Happy Fathers Day, Dad!

We, your fur kids are taking this opportunity to wish you all the best for all the love and care you give us.

Because you're such a great guy, we're going to treat you to all the following:

1. Clothing maintenance: We'll sit on your Sunday suit after you lay it out and make sure it's purrfectly pressed and trimmed in both matching and, because we love you, contrasting fur trim.

2. Help with your email: We'll sit on your desk and deal with that pesky computer cursor while you type.

3. Help with your diet: Brat and Mooch have volunteered to help you eat your ice cream. We'll all help with the meat portion of your dinner.

4. Sleep: Even though it's supposed to be in the high 90's for the next couple of days, that won't stop us. We'll cuddle up close if you decide to take a nap. (Please? We love naps, and we're good at it, too.) If not, we'll keep the wrinkle monster at bay while you sleep at night. Pounce!

5. Purrsonal grooming: Brat has volunteered to help with your shower, and Mooch and I will help with toothbrushing. We like running water.

You don't even have to say thanks. You're probably overwhelmed and speechless anyway.

Love,

Maggie, Gordon and Caitlin

»^. .^«

Taking Out a Cardinal

So parent #2 came home the other day all droopy and said, "Maggie, today I took out a cardinal."

You did?! Does the Pope know? I asked. I couldn't imagine he would be amused.

"Not that kind of a cardinal, a bird."

You went out with a bird?

"No. I took one out with the car."

If you ran over him, he was probably already dead.

"He wasn't. He flew down low, right in front of my path. I couldn't stop in time. Splat. Red feathers all over the grill."

You killed a bird?! I was incredulous. My own parent, guilty of vehicular birdslaughter. Probably driving too fast, and likely under the influence of diet coke.

"He was so pretty. I feel so bad."

You should, I said, not letting her off the hook for a minute. People should not be allowed behind the wheel. The world is the worse for it. Now some poor kitty has been deprived not only of her supper, but also of the thrill of the hunt. It's simply wrong.

I am incensed. And I apologize to kitties everywhere for my miscreant parent.

»^. .^«

Poor Little Kitty Niece, All Hacked to Pieces

My human brother Mike has two kitty kids, Chloe and Fidelma. Imagine my delight to find that Chloe is now on Catster! Unfortunately, the poor baby's site has obviously been hacked. Someone has replaced the beautiful picture of my little white medium-haired niece with a picture of a guy in a fedora with his feet up on the desk taking a snooze. How crummy is that?!

Poor, poor little kitty girl.

Welcome to catster, anyway, Chloe. Maybe we can do something about that picture. Those evil, evil hackers! May their kibble turn green with mold.

»^. .^«

PS: Ok, the site really hasn't been hacked. That's my human brother Mike, keeping the place until they can get a pic of Chloe taken and uploaded. But be honest, didn't the hacker story sound better?

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

Dear Mom,

Your kitty kids love you so very much we've decided to give you our undivided attention today. Mooch, Brat and I have decided to take turns spending quality time with you. If you're meditating, we'll be there to poke you with a paw or a nose, making sure you maintain focus. If you're at the computer, we'll be parked in front of the monitor, watching you with love and devotion. If you decide to take a bath, we'll come sit on your lap. If you're in the kitchen, we'll be right under your feet. If things get a little dull, we'll entertain you with a wrestling match. And to help with your diet, we'll even help eat your meals. You don't even have to say thanks.

Kitty love,

Maggie, Gordon & Caitlin

»^. .^«

Poor Little Ocarina

I like cell phone ring tones and ocarinas. On ocarina is a little flute-like thing commonly made of clay. Mom likes to play one and I like to listen. Okay, when she's playing, I come running, get up in her lap, and try to rub my head and face on it, "marking" it as mine. Or I used to.

Yesterday Brat Boy got up on the desk, saw the ocarina sitting there and pushed it off. His excuse? "It attacked me Maggie, honest!" Right. My poor, poor little ocarina is now shards. No more running toward the pretty music. No more marking. No more.

RIP, poor little ocarina, all busted to pieces and laid to rest in the garbage can.

At least I still have my cell phone.


»^. .^«

Over Eaters Anonymous

Mooch Girl came into the room crying this afternoon: "Maggie, Mom is threatening to start an Over Eater Anonymous group for kitties and make me go to the meetings."

Oh? Why would that be? I asked innocently, ignoring the bulge in the cat's middle.

"It's all about timing. Just because I was eating when she left for work and eating when she came home, she assumed I'd been 'parked in front of the food bowl all day.' But I wasn't. I ate breakfast, that's when she left. Then I took my early morning nap, ate a mid-morning snack, took my morning nap, ate lunch, took my early afternoon nap, had a snack, took my late afternoon nap and went in for my dinner. That's when she came home. I didn't spend the entire day with my 'mug' in the 'food trough.' I've been wrongly accused."

Hmmmmm, I said. Is there any food left?

"A few crumbs, but Gordon has been eating out of my bowl, too. Mom said, 'Caitlin, you need to practice saying, My name is Caitlin and I'm an over eater.' I feel sooooooooooooo humiliated!"

Caitlin, there's only one solution, I said. To avoid the look of gluttony, purrhaps you need to take your nap somewhere other than in front of your food bowl.

»^. .^«

Happy Birthday to Me!

Happy birthday to me!
Happy birthday to me!
Happy birthday pretty orange girl,
Happy birthday to me!

OK, so I'm not particularly modest. It's my birthday. I'm seven and proud of it! I didn't get my diamond collar, but I did get lots and lots of kitty candy, and lots and lots of love from my family. Who needs anything else?

»^. .^«

Cinco de Meow

I absolutely adore this time of year. Not only are we celebrating the victory of the Mexican militia over the French army at The Battle Of Puebla in 1862, we're also celebrating the gift of my presence gracing the earth. It's only 5 days 'til my birthday!

Of course I have a list:

A new diamond collar (not cubic zirconia!) I'd settle for purrls

My very own bag of kitty candy

My parents catering to my every whim, with appropriate offerings of adoration and obeisance

And because I don't want to make this all about me, a really nice new home for Brat Boy and Mooch Girl. Someplace else.

»^. .^«

De Sade

Mom, who is usually a fairly sanguine parent, decided it was time to abuse kitties again. Next thing I knew there were three torture chambers sitting in the middle of the kitchen. Caitlin got caught, then me. We're smaller, so we got picked on first. Then she went after Brat Boy. Gordon took one look at the thing and hissed. She tried to shove him in and he escaped. Mooch and I cheered while the attempt was repeated. Then Mom got smart and took the cage in the bathroom, grabbed Brat and shut the door. Next thing we knew, all of us were corralled. Then we got picked up and shoved into the car. We all cried while we took a trip to a destination unknown. All the time Mom was saying, "It's gonna be ok. Such brave kitties. We'll be back home in a few minutes." We let her know we were all going to die.

The car finally stopped and we found ourselves sitting in a room with a bunch of barking monsters who weren't any happier than we were to be wherever we all were. We went into a little room and Mom and the torturer took us out of our cells one at a time. First Caitlin, "She doesn't need shots, I'm just bringing her in for a check up." They talked about her fur, her food, her weight -- 10 lbs (!), and her past history. Then they put her back in the cage and reached for me.

I was mortified, of course. They didn't shoot Mooch Girl, but that didn't mean they wouldn't use me for a little target practice. Sure enough, "Maggie needs shots." I couldn't believe my ears. How could my own parent turn me over to the executioner?! Next thing I knew, I was being stabbed in the leg. The torturer looked in my mouth, checked my ears, scratched my chin and told me how pretty I am. At least she wasn't blind or stupid. Then she put me back in my cell and reached for Gordon.

Brat Boy is such a weenie. He was crying and carrying on about how he was too young to die, and if he just had a second chance he'd be a good boy. He repented of all his sins and begged for forgiveness, "If you'll only spare me. Please don't shoot me. Please don't...." But it was too late. The lady in the white coat had him in her arms rubbing him and scratching his ears. "You're a big boy, aren't you?" She stabbed him, too. Then she said, "You could stand to lose 1/2 a pound." Mom laughed, "Oh, that's going to be easy to pull off." Meanwhile, Brat was purring and fawning over the torturer. Made me want to puke. Then they put him back in his cell, too. "Ha ha Maggie and Caitlin, I got shots and didn't even cry."

We got put back in the car and next thing I knew we were home. Our ordeal was over. We survived the Marquise de Sade. I was so proud. I survived the torture chamber! I didn't crack. I didn't cave, and I didn't lose my kibble!

»^. .^«

We Are The Hokie Nation

We live in the environs of Virginia Tech and we mourn our lost friends and loved ones. We've put aside all the rivalries and for today, no matter what school we attend or where we are, we're all Hokies. We grieve the loss of so much talent and promise, so much of our future as well as our present. Today, no matter what our color, we're all orange and maroon.

»^. .^«