Tuesday, April 25, 2006


Many of you have asked about my widdle Iddy. For this, I am very appreciative. However, there is a small problem...

Iddy getting ready to go to the desert on a horse with no name.

...um, yeah. He is all jacked up on prescription meds.

Every morning, I find him this way, with a tourniquet around hims widdle chicken neck, syringe in paw, whiskers fluffed, waiting expectantly for me to shoot him up.

Are there kitty methadone clinics...?

The other problem is, I guess from the withdrawal, or whatever, he has the SHITS. Yesterday morning, seeming much brighter from his rock star blood transfusion, he was doing the junkie shuffle on my face. Then we decided, hey! Big adventure! Let's go to the cat box-! So I carried him into the bathroom, but not wanting him to get Feline Pine all up in his widdle pinhole, I said, "wait a minute, Biddy, let me just dump this."

But he couldn't wait, and when I returned 30 seconds later, there was a lovely brown puddle on the floor and Iddy's tail was swishing, as cats' tails do when they're really teed off.

The problem was, it was swishing in the poo, like a hairy windshield wiper, and the more I pleaded, "NOOOOOOOO...!", the faster it swished. Damn. So now my bathroom has been redecorated in Cat Hole Brown, using his tail as a paintbrush.

This morning, I woke up when Iddy flopped over on my face, attempting to insert his stomach tube into my mouth while purring as if to say, suck my colostomy bag, b*tch. YOU DID THIS TO ME.

Please send Listerine and a ball gag for me to wear when I sleep. It's going to be a rocky night.


This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?