Triple-Moron

Oh, my god! Cooper made up another word: doublemoron. Enough said. Perfect.

Bo Go Home

Well I'm not dead.

Dog came by yesterday. He's got a southern name, a 1969-Dixie-Flag-Adorned-Orange-Dodge-Charger-kind-of-name: Bo. As in, "Don't look now Bo, but look." and "Why, Daisy if you wasn't my cousin, I'd marry you." A hog-tie, rumble-tumble rough-fider kind of name.

Last time, Bo left me alone while I was under the bed. So this time, I stayed there until he went for a walk with the humans. But one nap later, he was back with a fury, running through my apartment with abandon. Before I could escape, the humans scooped me up and gave me to Bo for dog food.

Dog, it was awful. He sniffed all around me.... Stay perfectly still. Wait for it to pass. It will pass. That's all I kept telling myself. Dog does not exist. Dog does not exist. Dog does not exist.

Then I hissed. Couldn't help myself. I hissed and he pounced. Barked a terrible awful bark. Worse than his bite? I don't know. I tried not to stick around, but as I said: psycho humans had me trapped. They went crazy grabbing Bo's collar. My eyes were bright, and one would think I was taking everything in, but in fact, I could see almost nothing. I heard shouts of No and suddenly everything went slo-mo:

A n i n c h a w a y f r o m m y n e c k I f e l t t h e f o u l b r e a t h o f D o g a s h e l o o k e d d o w n o n m e w i t h j u d g e m e n t: Mealtime.

The next few minutes are a blur of near-death experiences. Have you ever watched X-Files? Think that, times one fifth.

You can say what you want about me. But I learn quickly. If I so much as move, if I so much as hiss, if I do anything, if I exercise ANY free will... dog pounces. Dog doesn't like free will. When I gave up, once I let go... things got a little bit calm. Bo sat there with a tilted head, and seemed to get bored.

Miss Litter's Last Sigh

Sunday afternoons used to be lazy days when I could spread out on my human's Vanity Fair and catch up on the latest Matt Damon gossip. Now there is only one Sunday afternoon left: the afternoon of the big fight. I've been called out by a bully after school, nowhere for me to run. My nine-lives are up. Clock ticking. My days are numbered. Four to be exact. So obviously, this will be my last entry.

No, no one spilled coffee on the server. The site isn't getting hit by stealth DOS attacks. It's more banal than that. Bo is coming this weekend. In a moment of violent chaos I will become dog food.

What saddens me above all else is that I'll never post another boring episode for my fans. I took a little pride and delight in boring you. You are the reason I breath. The reason I stay off drugs. The reason I quit pre-med and watch ER instead.

This is such a Ziggy Stardust moment, I can almost hear you all whimpering out there in the dark theatre of the intertubes mourning my impending loss.

Signing off forever and ever, Moxie

Luckily, The Dog Travels With The Girl

It's no secret. I keep my ear to the floor.

There was talk around the apartment that Bo may have visited over the weekend. I am overjoyed to say, this did NOT happen. Bo is a large hungry dog whose human must constantly remind him: "Cats are friends not food, Bo!"

Now let me say... these are the least re-assuring words I've ever heard.

If choppers like those need reminding, then the best place for me is WAY high up. As high up and as fast as my non-edible legs will carry me.

Luckily, Bo's human got detoured to Napa Valley for the weekend. Near miss. Thank god for California wines.