The Hundred and Tenth Bit Of Good News

Oh thank GAWD. The Cat is scheduled to leave out house [and NEVER COME BACK!!] by the end of the month. So that leaves me with exactly… [carry the one... strike that number... mmm hmm...] SEVEN days [give or take a few weeks. Hey, having a talking, typing, blogging dog is INCREDIBLE enough; now you want a mathematically genius canine as well??] to bear “its” presence in MY home.


I’ve already started preparing the invitee list for the party I’m going to throw once “it” departs from my life. And, OK, maybe I have only two guests who’ve agreed to come so far [and one of them is the old lady on Canning Street who dies a few years ago] but WHATEVER. It’s not like I need the friends, anyway. The way I see it is, more pepperoni pizza for me!!

I cannot WAIT for the 30th. This piece of news itself calls for a celebration [it's not everyday that your ancestral enemy decides to banish itself as far away from you as possible].

Time to cannonball into a pitcher of Kool Aid!!! [Although whether I'll fit is a story for another day]

The Hundred and Ninth Fact

Here’s a quick piece of information: Cats and Dogs?? Yeah, they pretty much hate each other.

Which leads to my NEXT piece of information: Cats and Dogs?? Yeah, it’d be DOWNRIGHT STUPID to try to ask them to LIVE TOGETHER. PERMANENTLY.

Which is why, based on those two, very accurate bits of knowledge, I an conclude that: I live with a psychotic family.

Because, just when I started thinking to myself Hey, congratulations!! You’ve hit ROCK BOTTOM and there’s no way to proceed but UP, UP, UP!! My father comes along and indirectly assures me that if I dig hard enough, there is a way to penetrate the rock at the bottom.

Which, just FYI, is NOT a good thing.

My whole life, I knew that there would be a point when I’d reach a situation that TOTALLY sucked. From every possible angle. And that there’d be no way out of it except to persevere. And, I believed that, as soon as I waited long enough and got out of the rut, there would be no other option but to shoot to world fame and eternal glory.

[Which should give you an idea of exactly how messed up the internal working of my brain really are]

Naturally, when the cat came to stay for a short holiday, I assumed that I’d reached the place I’d been dreading my whole life, and I was kept alive and running only by the knowledge that at the end of the whole escapade, I would be mentioned along the lines of Beyonce and Oprah.

OBVIOUSLY, that didn’t happen. Instead of catching late night tequila shots with Gwen Stefani, I got my father casually asking me whether I’d like the cat to stay. FOREVERMORE.

I was so shocked, I almost puked in my mouth.  Having the cat stay for a few weeks is torture enough. But for the rest of my life?! I’d rather be put of a  long lasting NON-FAT TOFU [if there is such a thing] diet.

Why does everything have to be so complicated?? Why can’t the Gods just made me a superstar already?? It’s not like I’m not destined to be one, anyway.

The Hundred and Eighth Shudder

Not only do I have to live under the same roof as a CAT [who my parents have re-christened her Fluffy -despite watching that documentary on Animal Planet yesterday that VERY clearly stated that animals should not be given numerous names due to that amount of confusion that is sure to follow. Not that a CAT can be EVER mistaken for something as majestic as an ANIMAL. But still-] but, apparently, I have to PLAY with it as well!!


At first, I thought they were joking. Who in their right mind expects DOGS and CATS to get along?? And what is the point, anyway?? We have enough friends in our respective species, thank you very much. I don’t need a skinny, flea-infested, rodent-catcher as a companion.

The Hundred and Seventh Relief

Thank HEAVENS. The C-A-T* is only a temporary member of the family. She’s Dad’s colleague’s wife’s brother-in-law’s nephew’s pet and, as they are going on a world cruise, they decided that they’d dump their gruesome feline at our place.

The only thing better than waking up to discover that a C-A-T* has been added to your family for the time being is waking up to discover that a C-A-T* has been added to your family forEVER. My blood curdles just thinking about it.

Imagine seeing a C-A-T* at the foot of your dining table first thing in the morning, ever single morning for the REST OF YOUR LIFE. The only thing scarier would be watching Paranormal Activity 4 when you’re home alone.

Temporary or not, the presence of this measly excuse of an animal is starting to bug me. Just because it doesn’t like any flavor other than beeping tuna, why do I have to go through shovels of fish for MY meals??

WHY can’t my family loosen their purse strings for ONCE IN THEIR LIVES and order me a nice, deluxe meal from the gourmet dog restaurant across the street?? I’m telling you, it is sheer TORTURE to see pampered pooches being chauffeured into the place by their filthy rich owners on a daily basis.

If THEY can have “rich, creamy slices of steak garnished with avocado and lime” WHY CAN’T I?!?!? They aren’t BETTER than me, right?? I mean, do they have blogs with GLOBAL FAN-FOLLOWINGS?? Are they CAPABLE of THINKING?? DO THEY KNOW HOW TO FLUFFING TYPE????????????

I can assure you, they most certainly do NOT.

SO WHHYY????????? WHHYY MEEEEE?????????? [And I am not typing each letter twice because my paw keeps slipping thanks to the tears that are gushing from my blood-shot eyes. I'm doing it for dramatic effect, of course]


*I’ve refrained from using certain words throughout the duration of the post and have utilized their spellings instead to avoid political disturbance [C-A-T’s can’t READ, you know -they’re SO stupid- Hey, if you think about it, I’m the stupid one here. If they can’t read in the first place, why have I bothered to SPELL THE WORDS OUT?? My idiocy baffles the mind, it really does].

The Hundred and Fifth Protest

I openly revolted against my family’s alarming decision today. I refused to touch my meals, didn’t allow them to take me outside to relieve myself, shut my snout firmly when it was medicine time, didn’t even let myself get tempted by the beef  chew they were attempting to coax me with.

That’s why they’re frantically calling up every vet in town, informing them about how their pet is acting “abnormal” and would they be able to squeeze in an emergency appointment??

However, according to my expert opinion, my behaviour is definitely justified. In fact, I think I’m letting it slide easy. I should be staging full-fledged hunger strikes, toilet-papering their house, arranging for disastrous riots. Ignoring the food they’ve kept out for me is too mild for the cause I’m fighting for. Surely.


The Hundred and Fourth Disbelief

Out of all the ways they could have sinned, out of ALL of them, they chose to… they chose to do THIS!!

It’s downright outrageous!! I mean, the Tuna-kibble is bad enough [curse its producers. What were they THINKING??] and now they go ahead and do something as absolutely disrespectful as what they have done just about a week ago.

Do they have ANY idea what this is going to do to my spotless reputation?? Don’t blame me if I suddenly become the least-popular, most-bullied dog on the block. It’s all their fault, after all.


Seriously, if humans are supposedly at the top of the living creature hierarchy, I shudder to think about the bad hands the earth has fallen into.