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.

Vowels

When people call me affectionate, cooing names like "Princess..." and "Sweetie..." I feel like a miraculous cat! Especially when they extend their vowels. I wish I wasn't so easily wooed.

I wish I were more independent. Maybe this summer I'll plan to get away. Just for a short trip so I can feel alive again. Find myself. Wait, what am I thinking? I could never leave the food and all the company! I don't even like leaving the house.

Daily Show Blue

I just saw this from Jon Stewart, when the Daily Show returned after 911. It made me cry.

Miss Litter Wallpaper!

Okay, are you ready? Big announcement: Miss Litter and Dig Litter wallpapers! Yes that's right! Over the week, my human was away a lot - enough for me to take online photoshop training with Lynda.com. (Lynda is cool. Big plug.)

So I put together some fun desktops. I admit that I designed Cooper's wallpapers... but HE made up his own slogans. So blame him for their lack of taste.

Go back through the rest of our sites, and you'll see I swapped out many of the old pictures for new wallpapers. Every one is unique and hand crafted and totally free. Enjoy.

Kennedy & Coffee

Life is so unfair. I live in a prison where I can only smell coffee and only imagine Kennedy performing live.

Perre left for Urth Caffé just now. And what do I do but sit and wait? Sit and wait, while he runs around like he enjoys life. Maddening. I've never even been to Urth. The farthest I get out is to see the vets and although that sounds like a great punk band, "The Vets" is nothing but a steel table in a temporary holding cell for those of us least able to defend ourselves. Geneva Convention need not apply. Masked humans probe and prod, but they never get any information out of me. They don't even ask. I don't see the point. Anyway, back to my main complaint:

The kicker? Tonight, my human's getting a bunch of friends together to see Kennedy perform live. LIVE. I LOVE KENNEDY, and I never get to see him. Unfair.

You Mean The Musical Kind Of iPod?

Oh, the OTHER kind of iPod - the music kind. Well, that's even easier to explain. The iPod is the first song people learn on the piano - it's a rudimentary waltz played with two fingers that start together and get further and further apart. Once the song wears on the nerves, it repeats. It's more popular than you'd expect, given how annoying it is.

I suppose people are attracted to the iPod's simplicity and how easy it is to learn.

Another easy-to-learn musical device is the Flea Waltz. But it's like a bad song you can't shake - singing in your ears all day. No amount of scratching can rid you of it.