Did any of y’all hear something about a cat being tossed out of a baseball game by its tail? One of my dearest friends/old editors has been yakking about it on FB, and I of course am all horrified at the thought. No, I don’t want a youtube link if it exists; I just want confirmation so I can prolong my outrage accurately.

Witnessed a near ass-whooping tonight at one of the bars a town over, and it was AAAAAAAALLLL Cheeks’ fault. I was at home catching up with Kaffy and CatRags and getting my underwear in the wash when Girlie (who sometimes wants to be known by her handpicked superhero name, Bitch Fantastic, from here on out) rings in to let me know she and one of her pals are out at said bar, get my ass over there. Threw on some clothes and arrived to Cheeks without the rest of The Unit (and here I COULD make several scatological “That’s like A without B”—what the hell’s that device called?—thingies, but they would be WRONG, WRONG WRONG. Also, Cheeks has informed me he’s now reading along with the class). So I’m sitting there with the gals drinking my Dog Style and trying to come up with our obnoxious request for the evening because it’s my new goal in life to think of the most pedantic, awful song requests for them to perform ("Hell is for Children” was particularly inspired, I think, and has been my favorite so far), and a crowd starts gathering at the door. Upon further examination, we notice that the big hairy bouncer at the front is squeezing the neck of some douchebag like he’s going to pop his head like a zit while others are trying to separate others and we don’t know what the hell’s going on when suddenly, Cheeks yells “GO FUCK YOURSELF, CONVICT!” then starts singing “Why Can’t Weeeeee Be Friends?” which we thought was hilarious and perfectly appropriate. There was one chick who clearly didn’t, however, because SHE RUSHED THE STAGE AND TOOK A SWIPE AT HIM WITH HER NAILS. Now, all we saw was her bounding up to the stage, and we were like, “Whoa, holy shit!” but we didn’t think she actually made contact with his flesh.

So the story is, this chick was trying to put in a request or talk to him while he was in the middle of a conversation, and he was all “Hold up, give me a sec,” so she wigs out and tells her douchebag friends to tell him what-for, only instead of reaching HIM, they went up to aNOTHER table of douchebags, who got all puffy, and then fighting ensued and so on and so forth. I just hope they weren’t waiting for him in the parking lot.

Oh, and since everyone’s been asking, no, I have NOT given up my reporting career as perhaps my FBing has led y’all to believe. I HAVE been picking up shifts at the restaurant, though, since Girlie/Bitch Fantastic has been a little shorthanded and, you know, it’s the LEAST I can do n’ shit since I essentially live there, anyway. And I have to say, it doesn’t suck. I mean, I think I’ve talked about how I waitressed for a little bit in college and how God-awful it was and how even worse *I*was at it, but this is actually fairly cool. I just need to get the hang of it a little better, so no, I do NOT have a set shift and no, I will NOT tell you when I’m there. At least let me get a little better at it before you come in and try to make me lose my shit, huh?

So Mother was supposed to hunker down at Chez Broad after the storm last week, right? It was against every sane bone in my body, but she’s my mother, so one makes sacrifices. Anyway, she arrives, and I tell her that she can crash in my room since I have a queen and I’m used to crashing on the couch. Well, she can’t crash in there because my boys will want to sleep in there with her, she said, even though you can SHUT my door to keep them out and really? They might pester her, but they sleep with their momma (aka me). Okaaaaaaaay, so I hand her a sheet and make up the couch for her, and she sits down while I go over to my D-List celebrity BFF’s so his lovely woman can teach me to prune my own head when it gets too unwieldy.

I get back to the crib, and Mother tells me that I need to take her to my uncle’s because she’s going to spend the night there. Annoyed, I ask why, and she tells me that my eldest was harassing her. “I told you he hangs out on the back of the couch and he’ll leave you alone if you leave him alone,” I reminded her once again. But then no sooner did I walk out of the can when I looked, and there was Rube crouched on the cushion with his paws on her pillow, looking at her like, “Yeah? What’re you going to do, old crazy lady?” I guess he did that to her several times while I was gone, and she freaked out.

Hey, worked for me.

a feline UTI in my oldest, y’all. And giving him medicine has been a serious drag.

There's this new couple on the cul-de-sac du Broad, an interracial couple who can't keep their, ahem, "lovemaking" quiet. At all. All times of the day and night, you can hear them going at it throughout the 'hood, and when one can't find the other, there's wailing. Oh, the wailing. Day and night, there's screaming and wailing, screaming and wailing so loud you can hear it with the windows closed. It gets so loud sometimes, the boys rush to the window to see what's going on.

Stupid feral cats in heat.

Ok, did y'all know about this thing called The Puppy Bowl on Animal Planet!?? DID YOU SEE THA HALFTIME ENTERTAINMENT!?? It was KITTENS! Glorious, glorious KITTENS, frolicking and sleeping and bathing and ... and ... KITTENS! Wheeeeeee! Kaffy and I did some serious giggling while watching it last night a 12:30, and we weren't even fucked-up.

[UPDATE: Behold! The cuteness: Lookit]

Did y'all see the article about little Cy, the ragdoll kitten?

That is all.

Poppy called: Puff died this morning about 4:30. She's not quite sure if he was in any pain, though she was pretty sure he was awfully uncomfortable at times, and it just kept getting worse. But she was with him; the vet people got her up when it was time. (And I'm totally going to get the name of the clinic she went to so I can pimp them out; she said his care was exemplary. It's in Franklin Park, Ill., is all I know.)

She's going to send me a picture a little later, so I'll post it.

There's a little sadness in the feline world this weekend: Poppy's oldest and most favoritest baby, Puff (aka Herr Puffen Huffen), has advanced kidney cancer. The good news is, Pop took him to a vet oncologist on Thursday, and with chemo, he has a 70 percent chance of going into remission and hanging out for a few more years. The not-so-good news is, he has to get through until Monday to wait for the biopsy results and start treatment, and he's not doing great. He's not on death's door or anything -- at least, I don't think -- but I went over there yesterday to help Pop administer a fluid IV for him, and he's down to, like, 7 pounds, wants to eat but can't and has really raspy breathing. He jumped right into my arms and cuddled with me, though, so I want to believe he's got some fight left in him, if not for anything else than for Pop's sake, because she a mess right now. And I can't blame her; when it's the Rube's time, I don't know what I'll do. I mean, I raised him from two weeks old, so he's MY BABY.

Anyway, good thoughts to Puff, por favor.


[UPDATE 11/12: Talked to Poppy earlier -- Puff is hanging in much better than expected. This morning, he got up in bed with her, and he's definitely interested in eating though he can't swallow; she's been making him mush and feeding him through an eyedropper. He also gave the vet techs hell today when they hooked him up to the fluid IV, so THAT'S the Puff we know and love.]

Doncha just want to eat him?



He was dead asleep in this picture, too.

Wake up this morning and head to can for my bladder's morning constitutional when my oldest jumps up on my lap for his morning cuddle. We settle in, and the little guy saunters up an starts swatting at his brother's tail. Well, Rube wasn't having any of that, so he jumps down between my feet to find the Ween hunkered down, neck extended and staring. That puts Rube on the defensive, so the two of them glared at each other for what must have seemed like an eternity when finally, the great trucemaker arrived:

This is what I found as I was walking out the door to get to my assignment today. Kinda not hard to see why it's hard for me to work sometimes, yes?

And I get to make out* with him on a regular basis. I know you wish you were me.

*When I say make out, I mean he sits in my lap or cuddles in the crook of my arm and licks my face. Nothing weird about it, you big pervs.

Elliott, aka "Weenie Been" and my youngest, has just taken a bite of Mommy's White Castle cheeseburger. The outcome of this canNOT be good.

Right now, the boys are lounging on the office bed in somewhat of a '96' position: on the pillows, backs to each other. No, that does NOT make them gay, so stop it! (And y'all know who you are.)

So, can just I tell you I'm now addicted to ring tones? At $2.50 a pop, I probably shouldn't be, but "Brass Monkey," y'all! You can't turn down the "Brass Monkey"! Right now, I have it set on "Song2" by Blur -- you know, the one that goes "WOO-hoo!" I can't wait for it to go off during a big serious meeting. That'll be cool, huhuhhuhuhuhuh. (Beavis.) Next up? The Grand Master Flash version of "White Lines." ("Don't you get too high, baby.")

Won't be covering the debates tonight after all, but I will hunker down and watch them. Not like I'll have a choice, because Fox is broadcasting them, too. Should be interesting.

When you get halfway up the stairs, and a wang is wafting through the hallway even though the air conditioning is on? It's time to do a wholesale cleaning of the litterboxes. Wow.