For once, it's not all about me me me (yow)

Meowllo.

I don't have the spirit for my usual exclamation point, so the period at the end of the Meowllo greeting will have to suffice.

I am very sad, and trying to keep myself from crying all day, because the past couple of days one of the cats who is lucky enough to live with my mom's friends Allison, Piglet, and Grover suddenly got sick and has a fever and is in the hospital and it's not looking as good for him as we want, even though we are all praying or sending telepathic good vibes or just thinking really really hard about how much we love Vito -- whichever one suits us! -- and how much we want him to get better. Some of us, like my mom and I, haven't ever even meet the little guy, but we know that if he's hanging around with Allison and Piglet and Grover he's gotta be pretty damned amazing!!!

The only good thing about this is that my mom has been hugging me extra these past couple of days. But I'm too cool to admit that I like this. So, even though I want her to keep doing it, I have to feign disinterest and pretend to struggle out of her arms. I do have a reputation to uphold, mew know what I mean?

PLEASE get better, Vito. We all love mew!!!

Mewsing in Action

Meowllo!

I apologize for not updating my blog for quite some time. I have been very busy being a supermodel and lying around my mom's apartment honing my craft. I have also been busy pretending to be her personal assistant and forgetting to tell her that the price of postage has gone up again and that she needs to buy new pens. I have been spending a fair amount of time out on the back patio, sunning myself the way supermodels do, in preparation for a photo spread that a nice man named Mew Heffner said will bring me the recognition I so richly deserve.

More soon! I promise! Meow!

Rest in beautiful peace, Molly :-(

Meowllo.

I am very sad. My sister/aunt, Molly, who lives with my mom's mom and sister, left this world yesterday. I am incapable of tears, because I am a cat, but that doesn't mean I am not devastated. I hear she was the sweetest, gentlest, loveliest girl around. I miss her even though I never met her.

Sleep sweetly, Molly! You are missed already. :-(

Tomcat Jones!

Meowllo!

I was really mad at my mom yesterday for abandoning me to hang out all day with Piggy and Grover and their mom, Allison. But when I saw this video clip of some of their shenanigans, I was THRILLED to have been left out of the so-called fun. (Allison works the puppet-cat as my mom provide vocal hilarity. Piglet looks like he wishes death on both of them. And can mew blame him???)

Mewterial Girl

Meowllo!

Contrary to what mew might think, I am not a mewterial girl. I don't ask for much. However, I am not a complete traitor to catdom, in that I am very picky about the few things that I do ask for, such as food (no peas, please, as I have documented before) and where I don't appreciate being touched (don't fiddle with my paws!), and how long I will allow mew to hold me when mew're standing (no more than 24 seconds). Also, I have the glower and glare down pat, and I excel at being not only aloof but actually turning my back toward mew to demonstrate that I am actively ignoring mew.

But when I saw the item pictured here, while doing some research on the internet this morning, I almost got as excited as a dog does when mew just look his way. Here is the description from Target's website:

Inspired by an old-fashioned gumball machine, the Kitty Kitchen Food and Treat Dispenser invites your cat to help herself to a tasty reward. Made with a turn-wheel that can be easily spun with the touch of a paw, the sturdy design is simple for most cats to learn to use. (A diploma is included for when your cat masters this trick.) Place on a countertop for a whimsical addition to your kitchen or pantry. Dispenser is red, black and gray, with colorful fabric accents on the turn-wheel.

Although I am deeply in love with this thing, I do not appreciate that Target thinks there are some of us who wouldn't be able to learn to use it. We are cats, after all. I will be happy to receive my diploma, though.

What I can't figure out, though, is how to get my mom to get this for me (she's going to Target on Saturday!) without actually asking for it. Any advice???

Redemption!

Meowllo!

The good mews is that we don't think my mom has swine flu. We know that swine flu, like all other diseases, is nothing to laugh about, but given that my mom has, over the years, thought she was stricken with everything from polio to prostate cancer, we have to laugh when she finds herself thinking she may have whatever the latest disease is making headlines.

Oddly enough, she never thought she had SARS. Go figure.

So, anyway, she just got back from the store with a new box of litter for me, and she redeemed 45 Paw Points over at the Fresh Step website. So far, she's accrued 590 points, which is almost enough to get me a bed that I would never use. She says she's not going to redeem them until she has enough to buy me my own brownstone here on the Upper West Side.

I just hope she doesn't contract taxoplasmosis before that.

Nothing much :-(

Meowllo!

Nothing much going on around here, I'm afraid(y cat). My mom's been sick since Mewsday morning and hasn't left the house at all -- not even to go to the gym, which for her is a big deal. She says she feels like something out of my litter box, and I'm trying not to be offended.

We've been taking lots of naps, but I've gotta say it's a LOT cuter when I do it. I mean, mew don't see ME drooling on the pillowcases, do mew? Absolutely not. Disgusting.

Slouching is Sexy

Meowllo!

If mewr mom is anything like mine, she's probably telling mew at least half a dozen times a day to sit up straight and to wipe that scowl off mewr face. She's probably also guzzling Diet Coke or coffee like there's no tomorrow and crying over TV commercials that feature dogs (the nerve!) or laughing like an absolute idiot for no reason. If mew are anything like me -- and I KNOW mew are! -- mew want to tell her to leave mew alone and let mew do what mew do best, which is slouch and glower.

As mew can see, I have mastered the art form.

What's it all about, Meowfie?

Meowllo!

I'm meowing quite a bit these days, but I have no idea why. My roommate gives me plenty of attention, as does this man-person-thing who visits and stays overnight and whose various bags I pay great tribute to by honoring them with maniacal pawing almost immediately upon his entry. I like the food she gives me. She keeps my litter box clean. She encourages me to acquaint myself with cockroaches and lets me see for myself that it's raining on the patio by opening the door. And not only does she leave the bathroom door open a little so I can lounge by the tub, but she calls that room my "den". So, what's my problem? Why am I such an ingrate?

Or am I trying to tell her something else when I look up at her and meow out of the blue?

What do you mew think? Should I just shut up? Or should I see a purr-apist?

Nine Years!

Meowllo!

This person I live with just looked down at me and started jabbering some mumbo-jumbo in a singsong voice that makes her sound like one of those "cat mommies" she swore she would never become. I was busy pivoting on my shapely bottom, delicately licking the sleek black fur of my right paw (the one I write with, but, oddly enough, not the one I shuffle cards or brush my teeth with), minding my own business, daydreaming about this weekend, when she'll be away for a few days and I'll have the whole palace (no, that's not a typo -- I mean palace, not just "place") to myself, and she started reaching down as if to rub my stomach a/k/a cause me to lose my balance and topple over like a Weeble that has finally fallen down. It took me a few seconds to decipher her prattle.

It was this: HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, SHANA! HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!

Nine whole years? One for each of the lives I'm supposed to have? Wow!

And then I realized, well, this is all very well and good, but ... where's my cake? Where's the brouhaha and hullaballoo? Where's the mahi-mahi?

It's an anniversary, sure, but I'm not too happy!

MEOWMEOW!!!

Princess and the Peas

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. :-(

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!

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!

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?

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. :-(

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!

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!

:-(

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.

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?

All dressed up and nowhere to go!

Meowllo!

Sometimes I like to hide from my mom all day and bury myself deep within the bowels of one of her two closets, underneath who knows how many layers of stuff that's stacked and piled and even kind of just tossed in there. It's like an archaeological dig, I tell you! In fact, one morning last week I was hobnobbing with Java Man in there. I asked him if he'd like a cup of java, but then realized that sounded a bit cannabilistic. It turns out he didn't even know what java was and said he'd just take a cup of Sleepytime, thank mew. After only a few sips, he was out like a light! And let me tell mew, boys and girls, JAVA MAN SNORES. I swear a little feather materialized out of nowhere and floated above his ample schnoz as he wheezed his way through dreamland!

So, anyway, after he fell asleep, I was in the closet, doing what I do best, which is NOTHING. And then, for some reason that even I can't quite understand, I felt the irrepressible need to bolt from the closet, right past my mom's chair, where she was working. I was low to the ground, hoping she wouldn't see me, even though I'm pretty hard to miss. She heard me, though, and spun around just in time to see me try to disappear under another chair several feet away to her left.

"Dashy! Are you dashing?" she asked. "What are mew doing? And what are mew doing with my dress draped over mewr back?"

It was true, guys. Sorta. See, while I was in the closet, I decided to try on some of the stuff she doesn't wear that often. I'd been eying this particularly elegant black dress that she thinks puts her in the same league as Audrey Hepburn, and I thought it might look good on me too, especially since it has a twirly skirt which would disguise my ample bum. (My mom would like mew all to know that she herself doesn't have an ample bum. She says the only way I can even think about using her computer to tell mew about the dress is if I make that a-bun-dantly clear!)

So, mew know how when mew hold something up to mewrself to see if it would look cute on mew, it's just not the same as actually putting it on? Well, that's what I did. I put the dress on. I crawled up through the bottom of the dress, and in trying to properly put it on, managed to wedge the neck part around my waist. I wanted to dash to the mirror to see if I could make sense out of the way this dress works (why can't these things be EASY???), and that's when she saw me.

"Oh! I thought the dress was just draped on mewr back!" she said with about 52 exclamation points, laughing like a hyena and jumping up out of her chair to reclaim her precious dress. "I didn't realize mew were actually wearing it!" She had a bit of difficulty unwedging me from the stupid thing. I knew she was concerned about ripping the delicate fabric, but she took special care to extricate me with a minimal amount of damage to either me or the dress.

Is it my fault she has such a scrawny neck that it can't even accommodate my delicate 18 pounds?


P.S. For the record, the dress looks better on ME. I wish Java Man had been awake to appreciate it!

Mewperstitious, much?

Meowllo, everyone!

Listen, I just need mew all to know something. It is NOT MY FAULT that a lot of people actually buy into this blatherskite about Friday the 13th being bad luck. It is NOT MY FAULT that they think that not only is the number itself bad luck but that BLACK CATS are also bad luck and that they have to make a BIG HONKIN' FUSS about seeing a black cat, not only on regular days but especially on this day that has been called BAD LUCK.

I consider my black catness to be a marvelous thing. A fortunate thing. A thing to be admired and adored and cherished. If people want to cower in fear and stupidity at the mere sight of me, that is their problem. I do not buy into it, I do not entertain it, and I refuse to participate. I will meet any such nonsensical behavior associated with the avoidance of black cats with a glance that can only be be described as withering and dismissive. And this glance may, just by coincidence, cause mew to slip on a strategically placed banana peel with one foot and an old fashioned rollerskate (the kind that attaches to the bottom of a shoe with a key!) with the other.

Just so mew know.

Meowentine's Day??

Meowllo!

I am going to sleep in two minutes, but before I do, I need to dash off a note to ask all of mew out there a question that is burning up my little brain these past few days: Are we supposed to DO something for our people for Meowentine's Day? Is it not enough that we occasionally swipe their faces with our velvet mitten paws and allow them the supreme honor of stroking our silken tails from time to time in a show of what could pass for a reasonable facsimile of affection if not out and out love?

Or do we have to buy them chocolate (that we can't eat) and flowers (that we want to eat)? Or do we just send them hilarious animated e-cards and bring them a squirrel's tail for breakfast?

Help meowt!

Escape from Meowcatraz!

Meowllo!

I just awoke from yet another nap with my mom. This one was longer than what mew would call a cat nap, though, so as much as I would like to call it one, it wasn't. It wasn't as long as some naps we've taken, which can last at least two hours! Those she calls siestas. And no, she doesn't make me wear a sombrero for those, although I must admit I would look really cute in one. She wouldn't look bad in one either, but just between mew and me, I'd look a lot cuter.

So! Yesterday the landlord came down to chat with my mom. He's a very nice older man, sort of a groovy hippie artist type, and he likes to come down and bother us at random times of the day. Mom says he's like Mr. Furley from "Three's Company" only a lot cooler and cuter and without the ascots. So, the two of them were gabbing away, and she was laughing at a lot of stuff he was saying -- even the stuff that, quite frankly, wasn't even that funny (she does this so he will think she's extra charming and not increase the rent, and she must be doing something right because it worked!) -- and I thought, hey, mew know what? Now would be a good time to hightail it outta here!

So, as she stood there on her side of the doorway, acting all coy, and he stood there on his side of the doorway, acting all semi-funny, I took the opportunity to tiptoe between the two of them -- and make my way out into the hallway!! I tell mew, it was a regular escape from Meowcatraz!! Unfortunately, I was wrong in thinking that being all black made me invisible, and she saw me right away and I didn't get any farther than maybe three feet from the two of them. She shooed me back in, and the two of them laughed at me. I didn't see what was funny about that.

I think I probably went into one of the closets later and did something unspeakable in one of her shoes, but I'm not too sure.

Stay tuned!

Mew like me! Mew really, really like me!

Meowllo!

I hear it is extremely cold outside today here in Mew York City (which is why my mom isn't letting me out on the patio -- and don't worry, it's fenced in and VERY safe!!!), so I appreciate and welcome any warmth that anyone wants to throw my way (even though it's ever so toasty here in our cozy apartment!). So, imagine how thrilled I was when Pearl, Burt, and Jake honored me with this award:



It warmed the cockles of my heart! (SECRET: I don't know what a cockle is, and I have to admit I'm giggling behind my paw because it sounds naughty!)

This award comes with RULES, though, which ordinarily I am loath to follow. But because I can't ALWAYS be a rebel, I'm going to follow them and share them (but not my food!) with you here:

"LOVE YA" award winner... These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers. Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.

So, I am hereby giving this award to the six of mew who have added mewrselves as my Followers: Tristan and Crikey; Brownie; HotMBC and Robyn; A Few Good Cats; Samantha and Mr. Tigger; and Tuck. I am also giving it to The Meezers, who were the first to comment on this, my nascent blog; and to Piggy and Grover, because their mom is BFF with my mom!

Really, though, I would award this to so many others as well, but the rules only said EIGHT. So, don't feel sad if I didn't include mew. I don't ever want anyone to be sad!

I hope mew are all staying warm! And if mew live somewhere that has nice weather right now and it's warm outside, I hope mew have a nice patio to lounge on!

MEOWMEOW!!!

Just a little dash!

Meowllo!

Just a short dash (mouth!) of a note before I hit the hay, which is like the equivalent of ten catnaps. I have to get this off my impossibly soft, plush, smooshable chest before I snooze, because otherwise I will forget and then have to do that thing where I wrack and wrack and wrack my brain to remember and come up with nothing! I'm sure mew have done this too. Am I right, ladies and germs (and cats)?

So, this is what I realized! All this time I have been living in this city, I have been pronouncing it wrong! It's MEW YORK, not New York! How could I have been so wrong!

Oh, silly, silly me! MEOWMEOW!

Wowmeow!

Meowllo!

Meoweee! Thanks, again and again and again to all of mew for mewr kind and warm and wonderful welcomes! I am truly touched by mewr interest in me and my little life here in New York City with this ... PERSON thing who talks to me in the weirdest of voices and calls me all sorts of ridiculous names that are purrrr-mutations of my real name!

My real name, in case I didn't already say it -- maybe I did and I've forgotten, I have so much on my little mind! -- is Shana. It's pronounced "SHAY-nuh" (or, actually, the second syllable contains a SCHWA, but I don't know how to type that ... mew know it, though, as "the upside-down e" from elementary school!), and it means "pretty" in Yiddish. My mom didn't name me, though. The person who found me on the train tracks (story to come!) did. My mom likes to call me DASH MOUTH, though, in honor of my little dash of a mouth.

Mew can call me Shana, and mew can call me Dash Mouth, I don't have a preference. Just don't call mew late to dinner! MEOWMEOW!

Good mewrning!

Meowllo!

And a great big Good Mewrning to all of mew!

I guess word is spreading like wildfire that there's a new cat in town, because quite a few of mew stopped by to greet me. So, thankmew to all who did! I wish you could all visit me here in New York City. It gets lonely sometimes, even though I hear there are about 142 million people who live on the Times Square subway platform alone and there are at least 500 times that many cats!!

I like my mom well enough, though, but don't let her know that. I like to pretend to be all comfy and cozy on her lap, reaching up every once in a while to stroke her chin with my delicate and tender left paw (made of velvet, I'll have mew know!), and then, when she least expects it, I'll use that same lap as a springboard, and jump up really fast, usually spilling something in the process. She pretends to get frustrated with this, but I know she secretly LOOOVES it!

Have a really wonderful day, to all of mew groovy cats out there!

Is this thing on?

Meowllo, everyone!

And by "everyone", I mean the maybe TWO (rhymes with MEW!) readers I now have! I'm feeling a little self-conscious, now that I have an audience! MeeeYOW!

My mom (is that what we call these non-cat types?) changed my litter today -- a whole new container! -- and I rewarded her for her kindness and generosity by actually using it IMMEDIATELY rather than using the rug in front of the sofa. I really don't understand why she gets so mad at me when I leave tokens of my appreciation for her there, anyway, where I know she'll be sure to see them when she plops down on the sofa mid-afternoon to watch "All My Children" (which she claims she "hates" but which she insists on watching anyway).

She's soooo conf-mew-sing!!

Meowllo!

Meowllo, and welcome to my blog. My name is Dash Mouth, and I have a LOT to say. You may not think it to look at me, but a lot goes on inside my tiny black head. And a lot of it is not pretty, even though I am.

Stay tuned for my first real post, in which I tell you about how this idiot I live with yells at me like a banshee and how I get back at her in ways that do not please her in the least.