Please bookmark the correct page at Princess of Irony

Door to the kitchen? O-Pen. Cat? Nowhere.

Issue Date: Wednesday, Dec. 07, 2005

Last Friday evening I came home from work a bit late. Mister was working his ass off and I had a project to finish and a hair appointment after work. I do most of my calling while on the way home from the office around 5:30 or so. So there I was chatting when I pulled into the driveway of our house at like 6:30.

I always hit the garage door opener when I am like two houses away because it makes me feel all warm and cozy to see the door already on its way up when I round the bend of the last fence and can actually see my driveway.

I was chatting away to my mother (who is doing quite well, thank you all for your good thoughts and prayers) and telling her that I just cut off my hair. She was very excited as she has been trying to get me to cut my hair off since Methuselah was in short pants.

As I was getting off the phone with momma, the other line beeped and I answered it with a hearty, “Holy CRAP!” It was Amy and I had not heard from her since… oh… 1975 or so. See? If you call me, I quickly hand over the soft core cursing as a greeting. I’m neighborly like that.

Ames and I chatted for a bit about her family and the kids’ school and how J. will one day cause her to go absolutely bat shit crazy. They are two peas in a pod, those two.

I gathered up my armloads of work stuff and personal stuff and Elvira – who weighs in at like 12 pounds – and got out of the hoopty.

I walked into the garage, still on the phone with Ames, and said, “Shit… the door to the house is standing wide open.”

I asked Amy to stay on the phone with me in case some crazed nut job wanted to put me in a well and tell me to put the lotion on my skin, or else I would get the hose. Also, because I was pretty sure that Max the fat grey wonder had escaped, I wandered around the first floor calling for Max while searching for the hidden serial killer.

Buffalo Bill did not come out of the closet at me or smack me with his creepy nipple ring or anything… so I only had one issue to deal with.


Damn cat.

I hung up with Amy and went upstairs to grab Mister’s mag-lite [Side note: Why does every man have one of these? Is it sort of like a rite of passage? When you get to be 25 or so is it mandated that you have to purchase a mag-lite or you will be thrown out of the man clan? Kind of like women and Corning Ware?] and I headed outside… in the dark… to look for a grey cat.

I started in the back and swept the alleyway with the beam from the flashlight and then headed west to walk the block. I came out of the alley one house down from mine, crossed over the street and looked in everyone’s bushes.

That sounded a little kinky.

I came to the front of our house and there, crouched in a ball of grey fur was Max. He was hunkered down next to the neighbors’ fence. When I spotted him, I called him to come to me and he… fucking… ran.


He went along the entire front of our house in a modified crouch run and I swear I could hear him thinking, “hup hup hup hup hup hup”. He jumped into the flower bed and let out a tiny little, “meeeee?” and then took off again. He got to our fence, sidled up to the (other) neighbor’s fence… that is missing a slat… and dove through.

I followed him, I went through our gate on that side and when I got around to the back of the house he was in the garage, at the door to the house.

His tail was puffed out like he had just been posing for the arched back cat of Halloween pictures and he looked up at me and then pawed the door. “Meeee?” [purrrrrrrrrrrr] “Meee?.... mmrrrrrowwwww?” [purrrrrrrrrrrr] Like, “Let me in. I’m ready to go back inside. I had fun. It is cold. My tail is huge. Why are you swinging the tall man’s mag-lite like that?”

I let him back inside and he started immediately into his 2 minute aria of, “Gimmefood, Gimmmeeeee FOoooooooooooooOOOD! I am starving, can’t you see??? Gimmeeeeeeee! Mee?” All the while rubbing against my –

/small veer

Ya’ll? I started writing the above on the evening (9:30 pm) of Wednesday 11/23… I left the office in a huff that evening after putting the finishing touches on my nightmare of logistics that were to be the next thirteen days.

I had a wonderful Thanksgiving with Mister. We had dinner out. Out (!)? Yes, out. It was awesome and the company was amazing.

That Sunday (the 27th) I left for the first leg of my three city conference and I just got back last night.

I am beat.

Let’s see if I can even remember what I was talking about. All I know is that it was something about Max… the escape artist. /end veer

All the while rubbing against my – black pants, depositing as much of his fluffy grey fur as he could in one pass and then going back for the other side. I love this trick. He is good at the shedding, I tell you what.

I gave him some of his (::cough::) diet cat food and then went back to check on the door. Why had it been open? The twist lock works perfectly well. Then I pushed on it, and it opened with little to no resistance.

Max is always streeeeeeetching up along a door or wall and then he paws it like he is rolling up bread dough. As a matter of fact, when he sits on my lap he circles like a bird dog for a few minutes then he kneads my legs or my tummy. We ask him, “Maxxie? You makin biscuits?” as he works my thighs and belly into a suitably comfortable form.

So if he were to push on the garage door? If it were not properly closed… yeah, he could push it open with his kitty muscles.

On that Saturday Mister and I went to run some errands, get my left blinker fixed and to see Jarhead. (One word review… meh.) Mister followed me home from the dealership and when I turned the corner, the garage door was on its way up… and the door to the kitchen? O-Pen. Cat? Nowhere.


The boo-kitty doesn’t have any front claws. He is not supposed to go outside. But he? Yeah, he thinks he is fucking Columbus. He stalks us throughout the house. He paws at us when we are coming up the stairs and he jumps out from behind the door and smacks me on the butt if I get up to pee in the night. Like, “Tag… you are it lady. Sleep? We don’t need no steenking sleep.” He is a dog cat. He fetches, he does tricks. He comes when he is called…. UNLESS he is outside.

So I went for the mag-lite and did the same sweep of the surrounding houses I did before. No cat.

Gato incommunicado.

I stayed out for a long time, and it was cold. I finally came back in the front door and Mister called to me from his office… “Baby, the cat just came in. He hollered at me from the garage and I let him in.”

I almost cried. I thought that he was really gone this time. Stupid door. Now, as opposed to using my garage door opener, I get out and use the key pad just so I can catch an errant kitty if need be.

Anyway, the past few days have been a beating. And I? I look like I took one.

Seriously. Thursday morning (12/1) I was in Houston and my wake up call came in at 4:30 am. I was struggling to wake up from a Tylenol PM induced haze and I answered the phone … quite aggressively. I grabbed the phone and promptly stuck my face with the pointy corner of the earpiece. I smacked myself right below my left eye… on the corner of my ocular bone.

I tell you what. I am one sexy bitch with this shiner.

It started out as a pretty good sized bump with a small blue bruise, about the size of my thumbnail. Since then, it has… uh… spread out. And the colors are quite impressive too.

I haven’t had a discolored face in a long time. Not since I caught a pop fly with my right eye while playing softball, thus ending my spectacularly short career playing any kind of sports with balls included.

Heh… balls.

And being a married woman the first thing out of everyone’s mouth is, “If you look like that… what does he look like?” It is hard to convince people that I am not a battered woman. Yesterday? While in San Antonio… a guy told me about the shelters in the area. I mean, after all… you have to be a special kind of stupid to crack yourself in the face with a phone.

One of my committee members actually said, “Yanno, I saw you Wednesday night… and Thursday morning you had this (points to my face). That is the only reason I don’t think that your husband did it. He’s not in Houston right?”

I appreciate all of the concern, really. And the joking, “Hey, tell him to hit you where it doesn’t show.” Well that? I really didn’t appreciate so much.

I’m back ya’ll. I’ll try to update again after I finish all this paperwork.

Much love and watch out for those phones, they are wily bastards.

Oh and please… send me your photos for the Cheese Off. I am thinking that I am going to pick a winner soon.
Go to this link here for information… and email the pictures to me at this address (just click babies).


Back Issues ::: Current Issue

Please switch to the site. - Friday, May. 23, 2008

- - Monday, Apr. 14, 2008

C'mon y'all - Friday, Feb. 22, 2008

C'Mon! - Wednesday, Feb. 13, 2008

- - Friday, Dec. 28, 2007

Follow this Link to the Cheese Club. Enter your photo in our Cheese Off Contest!

100 Things About Me

Sign the Guestbook

gmail me babies

Notified users get the dirt before EVERYONE ELSE!
Enter your email here:
Powered by

Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.5 License.

To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

The Graphic Below Courtesy of Papernapkin.

My Amazon Wish List.

Weblog Commenting and Trackback by
[ Registered ]

Rate Me on Diarist.Net By Clicking Here


Who Links Here View blog reactions