It's funnier to watch when the grass is wet, because he will carefully lift each paw to minimize the icky damp contact, and he won't stalk the grass as low as he does when it's dry so his Predator Belly doesn't get drippy. But The Mighty Panther does his rounds in the Backyard Veldt, taunting the dogs with his Catly Aromas, which waft through the fence and drive the Evil Dog Things insane -- much to the amusement of The Z.
MrZ attacks the grass with his four remaining teeth, all Siamese fangs, until he's got enough to barf back up, whereupon he prefers to return to the house to deposit said barf offerings inside on the clean tile. Just one of his quirks. Because barfing outside is Icky, you see. I think cleaning up barf is Icky, but I don't get a lot of say in this... The Z's system is The Z's system and I am merely his servant. *sigh*
Apparently, going potty outside is also out of the question. I'm not sure why. Perhaps since we don't go potty in the backyard, he won't either. Perhaps he just doesn't like anyone watching. In any case, MrZ returns inside every time. Strange cat. I didn't really think much of it today.
Until we heard a different repeating "mao" than we'd heard before. A LOUD MAO. When we looked at Z, he was wearing cement shoes. It seems that soggy paws and scoop litter is a Mafia hit on a cat.
Poor muffin. Nobody likes being cuddled in a towel by your Mama who's laughing so hard she can hardly clean your paws right. Mao! Mao! How can something so poignantly sad be so hilarious? The trauma... oh god I think I hurt my pancreas... ahahahhaahha
The Society of Evil Geniuses also has its own Twitter account. Insert evil madman laughter here. Good lord, I'm turning into ioseph_locksley .
Mr. Z made it back from the vet yesterday with no ill effects. The strange lump on his head was apparently just one of those benign strange lumps that 104 year old geezers just make from time to time. However, he'll go back soon for kidney function tests to find out why he is losing weight. Me, I chalk it up to The Chef no longer cooking chickens for him to his specifications, but I'm not going to take chances with my love.
( not the pr0n you think it is )
( here's pictures of one of them, I leave it to you to figure out which )
He's doing great, and he's even adapting to Texas well. He still stomps around the house yelling, as both Siamese cats and old dudes do. I assumed what he was saying was, "Ethel! Where are my glasses? Ethel! Where are my pants?" Of course, now that we're in Texas, he's had to make a few adjustments: "Maria! Donde esta my pants? Maria! Donde esta my soul jar? I could go at any minute... Mao..."
We didn't let him vote, even though he's of age, since he keeps ranting about Taft and demanding we bring back Eisenhower.
Not bad for a cat that just a few years ago had chewed off all his fur and was so threadbare he looked like the Velveteen Rabbit. Go MrZ.
My brother, on the other hand, seems perfectly capable of locating his own pants, and has never had dust come off him when you patted him as far as I know.
Happy Birthday, dudes.
Mr. Z has walked on the keyboard, insisting that I pay attention to him and not the vile computer. His mad seduction skillz extend to gay men as well, entrancing them as he shows them the Rich Corinthian Leather of his metaphorical Chrysler LeBaron. I’m not surprised. I’ve always imagined him as the cat equivalent of an old-school “confirmed bachelor” (you know, the kind that prefers musical theater), complaining that the children are touching his antiques and actually walking on his prized Aubussons. ("Doris! Do something! Make them stop! Mao! Mao!")
I better curl up with my ancient eunuch companion and keep him warm before he flicks the g key off the keyboard again and sends weird emails god-knows-where.
unless you happen to have the Most Unhappy Cat In The World riding shotgun with you, in which case, it's not tranquil at all.
( The cat's part in all this )
So other than that, did you know that there is a congressman named Zack Wamp running for re-election in Tennessee? I saw all those billboards, and the Star Wars geek in me wondered if he calls his supporters "wamp rats." Guess not.
I shit you not.
( Who Zonker is )
( What Zonker did )
And then he neatly flicked off my G key with one nail and laid down.
Later, torin3 told me why he had moved the laptop. Zonker is watching me right now. In fact, he has always watched me type on laptops in bed late at night. I wonder what else he's figured out. I don't think he much cares for how the cell phone takes my time away from him, either....