Fur is dead. Long live hair!

(If Wednesday night's episode of Project Runway is still parked on your TiVo, this is your official spoiler alert.)

Chris, a man after my own heart, showed tremendous humaneness in his use of HUMAN HAIR as the trim for his would-be, now-won't-be, Fashion Week designs. I think this one in particular was fabulous. But at least one person in this household worries that the skirt, fetching though it is, could conceivably be mistaken for an unkempt lady garden.

I only wish Chris had revealed the source of his raw material. I worry that Cher, Elvira and Ozzy Osbourne may have been herded up, thrown in the clink and shaved against their will.

Paula Abdul: Talent-show judge or crazy Gilligan's Island-esque witch doctor?

I'm not sure if Paula Abdul thinks David Archuleta is a plush toy, a zit, or an air freshener. Her response to David's exceedingly respectable performance of "Imagine" on Tuesday night's American Idol was:

"I want to squish you, squeeze your head off and dangle you from my rear view mirror."

I think "You sang real pretty" would have sufficed. And it would've sounded way less creepy.

This is why you should have one of those parental control thingies on your TV

Because I don't know how you would explain this to your children otherwise.

Now, I know you're thinking: Henry, you're being cruel. How do you know that this guy didn't get the gold chain from his girlfriend and the tie from his mother and promised them both that he'd wear her gift on TV? He was already in enough trouble for whatever it was that landed him in Judge Judy's courtroom.

We'll never know for sure. But he made his decision, and he'll have to live with it. Unfortunately, so will we.

Three things in life that are certain

1. Death
2. Taxes
3. Ralph Nader entering the presidential election at the last minute.
   

A wordsmith and carb-evangelist I am, a grimalkin I am not

Admitting your powerlessness is the first step to conquering addiction, no? So I confess: I can't stop playing the vocabulary game at FreeRice.com. But on the upside, that means I am ceaselessly donating grains of rice to the poor. If you are a word-lover, do not go to this Web site. Or you will soon require a 12-step program. I can picture the scene: cruciverbalists, redactors, bibliophiles, etymologists, linguists and bards, all loitering around a table of doughnuts and coffee, lamenting their inability to advance beyond Level 47 and struggling against hope not to be architects of language.

Be kind, or else!

I only just learned that last week was Random Acts of Kindness Week, designated as such by the Random Acts of Kindness Foundation. To be certain that my eye-rolling was justified, I consulted good old Webster's, which assured me that the word random means that which occurs or is done without careful choice, aim, plan, etc. So this is a rather ill-informed holiday. Further, I question the institutionalization of kindness, as the potential for corruption in such an organization is boundless.

It just so happens that I was randomly kind last week, and now I worry that the individual to whom I was kind might think that I did so only to obey a direct order. And thus, I take back my compliment, Max. I do not think you would be handsome as a starlet's fur coat.

Defacing a president

So, Henry. Did you do anything special to celebrate Presidents Day weekend?

Mmm, not really. Read the new issue of The Economist. Played some paper football. Did a little yoga. Uh, why do you ask?

There's a hole in the bottom of the sea,

There's a hole in the bottom of the sea,

There's a hole, there's a hole,

There's a hole in the bottom of the sea

You must be 3 feet tall to ride this ride

If the trophy for winning a beauty pageant is taller than the contestants, they are probably too young to compete.

Happy valentines day: here's some kitten tongues!

Why, why, why, would someone make candy out of cat tongues? Apparently, they're very big in France and Germany. This proprietor of tongues is all sold out.

"Fine milk chocolate cat tongues. Perfect on your most beautiful dessert table or for a delicious snack anytime. Try a little cake decorating with these cat tongues to add something extra to your party."

This cat on YouTube has no idea how at risk he is.

City Mouse, Country Mouse

Or in the feline lexicon: Urban Cat, Hillbilly Cat. This is one of Carla's parents' cats, Raeford, who lives on their farm. He was named after the poultry plant where Carla's brother rescued him, comatose, from underneath some pallets in a freezer. He was carried there inadvertently when a forklift moved some pallets from outdoors. Unfortunately, his littermates didn't survive. Raeford was a lucky kitten.

He is 15 now. Sometimes I feel sorry for him because he doesn't own a computer or have a blog. Other times, I think maybe there's something to be said for the simple life.

"It's a toilet, it's a candy dish, it's a garden of floral delights!"

To cats, a litter box is an all-business proposition. For some humans, the "site of evacuation" must be ridiculously disguised as something more. Case in point, the unholy creation pictured here. Your eyes are not deceiving you—that is a decorative glass knob with which you can lift the tank lid.

If you haven't bought a commode in the last 20 years, you'll be surprised at how hard it is to find a throne as uncomplicated as what you've grown accustomed to. At least that's what I've been hearing around this household as The Bathroom Remodel looms closer.

Feline though I am, I'm as bemused as they to learn that today's toilets have model names more fanciful than RX-30 or Low-Flow #12784. The following are actual names of actual toilets sold at your basic big-box store: the Santa Rosa, the Rialto, and the Cimarron. "All the practicality of an American Standard with the cachet of a conquistador's flagship."

My least favorite model: "Memoirs." Sort of "If toilets could talk, oh the tales they'd tell." This is a tome I shan't like to read. I would, however, be happy to pee on it if it were shredded and placed on the floor of my PVC312 Litter Box.

By the way, "Memoirs" is available in the color "Daydream."

Pee-eww! Smells like someone dropped a stimulus package somewhere.

I was planning on donating my share of the looming tax "rebate" to the Cats for Dogs Against Romney campaign. Looks like I will now be able to save that extra change for some other good cause.

Harvey wishes everyone a happy new year

Actually, Harvey is somewhere in rat heaven. But if he were here, he'd be the first to say: 我将带来乳酪给党。. Translation: I will bring the cheese dip to the party. In honor of Chinese New Year and the Year of the Rat, I have been asked to share this video of Harvey with you. I have also been urged to add that this little furry man and all his predecessors are missed in this home.

P.S. Love & greetings to our friends (and rats) in China.

Feline suffrage: Oprah helps cats vote

I went to the polls in North Carolina today to participate in the U.S. "Super Tuesday" presidential primaries. I wandered around until I found someone who informed me that N.C. is not part of Super Tuesday. I was looking so forward to participating in the first "Cats Voting" project, which was inspired by the similar "Kids Voting" program that helps foster civic responsibility in children.

Later I turned on the news and saw that Oprah had used her influence to help a woman who had been turned away at the polls. I had my assistant phone Oprah, and her highness flew me to an Illinois polling place. In exchange for a new car, I promised to vote for her candidate, Obama, even though he has done nothing to solve the feline poverty issue. Tens of millions of cats live on America's streets, forced to steal or panhandle for food. Some even resort to violence. But at least Obama doesn't ditch animals, like Hillary, or strap his dog to the top of his car, like Romney.

I'm not above being bribed, as the car I ride in is in an abominable condition. In addition, Oprah gave me an Estee Lauder gift basket, several personal trainer sessions and a promise to recommend my blog to her Book Club participants. Finally, she offered me an audition as Miss Celie's cat in her Broadway musical, The Color Purple. The possibility that I might one day share the stage with Fantasia, a fellow North Carolinian, almost brought a tear to my cold, steely eyes.

Will someone loan me a jackhammer?

Today the new, obnoxious cat—the one who never gives me a moment's peace—got introduced to the vacuum cleaner.

Cord: Liked it a lot.
Once the motor started: Not so much.

But then afterward, he decided to stage a love-in.

There is no justice.

The Moment of Cat Truth

Last night I dreamt I was on that new game show "The Moment of Truth," where they ask the contestants questions while they're hooked up to a lie detector and then make them answer in front of a live studio audience. I woke up shivering, with a pillow pulled over my head.

The dream went something like this:

Host: OK, Henry. You know the rules. I will ask you a series of questions, each progressively more difficult, and each time you answer truthfully you'll earn greater amounts of money. If at any time, a question makes you too uncomfortable and you don't want to answer, you can stop. If you are caught lying at any point, you will be disqualified and lose all your money.

Now, I see you've brought some of your family and friends today. Would you like to introduce them to the audience?

Me: OK, I guess. Those two there are the people I let live in my house, and those are my feline roommates, Smilla, Isabel, Pickles and Max.

Host: OK, here's your first question. I notice you're rather petite, Henry. Have you ever thrown up on purpose after a meal?

Me: Yes. But it's not what you're thinking. I found out I had just inadvertently eaten pet food that had been recalled.

Host: OK, I'm glad we cleared that up. Next question. Have you ever fantasized about killing another cat?

Me: Yes.

Pickles: Gasp!

Max: Gulp.

Studio audience: Groan.

Isabel and Smilla: Knew it. That's why we stay under the bed.

Host: OK, let's move on to a slightly different line of questioning. Henry, if the people in your house remained motionless for more than 48 hours, would you eat them?

Me: Thank you for this opportunity. I think I'll take my money and leave now.

Bill Belichick: Classless to the End, First-Class Jerk, The Spoiledest of Spoiled Sports

Sometimes the other cats in this house have what we like to call "The Smackdown." Smilla the Sasquatch and Pickles the Pounder (their WWE wrestler names) face off in the hallway and body-slam each other like there's no tomorrow. But when it's over and the fur has settled, they come together and rub noses to show there are no hard feelings.

New England Patriots Coach Bill Belichick, the man who began this year's NFL season laden by a record half-million dollar fine for cheating, had an opportunity to show an ounce of class after the New York Giants handed the Patriots their hineys in the Super Bowl tonight. Instead, in the post-game interview, he acted like a 3-year-old whose sand castle had been kicked in. In fact, I think he acted WORSE. He could've sucked it up for the camera and been gracious, congratulating the Giants on their win. The interviewer even had the perfect opportunity to prompt him with a meaningful question (a novel idea, huh?) such as: Do you have anything you'd like to say to the Giants?

Now I'll admit, there's nothing more disappointing than seeing your sand art get ruined, that is if you're THREE YEARS OLD. But Belichick is 55. Even with the whopping financial penalty that was levied against him, he still reportedly makes about $3.5 million a year. He could have jewel-encrusted pancakes for breakfast every day if he wanted to. Surely he could cough up a few pennies for charm school lessons.

In spite of what I realize is a devastating loss, Bill Belichick's team won a staggering 18 games straight this season. When asked what he'd say to his team, I think he mumbled something like: Um, snuffle, blah, mumble. Might I suggest: "You guys played your hearts out this year. You've got nothing to be ashamed of."

Pickles and Smilla: I'm proud of you both. You display impeccable sportsmanship.

Bill: A big, fat, slobbery tabby-cat raspberry to you.

Oh, and Eli, Plaxico, Michael S. and all the other Giants*:
Congratulations. There are five cats and two humans in this house who are swelled with pride!


*To Giants Coach Tom Coughlin: If you can prove that your personality reform is more than just an engineered public-relations stunt, I may congratulate you one day as well.

To the person who bet $100 on the Giants 17-14, can I borrow a million dollars?

'preciate it.

Henry the Cat's Live Blog: Super Bowl XLII 2008

Click HERE to enter the Live Blog Arena.

Coverage has begun!!!

My pledge to you:

No fashion gaffe or inane utterance will escape my notice!

Change your wipers! Wake up the rodent!

Most of you are probably thinking today is Groundhog Day. You're only partly right. It's also National Change Your Windshield Wipers Day. Leave it to the National Safety Council to barge in and ruin a perfectly good, unsafe holiday. Because the only thing more dangerous than driving with a dirty windshield is waking a 10-pound rodent with 4-inch teeth.

Click here to see what's going on at the N.C. Museum of Natural Sciences Groundhog Day Celebration.

Public service announcement

I cannot believe I agreed to this, but here goes:

Today is National Wear Red Day. For the next 24 hours, you are ordered to cease and desist wearing fabric that is yellow, blue or green. I have donned this crimson cape as an example of how you might express yourself. If the superhero look is not for you, consider wearing a red tie, shoes, hat or well-appointed broach. Today's red-garment mandate is to raise awareness about women and heart disease. I'm not going to scare you with the grisly statistics. Suffice it to say that heart disease kills a lot of women (and some cats). If you're a woman, make sure you know your risk factors and the ways in which you can diminish them. You can find more information here. If you are a cat, talk to your veterinarian.

I only hope tomorrow is not National Wear Your Panties on Your Head Day.