... she watches: it's not zombieland. Speaking of the Count, she loves to count things. She's also figured out how to count on her fingers accurately. She often overcounts or undercounts things, though: she'll start counting at 3, and insist that there are "5 cats" when there are only 3. (It's funny.) She ...
... and found one of her cats dead, and had put the cat in the freezer until her husband got home from work. She said that that was the last thing of that nature that she would ever put in a freezer, and that there was no way in hell, even if it wasn't bio hazard material, that she would hold my hip ...
I know I talk a lot about how smart Domino is. It becomes really obvious when I can readily compare her to Lily. I don't think that Lily is dumb, as cats go. It's just that she's not Domino. I started looking around on-line for toys to give to smart cats. I'm not really sure how to construct ...
... in the stars…they will do anything it takes. Love is love. It’s wonderfully frightening and beautifully chaotic. If everything falls into place then that’s not love. It’s familiarity. Don’t be sad a lot of people get confused with it. Merlin and Arthur are the epitome of true love. They fought like cats...
D is back in the ER today, and his pain has returned. So pray to your gods for him. I don't yet know if it's something different or what. In good news, we got cats! The neighborlady brought over two black boy cats for us, one is a few months old, and he was wrapped in a blanket, the other is very ...
... fish is not on the permitted list). And for anyone who thinks my wife has a raw deal…..I am butler to the cats. I get top marks from them (the cats) for my catering and other arrangements. Anyway…back to the article! We obtain grilled salmon and a small portion of chips (with no salt) from Chevron ...
... & games night is with the roommates and gentlescholar. And the cats, but I think they're getting a little tired of me ("look, human, we like you and all, but there is sleeping to do here, comprende?"). I really want to *do* something, but I'm getting winded walking to the front room. I can't seem ...
There are things money can’t buy.  Love.  Admiration.  There are also things money won’t buy.  Like an old couch torn to shreds by an army of cats.  It turns out that the cliché is wrong: one man’s trash is usually another man’s trash, too.  The posts you see ...
... and that was through the first less stringently applied chicken wire on the windows of the coop. With all the cats in the yard and the horses patrolling the adjacent paddock and field I get the sense our coop has been judged as too risky by most hungry things. With the imminent approach of winter ...
Godddammit, fucking cat! She's been dive bombing/generally harassing my other two cats, so I'm not letting her have free roam of the house when I'm not here, so she decided to tear up the edge of my carpet while I was gone. Looks like the spray bottle's a comin' out.
