Meowllo!
Okay, so here's the deal. I really dig this cat food called Weruva, especially the variety called "Chicken Soup". Even though the person who serves it to me hasn't eaten chicken in at least 14,000 years, she likes to say it could pass for real chicken soup, and I guess she should know since she's Mewish and they always say that chicken soup is "Mewish penicillin". I'm not one to agree that she knows much about ANYTHING, but on this point I'll concede that she might not be talking out her ... well, mew know.
Anyway, this food is DOPE (as the kool katz say?). I would say that if mew're going to compare it to a drug, it'd be a lot more potent than penicillin, but I only got through a couple of years of medical school before I realized my true calling, which is, as mew know if mew read my profile, being a PLUS-SIZE MODEL.
So, back to the food. It's the BOMB in addition to being DOPE. Except -- and this is a big except -- it's got all these weird PEAS in it. My roommate is amewsed by them and sometimes says, "Oh, look! How cute! There are real peas in this!" like they're the Eighth or Twelfth Wonder of the World. Like I should be impressed by something that's smaller than a pad on my paw. Please, peas. As if.
Anyway, I DO NOT LIKE PEAS. Mew can try to tell me they're CUTE, mew can try to tell me, "Oh, mew will love this! It's like people food!" but mew cannot fool me. They are peas, and I do not like peas, and I am even offended by the mention of PRINCESS AND THE PEA, because, as we all know, I'm not merely a princess: I am a queen.
And "queen-sized" is an old-fashioned term for "plus-size", so I'm down with that! But peas? No. :-(
Friday, March 20, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Kitty Twitter!
Meowllo!
Sometimes I don't have enough time to write a full post for mew, but I want to toss a little catnip mewr way. So, with that in mind, I have created a Twitter account so mew can check up on me throughout the day!
Check meowt here: Dash Mouth (Kitty Twitter)!
I tried to add a link to my sidebar, but I can't figure it out. I'm a supermodel, after all, not a computer wiz!
UPDATE, 10:31 p.m.: I did it! Look! I'm so proud! MEOW!
Sometimes I don't have enough time to write a full post for mew, but I want to toss a little catnip mewr way. So, with that in mind, I have created a Twitter account so mew can check up on me throughout the day!
Check meowt here: Dash Mouth (Kitty Twitter)!
I tried to add a link to my sidebar, but I can't figure it out. I'm a supermodel, after all, not a computer wiz!
UPDATE, 10:31 p.m.: I did it! Look! I'm so proud! MEOW!
Friday, March 13, 2009
Yes, it's the 13th! Deal with it!
Meowllo!
So, today is Friday the 13th, just like last month, and just like last month I am swishing my tail and rolling my eyes at the notion that this day is BAD LUCK. It's only bad luck if mew tell mewrself it's bad luck, so STOP TELLING MEWRSELF IT IS BAD LUCK. That is what they call a self-fulfilling prophecy, and I don't believe in filling myself unless it's with BONITO FLAKES and a variety of canned food that has a lot of GRAVY.
Have I ever mentioned that I love the kind of cat food that has a gravy or savory sauce of some kind? Have I ever mentioned that this makes me very very happy, and that I am THRILLED that, as a plus-size model, I don't have to deny myself this exquisite pleasure? I don't think so. But I'm stating it now, for the record!
Later this weekend I will tell mew about something I did this morning when Piggy and Grover's mom came over! I think mew will be quite amewsed!
So, today is Friday the 13th, just like last month, and just like last month I am swishing my tail and rolling my eyes at the notion that this day is BAD LUCK. It's only bad luck if mew tell mewrself it's bad luck, so STOP TELLING MEWRSELF IT IS BAD LUCK. That is what they call a self-fulfilling prophecy, and I don't believe in filling myself unless it's with BONITO FLAKES and a variety of canned food that has a lot of GRAVY.
Have I ever mentioned that I love the kind of cat food that has a gravy or savory sauce of some kind? Have I ever mentioned that this makes me very very happy, and that I am THRILLED that, as a plus-size model, I don't have to deny myself this exquisite pleasure? I don't think so. But I'm stating it now, for the record!
Later this weekend I will tell mew about something I did this morning when Piggy and Grover's mom came over! I think mew will be quite amewsed!
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Help Meowt
Meowllo!
Hi, guys!
Listen, I know there are these things called RULES that I'm supposed to follow, given that I am forced, for some reason I can't quite fathom, to live as a subordinate in the world of so-called "intelligent" beings that walk upright, have opposable things, and the ability to appear on "American Idol", but sometimes I get get sick and tired of the whole scheme of things. Do mew know what I'm talking about?
Take, for instance, my ongoing problem with my litter box. First of all, there's its name. LITTER box. Like what I do in that box is somehow rubbish, not worthy of accolade, praise, or admiration. The gems I create, to share with the mewniverse, are not appreciated at all, and I feel, quite frankly, rejected.
Just because THEY created a toilet, and THEY think it's somehow civilized to contain that activity within that vessel doesn't mean that the rest of us should have to follow suit. Mew don't see ME telling this person who calls herself my "mom" to "take it outside" or "do that somewhere else", do mew? NO. I don't tell her what to do or where to do it, so I just don't understand why she thinks she can tell me what to do.
Can you help meowt? Should we start a "pet"-ition so we can free ourselves of these ridiculous, unnecessary, and, quite frankly, oppressive rules that have no real place in our lives and only serve to make THEIR lives easier at the expense of making ours a lot less pleasant?
Who's with me?
Hi, guys!
Listen, I know there are these things called RULES that I'm supposed to follow, given that I am forced, for some reason I can't quite fathom, to live as a subordinate in the world of so-called "intelligent" beings that walk upright, have opposable things, and the ability to appear on "American Idol", but sometimes I get get sick and tired of the whole scheme of things. Do mew know what I'm talking about?
Take, for instance, my ongoing problem with my litter box. First of all, there's its name. LITTER box. Like what I do in that box is somehow rubbish, not worthy of accolade, praise, or admiration. The gems I create, to share with the mewniverse, are not appreciated at all, and I feel, quite frankly, rejected.
Just because THEY created a toilet, and THEY think it's somehow civilized to contain that activity within that vessel doesn't mean that the rest of us should have to follow suit. Mew don't see ME telling this person who calls herself my "mom" to "take it outside" or "do that somewhere else", do mew? NO. I don't tell her what to do or where to do it, so I just don't understand why she thinks she can tell me what to do.
Can you help meowt? Should we start a "pet"-ition so we can free ourselves of these ridiculous, unnecessary, and, quite frankly, oppressive rules that have no real place in our lives and only serve to make THEIR lives easier at the expense of making ours a lot less pleasant?
Who's with me?
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Differing Points of Mew
Meowllo!
Okay, so I know that we all have our differences, and that sometimes we can't see eye to eye, and that that's why the French invented the marvelous saying, "Viva la difference!" but still, there are just some things that are much better when seen from my point of mew and not from the point of mew of this person I live with, because, just between mew and me, she sometimes has her head firmly up her butt.
So, dig this. I was doing my, um, thinking outside the box, pawing at the pretty rug in front of the sofa, and she was doing this stuff called "work" (I don't know what that means, but I will consult my Mewriam-Webster a bit later!) at her desk, and she decided to stick her snout in where it wasn't wanted OR needed. She jumped up, like she often does, and dashed over.
"What are mew doing?" she said. Instantly suspicious.
"Mew have to ask?" I thought. But said nothing.
I looked up at her, blew a smoke ring, and ran into the corner by my window seat. I started pawing the hardwood floor there. I can just as easily use wood as I can wool.
"Now what are mew doing?" she said. "No! Stop it! Don't do that! Go in mewr box! Go in mewr box! Go in mewr BOX!" (Apparently she thinks if mew say something three times, it magically happens.)
"This is not Oz, Dorothy," I muttered.
I looked up at her and arched an eyebrow, and scampered under the antique china cabinet. And started furiously pawing the hardwood under there, too.
"No! Mew can't do that there, either! Come on! Go to mewr box!"
I decided to act like I didn't know what a "box" was and scampered back to the corner I had vacated just moments earlier. I wedged myself into the corner, sitting straight up, my back to her. I know she thought it was cute that I was acting like I was punished, like I was a dunce or something, and I half expected her to fashion a pointy dunce cap out of construction paper, Elmer's Glue, yarn, and glitter, but she didn't.
And then I deposited my present, in full mew of her horrified eyes.
"What is mewr problem?" I said. "Just because we're Mewish doesn't mean I can't hide the eggs for Easter? Fine. Then I'll leave them here where mew can see them before the holiday!"
She's such a SPOILSPORT. :-(
Okay, so I know that we all have our differences, and that sometimes we can't see eye to eye, and that that's why the French invented the marvelous saying, "Viva la difference!" but still, there are just some things that are much better when seen from my point of mew and not from the point of mew of this person I live with, because, just between mew and me, she sometimes has her head firmly up her butt.
So, dig this. I was doing my, um, thinking outside the box, pawing at the pretty rug in front of the sofa, and she was doing this stuff called "work" (I don't know what that means, but I will consult my Mewriam-Webster a bit later!) at her desk, and she decided to stick her snout in where it wasn't wanted OR needed. She jumped up, like she often does, and dashed over.
"What are mew doing?" she said. Instantly suspicious.
"Mew have to ask?" I thought. But said nothing.
I looked up at her, blew a smoke ring, and ran into the corner by my window seat. I started pawing the hardwood floor there. I can just as easily use wood as I can wool.
"Now what are mew doing?" she said. "No! Stop it! Don't do that! Go in mewr box! Go in mewr box! Go in mewr BOX!" (Apparently she thinks if mew say something three times, it magically happens.)
"This is not Oz, Dorothy," I muttered.
I looked up at her and arched an eyebrow, and scampered under the antique china cabinet. And started furiously pawing the hardwood under there, too.
"No! Mew can't do that there, either! Come on! Go to mewr box!"
I decided to act like I didn't know what a "box" was and scampered back to the corner I had vacated just moments earlier. I wedged myself into the corner, sitting straight up, my back to her. I know she thought it was cute that I was acting like I was punished, like I was a dunce or something, and I half expected her to fashion a pointy dunce cap out of construction paper, Elmer's Glue, yarn, and glitter, but she didn't.
And then I deposited my present, in full mew of her horrified eyes.
"What is mewr problem?" I said. "Just because we're Mewish doesn't mean I can't hide the eggs for Easter? Fine. Then I'll leave them here where mew can see them before the holiday!"
She's such a SPOILSPORT. :-(
Monday, March 9, 2009
Slaying the Beasts!
Meowllo!
I slayed a couple of cockroaches over the weekend, and I'm feeling STRONG! This freak I live with has "mixed feeings" about my accomplishment, though. She says that although she's happy that I'm here to do what she could never do, she also feels sorry for the cockroaches. "It's not their fault I live here," she says.
The other day, when her boyfriend was here, he was doing something that required him to move my window seat (she calls it a "dresser", but she leaves the top bare so I can sit on it and look out the window, so it really is a window seat) (it would be nice if she'd accommodate me a little better, though, and attach some sort of cushion to it), and when he did so, they discovered three dead roaches whose corpses had been under there for who knows how long. I thought my mom was going to throw up. She ran for paper towel, and then stood there looking like she didn't know what to do. These were clearly not my conquests, so I didn't tiptoe over to claim them or receive the praise she heaps on me for a job well done.
She stood there with select-a-size paper towel in her hand, turning all shades of green (which isn't that hard to do, given her olive complexion!), and then said to her boyfriend, "I'm sorry, but would mew be able to get rid of them? I'm going to throw up. I am SO going to throw up." Such drama! And they call me the pussy? Meow!
Anyway, this all reminded me of something she wrote about me almost seven years ago, which I think mew would enjoy: No Contest.
P.S. I hope mew all had a great weekend! I napped a lot! We all spooned! My mom said it would've been cute if her boyfriend was curled around her, then she was curled around me, and then I was curled around a cockroach. But of course she talks a big game, given what I've just told mew about her squeamishness!
I slayed a couple of cockroaches over the weekend, and I'm feeling STRONG! This freak I live with has "mixed feeings" about my accomplishment, though. She says that although she's happy that I'm here to do what she could never do, she also feels sorry for the cockroaches. "It's not their fault I live here," she says.
The other day, when her boyfriend was here, he was doing something that required him to move my window seat (she calls it a "dresser", but she leaves the top bare so I can sit on it and look out the window, so it really is a window seat) (it would be nice if she'd accommodate me a little better, though, and attach some sort of cushion to it), and when he did so, they discovered three dead roaches whose corpses had been under there for who knows how long. I thought my mom was going to throw up. She ran for paper towel, and then stood there looking like she didn't know what to do. These were clearly not my conquests, so I didn't tiptoe over to claim them or receive the praise she heaps on me for a job well done.
She stood there with select-a-size paper towel in her hand, turning all shades of green (which isn't that hard to do, given her olive complexion!), and then said to her boyfriend, "I'm sorry, but would mew be able to get rid of them? I'm going to throw up. I am SO going to throw up." Such drama! And they call me the pussy? Meow!
Anyway, this all reminded me of something she wrote about me almost seven years ago, which I think mew would enjoy: No Contest.
P.S. I hope mew all had a great weekend! I napped a lot! We all spooned! My mom said it would've been cute if her boyfriend was curled around her, then she was curled around me, and then I was curled around a cockroach. But of course she talks a big game, given what I've just told mew about her squeamishness!
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Ingrate
Meowllo!
Mew know what rankles me to high heaven and back (and even dips into hell a little bit too)? The fact that my ROOMMATE does not fully appreciate that, after I deposited a little treat for her on the new rug in front of the sofa, I flipped the edge of the rug over the deposit so that, when she flipped it back into place she'd find the surprise. She always says she likes presents, and she gets all googly-eyed and giddy when her boyfriend brings her Diet Coke every week, but when I go out of my way to leave a little somethin' for her -- SOMETHING HOMEMADE!!! -- she tells me I really shouldn't have done that -- and NOT in the way people say when they are accepting a gift they're pretending they're too humble to receive!
:-(
Mew know what rankles me to high heaven and back (and even dips into hell a little bit too)? The fact that my ROOMMATE does not fully appreciate that, after I deposited a little treat for her on the new rug in front of the sofa, I flipped the edge of the rug over the deposit so that, when she flipped it back into place she'd find the surprise. She always says she likes presents, and she gets all googly-eyed and giddy when her boyfriend brings her Diet Coke every week, but when I go out of my way to leave a little somethin' for her -- SOMETHING HOMEMADE!!! -- she tells me I really shouldn't have done that -- and NOT in the way people say when they are accepting a gift they're pretending they're too humble to receive!
:-(
Monday, March 2, 2009
Well, EXC-MEW-SE me!
Meowllo!
How was I supposed to know that the little plastic bag sitting by the front door was not a feed bag containing delicious treats and instead contained partial contents of my litter box that a certain someone deems discardable? Please. Like she hasn't reached into the garbage, a la George Costanza from "Seinfeld", for a half-eaten something or other? Hrmph.
How was I supposed to know that the little plastic bag sitting by the front door was not a feed bag containing delicious treats and instead contained partial contents of my litter box that a certain someone deems discardable? Please. Like she hasn't reached into the garbage, a la George Costanza from "Seinfeld", for a half-eaten something or other? Hrmph.
Oh! Snow!
Meowllo!
It has snowed or snown or snowden! It happened last night, when I wasn't looking, when I was busy sleeping and dreaming up ways to wake my mom up 20 minutes before her alarm goes off (she LOVES this!)! I keep sitting by the kitchen door, hoping she'll open it so I can touch my tender paw to the fluffy flakes and then try to take a step outside and realize that this snow stuff is wet, like water, which I do NOT like. I only like doing it because I think the contrast of my black paw against the white snow is so purr-ty! MEOW!
What's it doing in mewr neck of the woods?
It has snowed or snown or snowden! It happened last night, when I wasn't looking, when I was busy sleeping and dreaming up ways to wake my mom up 20 minutes before her alarm goes off (she LOVES this!)! I keep sitting by the kitchen door, hoping she'll open it so I can touch my tender paw to the fluffy flakes and then try to take a step outside and realize that this snow stuff is wet, like water, which I do NOT like. I only like doing it because I think the contrast of my black paw against the white snow is so purr-ty! MEOW!
What's it doing in mewr neck of the woods?
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