Not to alarm you

I absolutely cannot stand to be disturbed while I'm working. Especially if the cause of the interruption is a giant-mitted nitwit behind my monitor trying to get a piece of the action. Trust me, you wouldn't want to read anything Max would write. It would go something like this: Djkljf hkldjk jeujkd eju jdljkej. After I cuffed him about the face and shoulders, he left the office post haste.

Now to the subject at hand. I did not want to get into this until now, but .... I had to go to the doctor last week. Now before you get all upset, let me say that I feel perfectly fine. I don't know what the fuss was all about because all I did was throw up a few times. Why did the Madame and Sir automatically assume I was seriously ill? Did it ever occur to them that I may have found my meal objectionable? They were additionally concerned that I have been a bit vocal after I, how should we say, relieve myself. I tried to tell them that I am often incensed about the state of the loo after Max or Isabel has paid a visit. Who wouldn't make an issue of that? And even though we went through a similar situation a while back, the doctors determined there was nothing wrong with me. (But not before they shaved my belly, covered me with goo and rubbed this wand-like thing all over me.)

Last week, the doctor listened to my heart, palpated my abdomen (uggghh) and performed other intrusive procedures. Then she asked the Madame questions about my recent behavior, totally excluding me from the dialogue. Her advice was to do a few diagnostic tests, including my "geriatric panel," as it seems I was due for my annual one anyway. And also she went ahead and gave me my yearly vaccines, including rabies immunization. The latter makes me so mad because how on earth would a cat who lives in a house catch rabies? I guess it's better to be safe than sorry (if you don't believe me, ask the ghost of Edgar Allen Poe). You never know when an emaciated, rabid raccoon might squeeze its way through the mail slot.

I won't have my results until tomorrow at the earliest, but I promise to keep you in the loop. It pains me to disclose all this, but I wouldn't want you to hear it first somewhere else. John McCain had to come clean about the state of his health. And as a fellow public figure, so must I.

The one bright spot in the day was that I got to go for a ride and see the sights. My favorite was a bumper sticker that said: "Be nice to America. Or we'll bring democracy to your country." I laughed til I cried.

Does this make sense to you?

Why is it that I'm not allowed on the kitchen counter but this poor-excuse-for-a-feline is given free reign to terrorize the Lady's wedding dress?

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.

There's An Intruder in the House

I can say with all candor that I've never met a human I didn't like. Cats are a different story. Isabel, Smilla and Pickles are sufferable enough, as they pretty much stay out of my way. But this cat pictured here is a whole different ball of yarn. He is called Max, though that is ostensibly a placeholder name given to him until my "owners" can find this stray cat a home with new people who would ultimately christen him something they thought appropriate. But more and more I hear them talking to him in an increasingly familiar way. "Max, come here!" "Max, stop chasing Henry's tail!" "Max, get outta my cereal bowl!" "Why Max, if you aren't the sweetest thing!" and other exclamations and admonishments beginning with "Max .....!" Frankly, I wonder if this freeloader is ever truly going to leave. My "owners" sometimes read my blog and so, for their benefit, I'm listing things I find intolerable about "Max!"

• He has been told that cats like having their tails swatted at.
  
• He swats at my tail.
• He chases me all over the place for the purpose of swatting my tail.

OK, that's about it, mainly because I have not let him get close enough to me to force any of his other bad habits on me. As I say in my blog subtitle, my kingdom has 1,800 square feet of space. "Max!" is taking up 1 square foot too much of it. And I think he's getting a little too comfortable there.