Thriller

As a friend told me long ago, there is nothing like lying there in the still of the night, wrapped in the glorious darkness, listening to a cat heave and knowing you can't get there in time. That's what they get for insisting on elk meat. The thrill of it is rolling over and realizing they were sitting on your pillow.

Although I don't know why I am whining: I once had a litter you would think had been raised on unicorn meat. God, THAT was hard to shop for. However, the orphans I have now have a good idea that I will do just about anything to get them to eat. There is no catnip fudge I know of to persuade them to eat all they can, although in high school, we had a variety that worked really well for humans...hmmm.

The orphans were raised on organic goat milk and a supplement engagingly called, "Tiny Tiger." Since then, their tastes have become even more esoteric. I know where the best deals are on organic buffalo meat: I'll bet if they sold ostrich cutlets in the Roanoke Valley, I would be first in line...

I wonder if Schwann's sells ostrich meat? 

I Need Praise...

so I feed my dog turkey. The cats certainly aren't going to think I am anything special just for feeding them. If I have to kill the cow myself, it wouldn't be anything special...I am slave and rodentia, as all humans are. I won't have to worry about how my remains are disposed of. The police won't find any.

They made my dog fat so he can't chase them. I come home from yet another Kroger run with 'Ethereal Whiskers' catfood, (a mix of catnip and ground elk) and find the last crumbs from the last can delicately balancing on the dog's whiskers. His breath gives him away like a bum drinking sterno for a buzz. I try not to smoke too close to him at those times...you never know what one stray spark would do...

I am concentrating on Ed's weight today to avoid thinking of mine own. I don't know if my psychiatrist can sue from what he reads on a blog, (I love my meds) and I am afraid to ask my lawyer. He might tell me. That would throw a spanner in my creative nuclear reactor; and I need this outlet to keep from eating the rest of the cookies I brought home from the meeting last night (see yesterday's post) 

Tripolar

Ok. I consumed a pound of fudge yesterday that I bought on the Roanoke City Market. I have just finished the last of the chocolate ice cream, and have to have something to do before my meeting later on (Friends of Bill and Dr. Bob: you know who you are...) where I can snag some cookies.

Thank God people in the rooms are cheap: the cookies are nothing to swoon over. I am still below 135 lbs. (american) but not for long if I have anything to do with it. I love my meds.

Mind you, it's not easy consuming an entire pound of fudge. Yes, little ones, let me say that again. Consuming an entire pound of ffuuudddgge. I had to wake up periodically during the night to do it, but I got it done.

I am now, as anonymous says, ''One bad relationship away from having 30 cats...''
Although I think really, that the opera diva had it right when he said, "Life is all about magic and pasta."