PunkKittyDiddy

R.I.P. Gigi

She was a bit of a loose cannon, sure.  Those extra thumbs generally led to extra trouble. Opening and closing the kitchen cupboards - one of which she commandeered and converted to her Top Secret Clubhouse Within Which All Sorts of Mysterious Cat Plans Were Hatched.  I'm pretty sure if I go digging around in the back of that cupboard, I will find blueprints with detailed instructions on how to infiltrate the kitty biscuit stash, and probably schematics that would have eventually somehow led to her dropping from the ceiling a la Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible and ambushing the dog while he slept on the living room rug.........they had a bit of a Spy vs. Spy, friendly rivalry going on.  (I can say "friendly" because he's now moping around the house, looking quite forlorn.)

Gigi also liked to channel Maria Callas.  Especially in the dead of night, when I was least likely to appreciate a spot of Verdi.

But damn it....I loved that fuzzy nutjob.

Today really, really sucks, y'all.

Gratuitous Dog Joy

If a picture is worth a thousand words, what are these saying, exactly?

My theories:

"I'm slacking off on actually writing anything!"  written 142.85 times.

"Despite a lifetime of devout cat worshipping, I'm finding these dog units aren't so bad, either!" written 62.5 times.

"How can I parlay laying around on the patio with my dog, cats and toddler into a handsomely-paying career?  Hmmmmmm......." written 47.619 times.

This theorizing business is surprisingly hard work.  At this rate, I'll have actually emitted a thousand words on top of the 2,000 word credit I've accumulated for inserting a few photographs. 

This is a recurring problem for me.  I'm prone to working harder, not smarter. 

Why don't I just shut up now and coast on the reserves?

Only....I feel compelled to keep blathering till I'm at least neck and neck with the end of the photograph, because I can't stand all that extra white space that would otherwise be loitering at the bottom here.  It's dedication to a higher aesthetic standard, is what this is.  Not verbal diarrhea.  No sir.  Not me.

Hey!  End of photograph!  Finally!  White space mightily defeated!  Huzzah!

How To Tell If Your Dog Is A Muslim Extremist

It's true that in adopting a rescue dog, you don't always know what you're getting. Lots of idiosyncratic behaviors and bad habits could have been picked up along the path that led to your door.  The poor animal could have been subjected to neglect, abuse, or even to radical extremist interpretations of the Qur'an.

So, this picture illustrates what happens when a kleptomanical Barbie has the misfortune of crossing paths with a dog who (apparently) follows Muhammad.  In Zack's defense, this particular Barbie had a bit of a reputation for "borrowing" accessories, entire outfits.....heck, even the keys to a certain Dream House....from the other dolls without permission. 

Now, some might argue that Zack's interpretation of 'justice' is too extreme. 

Eh.

Zee inherited a massive mountain of already semi-mutilated Barbies from C..   No one is reeeeeeally shedding too many tears over this incident. Weirdly, Zack doesn't have that much of a problem with chewing inappropriate items.  Only this one.  It almost seems deliberate.  Which kind of leads back to my Muslim extremist theory.

Or not.  Maybe it doesn't lead anywhere. 

Never mind.

Gratuitous Cat Glamour Photography Shot

In real life, Gigi doesn't actually have "possessed-by-Satan" eyes.  Well, they do get a little glow-y when she is gorging herself upon the blood stuffing of sacrificial catnip-stuffed, bat-around toys.....but besides that, she's totally cool.

How Our Dog Was Freed From the Pesky Perturbance of Diaper Rash (But Not Tan Lines)

Yeah, so....yesterday, when I had my back turned, wee Zee decides to slather our new wonderdog Zack in diaper rash cream.  In her defense, she didn't realize it was diaper rash cream.  She had mistaken it for "sunscream."  Dog likes to sunbathe on the patio sometimes, and what with the temperatures rising ......well, you know.  Zee thought she was doing him a favor, I guess.

Alas, in my panic to remove the diaper rash cream from Zack's entire torso region (even though, in retrospect, were it indeed a toxic substance, pediatricians would probably be less encouraging about slathering it upon baby bottoms), I very stupidly neglected to take a picture of said spectacle.

(A footnote:  Zack still (foolishly?) follows Zee around everywhere, so the experience couldn't have been too traumatic for him.......)

But if you're wondering exactly how easily Desitin washes out of fur, the answer is:  "Not very."

A Triumph in Logical Thought Progression

So, did I mention we got a dog?  I'll have to tell you more about him later, but now must share one of our very first anecdotes, posthaste, before it escapes me.

So, wee Z. and Zack (the fabulous canine companion in question) were hanging out in the backyard this afternoon.  I'm trying to teach Z. to stay away from Zack while he's having a poop.  Mostly because I don't want her dancing it in, smearing it upon her person in some sort of cryptic, age-old toddler ritual, or otherwise interacting with said fecal matter in a manner that will result in it subsequently becoming inadvertent interior home decor.  Anyway......

So, as I go for the pooper scooper, I'm constantly yelling at Z.:  "Stay AWAY from the poop! I mean it!  Stay AWAY from the poop! Did you hear me?"

Today Z. was standing on the patio, and then suddenly and very obviously started straining to fill her diapers with poop.  Zack started to approach her, and Z. got reeeeeeally mad at him.  She started yelling:  "Zack!  Stay AWAY from the poop!  Did you hear me?  Stay AWAY from the poop!"

Maybe you had to be there, but I thought it was freakin' hilarious.  Why do I never seem to have a camcorder on hand for such exchanges?