Some dogs have all the luck...

Some animals have all the luck! I never seem to fall into that category. Sarah says she knows how I feel, but today I'm pretty mad at her. She caused the problem I am grumbling about.

She decided it was time to fill up that dog's food container--you know, that big, huge container that holds 40 pounds of dog food. Well... she didn't have such good aim with the top of the bag. (I could've told her it would be better to call that Dad man downstairs to come and do this.) Dog food went everywhere! She cleaned it up, but that dog got to play snacky later. Man... It should've been me! No such luck. Cat food bags only weigh 20 pounds, and she never spills those.

My only consolation is that she won't feed Inca any animal crackers. At least there is one thing Inca doesn't get her way about.

How shall we feed the cat?

My cat food container is getting low... Inca has some rather creative solutions to the problem: she has gotten rather interested in Sarah's animal crackers. So far, Sarah has kept them away from her; but I can't guarantee that the bag will remain intact.

Sarah spent some time today looking at jobs on a freelance site. She didn't come away very happy. Most of the jobs advertised offered to pay $1 or $2 per 500-word article. Sarah thinks it is professionally insulting. I wonder how it would put cat food in my bowl! Notice that I'm still rather concerned about this diet thing?

I think Sarah should do something else about finding work.

Hungry cats must be fed!

This week, hoards of people have descended upon Anderson for the annual North American Convention of the Church of God--Sarah insists it should just be called "camp meeting." Some local business owners complain that customers are rude during this annual event. Apparently people don't like the impact of a bunch of out-of-towners on food service. They should see what happens when hungry cats don't get served quickly enough! Sarah has spent the last several years teaching me to stand up and meow instead of bite. If only she knew what angst I hold back when that food bowl is empty--especially when that silly dog has stolen all the food! One day I will pay that dog back for stealing my food...





Speaking of food, I managed to get the bowl filled today, and I didn't even have to say a word. I put a bug in Inca's ear about the impending diet. When there were just a few kibbles left, she started leaping from the dresser to the desk, knocking things around, and generally creating a major scene. It was quite an effective distraction. Sarah got up after about ten minutes and performed the required food bowl maintenance. Score! By the way, Inca is 14 years old. She may just live long enough to pass the Old Casey...

Sable vs. Casey

Casey... She was the only other fat cat to ever grace this house. Sarah likes little dainty princess cats who look like they never eat. Ha! Liars! They just burn it off outside. Some of them don't even know how to hide the evidence! Better to enjoy my food right here in the open! I don't mess with birds, rabbits, etc. My bowl of food is just fine. There's only one problem: Sarah's thinking about putting me on a diet. I think I may have to fake her out for a while and make her think food doesn't matter that much to me.

I shouldn't talk too negatively about Casey. She did live to be 19 years old. I hear she was quite the legend around here and good at irritating Sarah's mother even though she was sweet and could purr loud enough to wake the dead. And apparently we have a few things in common (besides being fat cats). Neither of us were supposed to be here. Casey's sweetness enabled her to wiggle her way into Sarah's family--or maybe it was her pathetic abused-stray-cat appearance combined with Sarah's new job and love for that soft fur and loud purr.

I was not an abused stray cat. I belonged to Sarah's roommate; and I was mean and nasty. Sarah's roommate moved away and only took one cat. Imagine my surprise when I didn't make the cut. My pretty fluffy sister and I were slated to go to the shelter, where we would supposedly get nice new homes. Ha! Imagine the nipping and hissing and spitting that would begin when little curious fingers began approaching my cage, expecting me to purr and nuzzle their hands in excitement over the possibility of going home! I don't think so.

Sarah thought she would "just try it." Ha! Here I am, seven years later; and I know everything about her life! Exactly the way I planned it. I'm not thrilled about the fact that every few years she insists on bringing a new dog in here--she calls them Seeing Eye dogs. Truth be told, I'd be perfectly happy if she dumped off everyone but me and I was the queen of the home. But she keeps talking about how much she loves us all... Every day she sings a little song and pets "Inca Binca," sleeps the entire night with Sierra in her arms, takes a gazillion trips with Loretta (that "Seeing Eye dog" whom I can't stand), and insists on holding me and then giving me a treat. I can live with it. But in return, I'll reveal a little of life's secrets.