Once a rat has made up its mind to groom you, there's no escaping it

The sniff test

Be sure to smell eggnog to check for spoilage before partaking.

Damn.

The Christmas Jell-O mold never turns out right.

Basketball too?!!

Turns out, not only did the M&M leave me high and dry for the Panthers meetup, they also took in a game of Rat Basketball. Without me. Knowing how I feel about rodents! At least they were kind enough to take some video footage.

I give you .... Pepper Jack & Nacho, street style:

Super Rats on Monster Quest?

World Rat-Firefighter Day

That's it, I'm firing my secretary. He was supposed to remind me that April 4 was World Rat Day. I beg your pardon, dear readers. Dare I say there's still a whiff of the holiday in the air? Join me as I pay photographic tribute to these brave, firefighting rats. (The one under the truck is not cowering—he's just inspecting the chassis. Aye, by my whiskers! I do believe there's a radiator leak).

Hip-hip, hur-rat!

"Celebrate Me Home" causes spontaneous hemorrhaging in cats

I can remain silent no longer. That "Celebrate Me Home" song by Ruben Studdard — the one they play whenever an American Idol contestant gets canned — is MAKING MY BRAIN BLEED. It lacks any redeeming value, musical or otherwise. I guarantee you that if any Idol contestant in the history of the show had performed that song, including RS himself, he or she would be seared by the judges afterward for making "the wrong song choice."

The other reason I hate it is because it makes absolutely no sense. You can't celebrate anyone home. You can celebrate an accomplishment, as in "Japanese scientists are celebrating their recent success at training rats to use rakes."* But you can't transport a person from point A (i.e., the set of American Idol) to point B (i.e., a room ablaze with the harsh light of reality) by "celebrating" him there.

If it were possible to celebrate someone somewhere, I would temporarily waive my personal policy of non-celebration to celebrate the new cat, Max, back to the cluster-fracked** universe from which he came. I would put a crown of daisies on my head, don a sequined skirt and propel myself 'round the maypole if it would make him disappear.

*They hope to one day celebrate success at teaching ferrets to drive snow plows.

**Battlestar is back on Friday, so hold onto your fracking hats!

I egg your pardon

"Henry, I was just catching up on your blog from last week, and I see that you did not post the photo of Buster in his Easter basket in your Sunday blog, per my request," says She-Who-Need-Not-Be-Named.

Gulp, says I.

"Do you KNOW who pays the Internet bill around here?" says SWNNBN.

Why don't I just wait until next Easter?

"You are blogging on borrowed time."

I see your point.

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.

8 random things about me

Recently I learned about "memes", which as best I can ascertain is when one blogger "tags" another with a challenge to answer a series of questions. Then that person is to pass the challenge on to a bunch of other bloggers. It has a bit of the stink of a chain letter, I think. So as a pre-emptive strike, I'm going to provide my answers to the ubiquitous meme "8 Random Things About Me." Now you don't have to tag me, and I don't have to tag anyone else.

1. I am a fiscal conservative.
2. I have been playing with, I mean exercising with, the same toy for about 6 years. It is a modified tether ball.
   
3. When I lived on the streets, I once stole a sandwich from a homeless person.
4. Besides NFL football, I always clear my calendar for Olympic figure skating. Their motions are somewhat birdlike. And occasionally someone bashes someone else in the shins, which is a lot like football.
5. I like rats. Not to eat. To observe. I admire their cunning, their creativity and the great extent to which they value extended family. I particularly enjoyed that YouTube video in which someone filmed them having a middle-of-the-night food expedition inside the dining room of a New York City Taco Bell. I love the audio of the person on the sidewalk saying "Look. He's doing tricks for us!" Awwwww. Rats are so cute.
6. I once had an "auditory itch" or earworm (in which a song gets stuck in your head and plays over and over again) that lasted for about 12 hours. It was "Flamethrower" by J. Geils Band.
7. When I'm grooming, there is one spot on my back that I can never quite reach.
8. I am narcoleptic.

HGTV, hold onto your hats

The cheapsters in this household just received a quote from the general contractor on what it's going to cost to remodel the bathroom. In order to save some money, they've decided to subcontract the demo. This is who they've chosen. God help us.

How I became self-aware

I'm not sure this is the appropriate title for this entry because I'm not positive how or why I became self-aware. I only know that I am. Before I began this post, I had been writing my previously promised "Why cats shouldn't be allowed to vote," which I ultimately abandoned. Because even as I wrote, judiciously crafting my argument, I found that I became uncertain of my position. As I increasingly struggled with myself, I began to realize: This goes beyond self-awareness. This is something more.

I have gone from foraging in a dumpster and sleeping under car hoods … to self-awareness … to philosophical reflection. How did this happen?

I was talking about it to The Madame (whom I have previously referred to as one of my "owners" and who is now, apparently, a contemporary). She recommended a book by Terry Pratchett called "The Amazing Maurice and his Educated Rodents." It is about a group of swindlers consisting of a boy, a capitalist cat and a band of enlightened rats. The latter two had once been content to pilfer the culinary castoffs of the human species—their goal was simply to exist. The theory of their conversion to an advanced state is that they had begun feeding in the dustbins of an unseen magical university, whose refuse was enchanted (or tainted, depending on your perspective) with something I will liken to fairy dust (I prefer that to "wizard dust" but would like to assure you that yes, I know, fairies don't attend universities). I confess that before I was taken lovingly into this house, where I no longer have to make a bed in automotive machinery, I too subsisted on scraps. For lack of a better explanation, I am forced to consider that what happened to Maurice and the rats must have befallen me. Or at least something very near like it.

I don't think there are any unseen universities in this city, but how would I know? One can never be sure of one's proximity to the occult, be it a smattering of Tarot cards or a sprawling, invisible institution of preternatural instruction. To obtain some peace of mind and enable me to focus on what I'm newly capable of—rather than waste time looking a gift horse in the mouth—I'm adopting the aforementioned theory.

And now, dear readers, I must take my leave, as I am spent and require a nap.

I hate dealing with Customs anyway...

Ian has gone to London and wouldn't take me with him. He claims they don't allow cats there. I once heard that they don't allow rats in the Canadian province of Alberta. (Frankly, I don't know why anyone would want to visit a place that doesn't have rats.) Pity about London though. I think we could've helped out with that whole plague thing. Plus, I'd quite like to see Kew Gardens.