Sunday, June 26, 2011

What size shirt for a 20lb cat?


No, doan' paneec, I yam steel naked.

My gard. The Wooman had to tybe the title por me. Eengleesh. Ber' har'. Terreeble language. Lighe cheween' dry pasta.

Ees so Google can fine' me.

Essplanation: Yoomans are arribeen' arn my blarg weeth Google-sorch, "whad size shor' por twenny poun' cad"!

I know you hab seen these peectures, bod sorm people need to know, serious, whad size short por cad. So I yam helpeen'!

So me, arn' my new scale, I yam 17.8lbs, y my shorts are:

 8-12 mornths. Truly. I yab larng legs. You mos' also maghe sleet orndhair the arms por no chafeen', OK? OK.

Anyway, you shoul' NARD poot your cad een shorts por fon. Ees nard fonny! Las' year eberyworn was yelleen', Home Depot! ad me.


I yam nard leeckeen my for arf een 2011. Nard yed. So no short. Gracias a Dios.


So you gard eed? 8-12 months my frien's. Ole' Naby.

Bag to normal


I yam recorbereen'. I yab eaden' tres mangos. I yab been broshed. I yab pud arn half a poun'.

Friday, June 24, 2011

Message from the Woman



Estorbo is OK.

I cleaned his bloody claw up and disinfected it once he had calmed down last night and he didn't utter a peep. Good cat. I always trim his nails with him upside down in my lap and for some reason this very bitey cat does not mind that at all. I don't think his toe is broken, but his claw must have been wrenched, somehow. He has no other injures that we can see or feel. He has eaten, rested, slept, purred, stolen some butter and early this morning wanted to go out again to the roof. Needless to say, we did not let him.

His very upsetting panting was stress-related. Not sure if he had run very fast, or been frightened, or chased, but it stopped after he was calm and he cooled off. So the scary cat-panting diagnoses - hopefully - do not apply. I read them, too, last night.

Right now he is on the terrace on his kikoi, under the table, sheltered from some light,  misty rain and dozing. He just bit me when I stroked him, so I think everything is back to normal!

For the foreseeable future Estorbo is banned from the roof unless we are up there, too.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Bad nighd

Sormtheeen' bad happen' to me tonighd. I cannar' tell you whad. I cannar' tel the Wooman or the Man whad

I corm home farm the roof, maghe beeg howl arn the terrace,  they open' the screendoor, I ron eento the room, y I yam panteen', como a darg, Panta-panta-panta, berberhar'. The Wooman maghe eyes beeg an' seet arn the floor weeth me an' say, Whad ees wrang, keedy, whad ees wrang, tell me! An' I maghe panta. She stroghe me, I start to porr berberhar' y the Man stroghe me. I yam porreen' y panteen'. They loogh ad me all ober and when they torch me I maghe the panta again, my mouth wide open and peenk. I can see the Wooman theenks I yam dyeen. Een thees moment I see she lorbs me.

The Smoothman looghs ad my badclaw, the worn whad the Argentinian bed broghe een the Eas' Billayge in 2003. The Wooman say, Thad's yos his badclaw. Bod the Smoothman, who has a brain, say, No, ees defferen'. So the Wooman loogh more close an' she see the claw ees bend sideways. Then she see blord. Estorbo! she say, you hab broghen your toe! Panta-panta-panta I say. I cannard speaghe. So bad.

They pour me meelk, I weel nard dreenk wadhair. I dreenk sorm meelk. I lie down. I yam nard panteen', bod my breatheen' ees queeck y my paws are sweateen' ligh ad the bed when I yam scare'.

The Wooman geds a new idea. Sormtheen' really scare heem bad (no kiddeen', I theenk). Whad eef he is poison'? She rosh to the carmpudehair an' fine emergency beds. Ees worn close. Oh, gread. Then she looghs orp poisoneen' seemptom' and try to decide eef I ead poison por rads, or por wile' cads,  and looghs ad me por seizures. I doan' maghe worn.

Maybe he fall, they say. Maybe he ged storck. Maybe he fighd, bod we hord no fighdeen' when we wor eadeen' ou'side. Maybe the man een Raccoon House cadge heem, theenks the Wooman. My fron' claws are also damage', bod no blord. The Smootham feels my bardy and my tail y I start to panta again. They stroghe me. We mos leab heem, say the Wooman. He mos recorber frarm sharck, fors'. She geeb me more meelk, por poison, por calm. I rosh to the leedhair tray an pee lighe a champion.

Now I yam sleepeen' peaceful' arn the floor. No mas weeth the panteen'. Oh. Waid. How am I typeen eef I yam sleepeen'? I am a BERBER' clebber cad.

Ees a meestery. An' I doan' really speagh Eengleesh.

Whad happen to me?

Saturday, June 18, 2011

Sommhairtime


The fruits arn the terrace are geddeeen' ripe an' the Wooman geebs me the wile' strawberries. I no ead the order kine'. Also I yam eadeen' the wile grass an' then I maghe orpchorck eenside. She doan' lighe thees, so she ees pulleen' oud all the grass. She toogh away my Yapanese fores' grass so I can ead eed no mas. Ees cruel.

I yab been beesy worgheen' arn my exheebeetion.  Ees collection ob sign abou' NO DARGS. I weell pose' eed soon. Ees berber' essiteen'.

Friday, June 10, 2011

I am makeen' new keettens


I wadged thees mobie, March ob Los Penguins. I realize' thad man-aneemals can maghe the keettens. Also, I lorb mango. So I decided to lay sorm keettens.


Was berber' soccesfull.


Ees only worn prarblem: I wan' to ead my keettens.

Dios mio. I weell go to Hell.

Saturday, June 4, 2011