pet's jeans...

I know what you're all thinking, and I cannot believe that my human pet would get a puppy. No offense to my canine friends, but I don't think my pet is that stupid. Sure, she may not know what a slotted spoon is or how to pronounce persimmon, but come on - she wouldn't try to infiltrate my home with a slobbering, snoring, snarfing buffoon.

I overheard a conversation as well. The pet was talking to someone she called "Miss Bobbie". Clearly, this is a codename for something else. Everyone knows Bobbie is a boy's name! Once again, the pet thinks she can outsmart me, but I don't think so!

And who is this Ares? That name was in the conversation many, many times. I don't think I like this Ares person. Anyone named after the Greek god of war is bound to be no good.

Screw you, cancer

We're so angry right now. Just so angry.

We're not sure if we're angry at the world, angry at doctors, or angry at cancer.

The pet's cousin found out on Monday that his cancer was "unconducive to surgery". You see, he had gone in for treatment one month and some weeks ago, and that specialized treatment was supposed to be a zinger. It was supposed to make him well enough for surgery, but when he went in for his check-up, his numbers had gone from 9 (indicating a possible state of remission) to 4000.

The pet's cousin is turning 21 in two weeks. We're thinking of sending him some of the finest alcohol man has to offer.

It's not right. It's not fair. It's all shades of wrong.

And yet, there it is.

"It is what it is," as the pet's dad would say.

Stupid, beeping cancer.

Cancer, consider yourself Number One on my Litter List. I've put you on notice! (Oh yes, I'm making a Litter List for my sidebar so everyone knows how much you suck also. Don't think I won't!) I'm sure other things will eventually make their way onto the list, but you can have it all to yourself for right now. I'm too pissed at you to make room for other things. You're getting all my angst.

You can't hide from me!

Honestly...

I just started blogging again, getting into the swing of things, and feeling good, but now, I suspect that is all going to come to an end.

I hear rumors. Whispering talk. A two syllable word that rhymes with guppie. Or yuppie. While I know my human pet could be misconstrued for a young urban professional, I hardly think she fits that mold to a tee. I know we have no fish, so I'm pretty sure that I might need some more Epi-Otic to clean out my ears to really know what's happening around here.

There's a road trip being planned as well. Some place called Weatherford, Texas. I looked it up online, and I found out that it's 45 minutes outside of Fort Worth. I'm certain we don't know anyone from there so I'm not sure who the pet is planning on visiting.

After listening to ripping and tearing sounds from the kitchen, I crawled into the garbage bag to discover a itsy-bitsy piece of paper. The only scrap of a clue I have is this:

Apparently, the human pet is even hiding evidence from me. I think she believes she's smarter than me, but I'm going to have to show her just how misled she is. I'm going to find out, so help me! She can't keep secrets from me in my own house!

Disclaimer: Zeus does not use antibiotics

I can hardly contain my excitement!

The blog list is complete. For now.

I suppose I need to set up an application process for cats, dogs, and assorted human pets who would like to be my friend. After all, there's not an infinite amount of room on that blog list, and when you're not picky, well...that's how you end up making a trip to the vet so you can obtain some antibiotics.

Not that I know anything about that, mind you.

Zeus stimulates the economy (continued)...

So where was I? Oh yes: A marketing speech. I decided that I didn't need to have something hammered in stone, but that I just needed the jist. No mechanically, highly repetitious, blithering smile-infused speech for me; I wanted something organic, fresh, and hip. With my enthusiasm, I ran to the bathroom and began practicing my introductions in front of the mirror...

In my serious voice: "Hello there. I am Zeus the cat."

In my gigolo voice: "Is heaven missing an angel? It must be if you're here."

In my I'm-trying-to-be-English-'cause-it's-super-sexy-to-be-English-in-America-voice: "Why hello-o-o-o there! I'm what they call a catrepreneur!"

But I digress...

I didn't worry about an outfit, and I hadn't stressed over making questions. I already had a perfect outfit - the one God saw fit to give me, and as for the questions, well,...my mind has a way of slipping into inappropriate places so it was probably best not to encourage it (see my notes on interviewing above). At the end of the day, I was the product. These silly businesses needed me to sell their goods. After all, everything looks better with a fat, orange, American Tabby ass sitting next to it.

Getting to the job fair was easy enough. I hopped a ride with some of the human pet's friends who were headed down to the hotel, and surprisingly, none of them thought anything strange of my presence. (I suppose they have read the blog one too many times and realized I do pretty much what I want when I want.)

We were one of the first few people there, but in no time, there was a long, winding line of people that stretched around the corner, down the hall, passing the reception desk, and rolling outside into the parking lot. All kidding aside, it was a sight that broke my kitty heart, and the reason it did so was because the so-called career "fair" was held in one, cramped room with only 13 companies in attendance. Three of those companies were The University of Phoenix, The Art Institute of Texas, and the Texas Auto Mechanic School.

With every person that joined the line, my head sunk a little bit deeper. Yes, friends, I was experiencing guilt. What was I thinking? If I actually got a job over one of these men or women, how would I feel about myself in the morning? I didn't need a job that badly, did I? With only ten actual companies there, was it really necessary for me to add to the stress those humans were experiencing?

Without even saying good-bye to the pet's friends, I sauntered down the line, weaving in and out of the attendees. I rubbed up against their legs and purred, cheering them on with my good vibes, because, as everyone knows, every human pet loves having his or her own personal cheerleader.

So, yes, there's not really much to tell in the end. I decided not to encourage outsourcing by leaving. No negotiations. No product lines to memorize. No proposals to prepare.

If refusing to get a job makes me noble, all the better. The ladies love noble.

Zeus stimulates the economy...

With the economic state of the country affecting everyone, I decided it was high time I did my part: I needed to get a job. I had been freeloading long enough off of the human pet, and even though there was a huge part of me that felt it was her obligation to take care of me, I knew that it was that attitude that would ultimately cost me my Purina One.

After browsing through the local want-ads and searching online, I decided to register for the Houston North Career Fair which was being held at the North Sheraton on March 10, 2009. Immediately, I was sent a confirmation email that had the following checklist:

1. Resume is updated and error-proof
2. Printed 30 copies of your resume
3. Personal marketing pitch is ready
4. Review companies attending and prepare questions
5. Select appropriate business attire

I hadn't a resume, a marketing pitch, or appropriate business attire. It seemed finding a job was a lot harder than just walking to the garage to do my "other business" in the litter box. Where other felines may have been held back by the daunting prospect of visiting a career fair, I only saw opportunity.

I created my resume using the fine advice found on Resume Help. It took some time to think of all that I had accomplished, but in the end, I was pleased with the final product:

I then proceeded to step two in preparation for the career fair. It took no time at all to print out 30 copies of my resume. I stacked them neatly and then placed them into a Five-Star folder which I then secured in my trusty pet backpack. (I know what you're thinking: "Gucci, Zeus? Really?" to which I respond "Yes, Gucci. I have an Italian owner!")

It seemed all I had to do then was prepare a marketing speech, review the companies attending, make some questions, and select an outfit. I was well on my way to landing the job of my dreams...

To be continued...

Blue on you

What in the hell was my human pet thinking? When asked, she responded, "This is what happens when you lose at Texas Hold 'Em," but we all know that's a lie. She bought the blue on a whim, just to recapture some of her lost youth. As the humans say, "It's so lost, girlfriend." Punked out? More like crunked out...

The pet's reason for relay...

As some of you may know, the human pet has been tweeting a lot lately. The real reason behind her tweeting is because she is raising money for The American Cancer Society as she is participating in Relay for Life. She has been working very hard at it, and so far she has raised $1250.00 for the cause.

In fall of 2008, the pet's cousin, Kevin, was diagnosed with a germ-cell tumor. It was deemed cancerous, and since that moment, it has been nothing short of a roller-coaster ride of emotions for both him and the entire family. Cancer, however, has not stopped Kevin, and even in the face of such a great adversity, he is more alive than ever. May we all have the positive spirit that embraces him should we ever find ourselves asked to rise to such a challenge.

On March 27, 2009, the pet will Relay because she wants to see an end to cancer during her lifetime. Relay gives her the unique opportunity to celebrate the lives of those who have battled cancer, remember loved ones lost, and support the American Cancer Society’s lifesaving mission by fighting back against a disease that has already taken too much.

Consider making a donation on behalf of someone who is fighting for his or her life or for someone who has lost the battle to cancer. Leave the person's name on the fundraising honor roll, and my pet will write the names of all honored on her t-shirt for the night of the event. (During the evening, the pet will take a photo and upload it onto Twitter so you can see the shirt for yourself!) Even if you cannot make a donation, spread the word via your blog, Twitter, or through email and encourage others to join the fight.

Together, let us stand up and defeat cancer once and for all so that future generations may never have to face such a terrible disease. To make a donation or to copy the link, simply click on the button below. We will be running it on the bottom of every post until the day of the event.

The weekend agenda

Dear friends,

After browsing through the pet's planner, it looks like I won't be seeing much of her this weekend...

• Friday night: Watchmen
• Saturday morning: Tutoring
• Saturday afternoon: Cooking Creamy Chicken, Bacon, and Tomato Pasta for neighbors
• Saturday evening: Texas Hold 'Em
• Sunday morning: Church
• Sunday afternoon: Sleeping
• Sunday evening: Celebrity Apprentice
• If I have a moment: Study for midterm, work on blog, collect donations in neighborhood

Oh well. Maybe she'll learn not to go out so much when I leave a hot, steaming mess in the garage for her to clean up. I know how that pushes her buttons.

Fist to the face style: Howdja like it, McGruff?

Dear McGruff the Crime Dog,

I can hardly believe after the incident with Chuck E. Cheese that you would also fall prey to a random act of violence. I don't even know what to say. You are an icon in the community, a beacon of hope to children of all ages, a canine vigilante of justice. To hear that someone punched you in the face as "a prank" is almost mindboggling.

Who wakes up in the morning and says, "Y'know, I think it would be real funny to find some cute and cuddly child mascot and punch him straight in the face! That would be beeping hilarious!" Oh wait. I know who does that. Shawn Brim.

I know two wrongs don't make a right, but perhaps in this case, an exception could be made. Clearly, if it's a prank to run up to someone and coldcock him then I think it's only fair that you find the bus driver in question, run up to him, sock him in the eye, and then say, "Ha! Ha! I made a funny too!" Remember: Do it in front of a group of children just like he did so they learn how to prank one another as well.

Once again, I am so sorry to hear about your injury. May your days of fighting crime continue long after this incident has become a memory. I hope that you get better soon, and I will continue to say prayers for you...that you find that dumbass bus driver and tear him a new one.

P.S. If I wake up tomorrow and find out that yet another mascot has been assaulted, I might just pee myself. Please tell me that the brutal violence against helpless mascots does not also happen in threes like so many other occurrences in life. Do we need to start a mascot-assault pool? If we are, I'm going out on a limb now and saying Smokey The Bear is the next victim.

Dear Chuck...

Dear Chuck E. Cheese,

Recently while browsing through my online news, I found out that you were terribly assaulted by a rampaging, overprotective human male. I suppose the days of haphazardly frolicking in playpens of plastic balls while stuffing your face with loads of greasy pepperoni pizza, accompanied by a flimsy, recorded cacophony referred to as singing blasting out of the mouths of mechanically-operated, stuffed monkey - minus the monkey - suits is long gone. Ah, those were the days...

This isn't the first time you have been assaulted, is it? I remember reading an article not too long ago concerning an 85-person pepper spray tour de force. You must have gotten pretty banged up. I was really wondering if you were going to stick to your guns (not literally, mind you) and stay with the gig you've held onto for nearly 31 years. You proved that you were a real artist, though, and admist blithering drunks, berated housewives, and ill-parented children, you stood to sing and laugh again.

Oh, Chuck, I hope you feel better soon. Though I see you ever-smiling, I know inside you're really crying. Get back to harmonizing with Helen Henny and Mr. Munch, work on developing a new sound, and perhaps, even update your wardrobe. I think we can all agree you have more than enough inspiration to start your own metal band.

Sometimes, a picture is all you need to get a point across...

After all of the rallies...

With incentives just looming on the horizon...

As parents and teachers still wonder why childrens' educational futures are determined by one day, one test...

Sharpen those pencils and grab those highlighters. It's time to take the TAKS test.

Hold the broken pieces of my heart, human pet

I love how I had plans to do something (i.e. fix my Link List), but that whatever I have to do never bears any weight on my human pet. She thinks she can simply run off and do what she wants, that there won't be any consequences to her actions. Well, not this time. I know exactly how to hit her where it hurts.

I'm hiding her wallet.

On Friday at six o'clock in the evening, the human pet walked across the street to David and Suzzette's house (Isis and I have met David; his scratches are absolute perfection.), but she did not come back until ten o'clock! Did she fall down another flight of stairs? Did she manage to trip over some oddball flat surface? Did she fall into the toilet?

No. She was playing Texas Hold 'Em!

And thank you, Twitter, for letting me know!

She didn't even win any money! And she calls that a good time? I don't see how losing five bucks can be even close to having a good time. Hello, human pet: Knock, knock. This is financial stress calling. We're knocking on the doors of all good American boys and girls.

You know, honestly...in a time when people are trying to save more, trying to cut back on nonessential things, my human pet is throwing money away like it's growing on trees. (Though the recent Sonic commercial I saw does point out that money does indeed grow on trees since it's made of paper...but I digress.) If it had only been one night, that would have been forgiveable, but she went back again on Saturday night!

When the human pet returned, all you could hear was her mumbling: "I've never even seen anyone get a straight flush before."

Well, now you have, and you will again, human pet, because I am flushing your wallet straight down the drain. Might as well save you the false hope of winning in advance so you don't waste any more precious catfood money. Some of us need to eat around here.

There's no honey in honey-dos

[Looks at the Link List running along the right sidebar]

Oh, Link List...I see you in my future.

You're definitely on my "Needs To Be Fixed" List for the weekend.

Consider yourself warned.

Twittering twit

I can't believe I've been backstabbed. Someone pull this knife out of my spine. Normally, I'd be crushed, but this time, I'm downright flabbergasted.

Yes, my friends: flabber and gasted.

So while I may not let my human pet blog about her daily happenings, she's found a way to communicate to the masses behind my back. I highly suggest you ignore her. No good can come of this.

In order to know what you're ignoring, make sure not to click HERE.

We don't need her getting any ideas about stealing my thunder. It's tempting, I know, but really...show some self-restraint and walk away. We're about to have a good ol' fashioned throw-down here. Someone better give me fitty feet...









P.S. After thinking about it, this isn't too bad. Now, I'll know where she is and what she's doing whenever she updates. Oh, I never need to leave the house again. Wait a minute. I never leave anyhow. Regardless...I totally kick ass.

Thanks, Macy Gray, for sponsoring this post

While sipping my morning brew, I looked through scores and scores of templates. Know that sick and disgusting feeling you get at the bottom of your stomach when you suspect you just got yourself into a big hole that you can't get yourself out of? I had that the whole time while I sifted thru those wretched thumbnails.

*BEEP* off, HTML. Why do you have to be so *BEEP*ing hard?

I could try this one...










Or this one...










Or hey, what about this?











But I think the main emphasis needs to be on just one syllable here: Try.

Because in the end, when I manage to screw this blog's appearance worse than an afghan hound's fur caught in a windstorm, I'll be left with only one thing left to say...

At least I tried.

I came back for this?

Holy freakin' hell.

Could this comeback be any harder?

I'm blaming you, you three formerly subscribed, now unsubscribed readers. Didn't think a cat would notice the difference between 9 and 6? Yeah, I saw it. I may be a cat, but I'm not freakin' dyslexic. Were you only sticking around to read the archives? Were you too intimidated by my return to deal with new material? I hope you choke on my periods, quotations, and fabulously misdirected renderings done with Microsoft Paint.

No, really.

Could it?

Blogger tells you, "Excuse me, Zeus, but your template is so blaise. You need to upgrade! Click >>>HERE<<<"

Click.

Poof!

Pop!

Pizang!

Blogger tells you, "Oh, sorry to tell you, Zeus, but there goes your widget-thingie-majigs and your whatsits and your shenanigans. You can always find time to fix it though!"

Freakin' hell. Freakin' freakity freaked out to freakin' hell and back hell.

Oh well...

[A sound reminscient of hammering can be heard...]



Applications now being accepted. And for the love of all that's holy: Do something about this hairball puke green background.

The Earlier Early Edition of the Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Things That Happened To Us Since August 30, 2007

1. The human pet started working at Huntington Learning Center, increasing my time without her to a much more acceptable level.

2. The human pet began tutoring high school and college students with disabilities in her so-called "off-time", further increasing my time without her to an even more acceptable level.

3. She even took several trips: Las Vegas, Pittsburgh, the bathroom. All were fascinating.

4. Did I mention trips? Yes, she fell down the stairs as well. Not just once, but twice. In the same day, no. Total stairs traveled: Eighteen. (One set was fifteen while the other was three.) Was she drunk? We wish. It might have been more understandable. Instead, we're left to ponder the inevitable reality that our human pet is an uncoordinated slump of mass.

5. The human pet has finally reached the ending of her masters. She graduates in May. Hopefully, they don't have any stairs for her to descend in order to grab the sheepskin. However, we're now waiting on the University of Houston to see if the pet gets accepted into a doctorate program. We wonder if she's going to study Swan Diving. She'd be good at that.

6. We celebrated the human pet's thirtieth birthday on September 10th. We were actually going to blog about that but then realized we would have to come up with thirty things that were nice about her. That honestly didn't sit well with us since we're both not into lying.

7. Speaking of lying, Hurricane Ike was no lie. No joke either. No fun as well. We spent ten days without electricity. The human pet took the time to get to know the neighbors in drunken bliss, leaving us to our water and Purina One. She could have brought beer back, but did she? It's always all about her.

8. There's been lots of card games happening here. Texas Hold 'Em. Phase 10. Uno. It's much fun to watch other humans yell at the human pet when she doesn't shout "Uno". Behavioral theorists might have a hard time explaining why after the 1000th time of being yelled at for not shouting "Uno" the human pet still does not cry out.

9. The legend of Kit is no more. (For those who do not know who Kit is, he was the wonderfully faithful '98 Plymouth Neon that my human pet used to ride back and forth on.) The new guy, Rocky ('08 Chevy Aveo with the pimped out rims), is way more sexier. And yes, "more sexier" is appropriate since "sexier" just doesn't quite cut it.

10. The human pet's mama and papa came to visit, along with some younger sibling of the human pet's named Gino. They came down for July 4th weekend, and they actually weren't too bad. The mama-type slept on the couch, and it was great fun antagonizing the papa-type. Though he didn't say much, it was apparent how badly he wanted to bat us off him. That made tormenting him all the more fun.

11. Speaking of family, the human pet's cousin was diagnosed with cancer. Though he is doing much better now, we continue to pray for him. He's not out of the figurative woods yet. (You didn't expect all of this to be happy-go-lucky, did you?)

12. The human pet's sister became engaged not too long ago to some guy we know as the Joe. We've never met the Joe, but word on the street is that he is a good guy with a passion for playing something called the Wii. To the Joe, we salute you. It takes much courage to want to be a part of the human pet's family.

13. Finally, we came back to blogging on February 23, 2009. We think that's a pretty big achievement since we had ultimately said we would never pick up paw to keyboard again. You can all blame yourselves for leaving all of those comments and kudos. It apparently went to our heads.

Bleh

After last night, I don't think the human pet will be letting me on the computer anytime soon. I chewed through a shoe, puked on the bed, and then puked the length of the hallway to show her I meant business about this blog. I was merely trying to point out to her to let me back online, but I think my plan of protest backfired.

What happened to you?

Hello friends,

I know, I know. It's been more than a week since an update, and I'm sure some of you have been wondering what happened to me. Well, life has been more than busy on this end. With the beginning of the school year and housecleaning, as well as a few meetings here and there, the human pet has issued a lock down on the computer. I'm lucky that I even got to the keyboard this morning!

Isis and I are doing well so have no worries. We promise we will write again soon, but as always, keep in mind we're at the whims of our pet. Clearly, we need to revisit who is in charge here.

Flea Games, Chapter 12: The Novice

Previous Chapter(s):

• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four
• Chapter Five
• Chapter Six
• Chapter Seven
• Chapter Eight
• Chapter Nine
• Chapter Ten
• Chapter Eleven
  

Stealth is the key to any successful scouting mission, and there are several main points in achieving this skill. Maintaining a limited amount of noise and attempting to remain down-wind so one's scent does not alert the enemy can save a scout's hide. Also, rushing through the job is not recommended. A scout's best ally is the terrain, and she should always try to use the landscape to her advantage, never silhouetting herself as her enemy might potentially spot her.

All of these would have been wonderful tips for Isis to know prior to her mission.

The microwave clock ticked by ever so slowly as Isis sat and watched the minutes linger. Nine minutes had passed, and it had been excruciating for her. She had scratched her ears, stretched, gotten up to swat at her own tail, and had even reached for leftover milk jug rings under the refrigerator; however, none of these tactics had really made the time go any faster for her.

When the tenth digitally blue minute had ticked, Isis bounded for the garage, screaming in a loud voice, "I'ma scoutin' now, bitches!"

Had she been able to see the look on her brother's face, she might have realized her mistake in announcing her oncoming arrival to the garage.

Bursting through the pet door, Isis leaped into the darkness of the garage. The heat was practically stifling, but she did not let this bother her. There was work to be done, important work that only she could do. It was her one chance to prove to her brother that she was indeed just as cunning as he was.

Isis padded softly across the warm concrete and headed for the washer and dryer located in the left-hand corner. She leapt up on top of the washer and circled a few times to make it appear as though she were settling down for a nap. After bathing her front paws a few times and rubbing the sides of her face, she laid her head upon her front legs and closed her eyes. If all went well, whatever was inside the garage would believe her to be sleeping, and she could discover the truth behind the sneeze that so intrigued her brother.

Time seemed to slow down exponentially as soon as her lids had closed. What had seemed like such a brilliant plan was soon to be Isis' downfall as her natural instincts took over. Her breathing slowed, her eyes fluttered, and soon, her whiskers swayed back and forth as her soft snores purred from her.

"No...worries," she whispered half to herself as she came closer to deep sleep. "The monsters will believe...this...for sure..."

The last thing Isis heard before she fell asleep was the softest pitter-patter as over one million feet marched across the concrete straight for her.

Thursday Thirteen, Edition #37

Thirteen Ways For Me
To Make Money For My Human Pet

1. I could organize a feline harem, rounding up the strays that prowl my neighborhood, and putting them to work on the street corners.

2. I could sell my sister, Isis, off to the highest bidder.

3. I could shave my fur and put it up for auction on eBay.

4. I could set up my own store via Cafe Press and sell Zeus Excuse memorabilia.

5. I could write a novel.

6. I could replicate crop circles in my litter, take photos, and sell them off to the public.

7. I could join the circus as The Amazing Snoring Zeus: Snores so loud, they shake the very fabric of your being!

8. I could tour again with my lounge singer act: Zelvis.

9. I could work as an English interpreter for The Feline Theocracy.

10. I could have my sister work at a local bakery to knead dough with her claws instead of kneading holes in my throne.

11. I could open up an exterminator business for local homes. Bugs don't stand a chance!

12. I could enter the National Spelling Bee and clean house!

13. I could stand at street intersections, with rags in paw, wiping the windshields of cars passing by for donations. I'm sure the very fact that I am willing to get wet for my pet will be more than enough for money to flow.

Quit monkeying around!

Within India, there exists a coexistence and a conflict between the Hindus and Muslims. Identity is no longer determined by the various social groups one may belong to such as gender or race but rather, simply by which religion a person practices. Perhaps the problem is one of liberal versus extremist, but nonetheless, the focus of the prejudice and animosity is a matter of faith for most people.

Imagine my surprise then, dear friends, when I saw the following:


Upon watching this, I couldn't help but hear Tina Turner singing in my head, "What's love got to do, got to do with it?"

And really: What does love got to do with it?

Did anyone ask these two monkeys if they were seriously committed to one another?

Did anyone ask them if they were alright in becoming spokesprimates for the entire Hindu-Muslim conflict?

Did someone inform them of their obligations and responsibilities as religious diplomats and agents of peace?

Clearly, though, the more important issues were taken care of first: calls to Cover Girl for the inside scoop as to which long-lasting, cream-based eyeshadows were appropriate for this time of year and research with Bride Magazine as to the latest monkey couture wedding dresses.

Humans, humans, humans...

When will you get it through your thick skulls that just because two monkeys get married doesn't mean their poop suddenly stops getting thrown at you the very next day?

And what exactly would that mean for the already troubled Hindu-Muslim relations?

Nothing but more crap.

Flea Games, Chapter 11: Sister Scout

Previous Chapter(s):

• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four
• Chapter Five
• Chapter Six
• Chapter Seven
• Chapter Eight
• Chapter Nine
• Chapter Ten
  

After dinner had finished, Zeus lumbered over to the living room to lay down upon his throne: the green patterned slip-covered sofa. His belly now full, he let his mind return to the mysterious sneeze and pondered the possibility that there might be trouble afoot within his domain. Releasing a yawn and licking his front paws casually, he considered what his next course of action should be.

As Isis walked by the sofa to stretch out on her back underneath the mosaic coffee table, he said to her, "I believe you should go on a scouting mission, Isis."

Isis' eyes grew wide, and her ears perked as she turned her attention to Zeus. "A scouting mission? It sounds...dangerous!"

Zeus nodded. "It is, but we need more information. I am sure it is nothing you could not handle. I'd do it myself, but one should wait four hours after eating and drinking to perform scouting missions."

Isis looked at him curiously. "I ate too," she said questioningly.

"You have a smaller stomach. Therefore, it's only ten minutes," he explained.

"Oh, that makes sense," she said as she nodded. Zeus smiled softly. Manipulating his sister was his finest art form.

He then began instructing her: "Stay low and hidden. Make no noise. Keep your eyes and ears alert. You'll have to report back to me everything you observe so I hope you have a good memory. Can you do that?"

Isis sat at attention and brought the tip of her tail to her forehead as she lifted her chin, stating, "Yes SIR!"

Zeus nodded, holding back his laughter. "Good. Wait ten minutes and then make your way to the garage."

If Isis did even a somewhat decent job, he would have a better idea of what he was up against. Granted, he could have gone into the garage himself, but what creature, big or small, would suspect anything malicious or deviant from his deranged sister? No one ever took crazies seriously.

Adjustment

Change is inevitable.
Change is unavoidable.
Change is irrevocable.
Change is undeniable.

The House now empty,
Save for three.
Open space to run,
To be carefree.

Change is forceful.
Change is powerful.
Change is hopeful.
Change is truthful.

Noises never heard,
now quite apparent.
Darkness descends,
the feeling abhorrent.

Change is instructional.
Change is causal.
Change is informational.
Change is final.

Uncomfortable newness,
the unfamiliar familiar.
Rooms once known
now bend and falter.

Change is revealing.
Change is compelling.
Change is inducing.
Change is telling.

Each day will be brighter,
the rain will pass.
Portend events:
all smiles, lass.

The seventh Pussycat Doll unleashed

I know you like me. (I know you like me.)
I know you do. (I know you do.)
Thats why whenever I come around, that cat's all over you.
And I know you pet me. (I know you pet me.)
It's easy to see (It's easy to see.)
And in the back of your mind
I know you should be home with me.

[Chorus]
Dont cha wish your kitty was hot like me?
Dont cha wish your kitty was a freak like me?
Dont cha, dont cha
Dont cha wish your kitty was raw like me?
Dont cha wish your kitty was fun like me?
Dont cha, dont cha

Fight the feeling (Fight the feeling.)
Leave it alone. (Leave it alone.)
Cause if it ain't love
It just aint enough to bring me to a happy home
Let's keep it friendly. (Let's keep it friendly.)
You have to play fair .(you have to play fair.)
See, I dont care,
But I know your other cat won't wanna share.

[Chorus]
Dont cha wish your kitty was hot like me?
Dont cha wish your kitty was a freak like me?
Dont cha, dont cha , baby
Dont cha wish your kitty was raw like me?
Dont cha wish your kitty was fun like me?
Dont cha, dont cha

I know I'm on your mind
I know we'll have a good time
I'm your friend
I'm furry
And I'm fine
I aint lying
Look at me,
you aint blind

See, I know she loves you. (I know she loves you.)
I understand. (I understand.)
I'd probably be just as crazy about you
If you were my human.
Maybe next lifetime (maybe next lifetime)
Possibly (possibly)
Until then, Oh friend your secret is safe with me.

[Chorus]
Dont cha wish your kitty was hot like me?
Dont cha wish your kitty was a freak like me?
Dont cha, dont cha
Dont cha wish your kitty was raw like me?
Dont cha wish your kitty was fun like me?
Dont cha, dont cha