i want cookies

Doreen has made some cookies recently, and I've watched her this whole weekend scarf down the contents of two little plastic boxes of them without sharing ANY with me. She's so cruel, and she knows that my ear mites have returned in full force recently as well, and she still won't share. I've tried sitting on her lap while she eats them, hoping a good chunk will fall and I can at least have a meager morsel, but to no avail. Doreen's a tidy eater for the most part.

I'm currently in "stealth mode," as my red collar with the bell has been taken off. That collar is actually pretty beat-up, and I'm hoping that someone will buy me a new one so I won't look so shabby when I meet people at the door. I'd rather wear no collar than a beat-up collar.

my entry for My Cat Hates You

I have a picture entered for submission on MyCatHatesYou.com. It's a photo of me with my toy bunny, Mr Bun-bun, contemplating thoughtfully. I thought it would be rather appropriate for the website.

Just another day

Brent has taken to chasing me around with this power tool he bought. Honestly, sometimes he makes me want to just high-tail it out of here. It's ridiculous, because I've been especially nice to him. I don't know what his deal is. Luckily, Doreen sticks up for me. She's the only one who can bully Brent around.

I knocked over a tin of Pit'r Pat kitty breath fresheners the other day, and it fell in my water mug. The water had the unfortunate affect on the dry treats, causing them to expand and form this unappealing brown blob in my water. The folks have taken to hiding my treats now so I can't get to them. Alas.

my vet visit

Last week I was visited by an in-house vet wearing a Newcastle shirt. She had an immensly intiguing bag, and I wanted to investigate all the odd smells coming from her suitcase and her monstrous purse.

However, before I could conduct a thorough study, she started the poking and prodding that vets are known for. At least her hands weren't cold.

Things found out:

I weigh eight and a half pounds, not nine as previously thought.

The hair loss on my lower abdomen and inner back thighs aren't anything to worry about.

I have ear mites.

The latter is the fact that has generated the most concern among the masses. The vet cleaned my ears out of all this black stuff, which, as she informed us, was actually mite feces. FECES!! Mites are poopin' in my ears!! No wonder I can't hear very well. Even still, I didn't take too kindly to having my ears cleaned. It felt weird, and I hated being restrained. The vet did say I was well-behaved, though. And cute, but, you know, that sort of goes without saying.

Once she was gone, I thought things would return to normal. But for a whole week, Doreen was attacking me with q-tips to clean my ears out, plus she had ear drops that were sometimes *really* cold. I wasn't mad, but I would get quite peeved at such a deviance in our relationship. There we'd be, bonding happily together, then she decides to attack my ears with her clumsy q-tipping.

Thank goodness it's over with. She hasn't messed with my ears for nearly a week, although I think I might have overheard the vet telling her that she has to wait a week and then start the whole process again. I hope I misheard this.

In other news, I got a new scratching post not long after my previous journal entry. Scratchy II is very durable, and has stood up to one night of drunken disharmony. My food has been switched from Friskies to some ten-dollar bag from PetCo. There's supposed to be USDA chicken and duck in it. I like it all right, but I still prefer anything considered treats. I will harass anyone for some treats.

Oh woe (RIP Scratchy)

My beloved scratching post had become a thing of the past when a drunken friend of Doreen's decided to try and attack Shawn with it. As the scratching post isn't meant for an instrument of bludgeoning, but rather for sharpening other deadly weapons belonging to yours truly, this was doomed to turn out wrong.

Although the image of a man chasing another man with a tan and pink post is quite amusing, this didn't actually transpire. The young man known as Mack somehow caught the base of the post against the table, thus dislodging the post from its sturdy base. His attempts to right the situation were made pathetic when I attempted to scratch the post and knocked it over onto the hardwood floor.

Weeks have elapsed since "Scratchy" met its demise. Words have floated in the air about getting me an even better scratching post than the $4 wonder from Goodwill. Alas, such words have not manifested into anything yet but continued anticipation. I have already enacted my rebellion onto the housemates by working my magic on sofas and jeans, much to the dismay of Doreen. She gets off easy; I have a few "friends" who have offered to take care of Mack for me, if you know what I mean.

I know, I am being a bit sophmoric about this, and I am trying to cope. I have renewed my interest in plastic bags, and I'd like to add that I was recently able to catch and play with a moth, mystifying Brent as he watched the grey bug fly out of my mouth. Still, something is missing, and I shall need to do my best to persevere through this rough patch in my life.

I admit, though, I am tempted in having a few kneecaps broken. However I know that will not bring back ol' Scratchy from the depths of the landfill.