blank'/> The Libe ob Don Estorbo de la Bodega Dominicana: September 2009

Sunday, September 27, 2009


Are you goeen' to ead thad?

You shoul' dab seen the yoomans' fazes when I climb' arn the table.

Parp eyes.

I doan seed an the table. I hab manners.

Yes I do.

Bod seence they are theenkeen' I yam so fonny weareen' the clothes, I weell behabe como a yooman an' ead at the table, muchas gracias.

He was eadeen' cheecken soup. Porque he was feeleen' seeck and the Wooman made heem sorm medeecine.

I lighe cheecken.

So they gabe me a piece. They always geeb me a piece. Bod they me yomp to the floor to ead.


I yam nard an aneemal.

I am Don! Estorbo de la Bodega Dominicana, heear me Roar!


(Ees nard my fault. I had The Operation onner duress)

Friday, September 25, 2009


Eberywhere I go, man. Crazee. I yam marbbed. They wan' a piece ob me. They torch my for. They scream Stooooorbieeeeeeeee, we lorf you!

They doan' eben KNOW me!

My libe ees no larngair my own. My mobemends are obserbed. My carckroaches are askeen' por autographs.

I yam receibeen' onnerpands een the mail.

I need to ged away.

I yos wan' to be alone.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009


I hab no wor's...thees ees my libe. Be the clown. Amuse the yoomans. Whad do you wan' me to wear neghs'? Lederhosen? Chains? A COLLAR???

You wondhair why I hab an atteetude prarblem. Loogh een the meerror. You weell see the cause.

Why am I the only worn een the house who geds to wear the pands?

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Starteen' obehaire

Fors' ob all, Wooman, Talgh to the paw!!!

You weell nebber guess my new passwor'...Nebber nebber nebber! Eed came to me een a dream.

Secon' ob all, where hab all my dessort eenseghds garn?

I ade them?

Bod I thoughd they wor a sostainable resource?!

I weell carntinue to hont. They are so green, so deleecious.

Thord ob all: why do you loogh so tire'? You had to ged orp early? Hey, I was orp all nigh' lookeen' for dessor' arn the roop? Loogh ad me, I'm fine.

You need to ged some res'...


Monday, September 14, 2009

Simon's Cad - Fly Guy

So he corbhairs my profile peec. So whad?

My strorggle

I yam resteen' frarm my pelled deprebation weakness and absorbeen' sostenance frarm Weelliam Geebson an' sorm serious blag cads.

Also I yam steell shreddeen' papehair.

Bod moseley I yam tire'. Berbery tire'...

I keep the phone nearby, yos een case I feel the crisis arporn me.

Wooman, thad camera ees too close to my faze. See my nose? Eef eed's thees beeg there ees sormtheen' wrarng weeth the prarxeemeety ob your camera!!! I weell heet eed, I weell bead eed, I weell....

...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...911 pelleds now zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

The Woman's Statement

This is the Woman speaking...I've had to hack the cat's account: his password was pelledsnow. Took a while but I cracked it.

He really has all his friends wrapped around his little pad so I must set things straight. He is not dying, not sick, not starved and not thin. He weighs 19lbs, naked.

His vocal begging starts between 4-5am. On a good day he begs at about 5.30am and he gets fed, then...If he begs from Vince his approach is more like the cartoon cat: he pushes his arms, gives him love bites, pushes his nose on his face. For me he goes somewhere inaccessible and tears pieces of paper, as that works faster.

Once he is fed he comes back to my side of the bed and sleeps. Much of the day. In the afternoon around 4.30 or 5 (since Vince is home right now) he starts eeping for his 6pm pellets. Or he sleeps. Once he's had those, he washes and sleeps again, rousing himself around our dinner time, where, I'm afraid, he is given tidbits of meat or cheese from the table. Also any fruit he likes. Then he goes out hunting for katydids, which he likes for dessert. Later he comes in, goes to bed and makes buns before sleeping.

So he's not sick, his thyroid is, I imagine, fine.

He is a larger than life cat, and exaggerates terribly. He loves an audience. He is in the entertainment business. He is a drama queen.

He also adores pellets. He will eat them till he blows up.

Worry not.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Cad feedhair blues

My frien's

Gracias to all ob you who made polide soyyestions abou' a feedhair automateec or help-myselb feedhair. The las' worn ees a goo' idea: The las' time the Wooman tried thees, I helped myselb. Eed was grade. You bomp eed, eed delleebhairs pelleds. So I bompa bompa bompa teell eed was empty. Then I pass' oud.

Also, I hab eencluded leenk to ole' pose' abou' the Feedhair. Notice my spelleen' has changed ober time. I eemprobe, I try. You see, I hab a forgheen' feedhair!

I had a depribe' keeddenhoo'. Ees why I need to ead. Lighe the Wooman, she was stress' yesserday, immediate she buy a packade ob Doritos an' ead them all while she ees sharpeen'. Peeg. Ees therapy. Pelleds are therapy too. Carbohydrades agains' homelessness, lighe I wornce neearly was een the days ob cadgeen' rattons to orn my leebeen' arn the Lower Eas' Side, an then bein' deported to Staten Island afthair I gard eento fighd weeth a car whad broghe my jaw. You shoul' dab seen the car.

Staten Island ees penal colony por gatos. An' Beence.

Here ees peecture of Feedhair, wheech fed me four meals when they wor een Fire! Island las' mornth. I push thad Feedhair frarm worn side ob the apar'men to the order, to ged all the meals worntime. Deedn't work. Eed's muy strong. More than me....

I yam geddeen' weagh. I need mas pelleds.

Friday, September 11, 2009

I know you'b seen eed...

The pelled wars

Are those my new pelleds I see een the keetchen?

You realize thad eef you feed me automateec een the nighd I weell wan' More! More! More!?

Si. I know. You remembhair the time Neeck-the-drarg-addeect looghed aftair me an' he fed me eberytime I said eep. When you saw me afthair two mornths I was roun' como un soccerball and my forr was standeen' orp een reedges because there was nard enorf to corbair my bardy.

Si, I know you are tired. I know Beence ees tired. Whad can I do? I was born hongree.

I weell re-pose' cartoon to illustrade my dilemma. Eef you feed me ad four I wan' more food ad five. Whad can I do?

Yes, the papehair helps. Thank you for putteen' eed arn the daybed thees morneen'. I helped myselp, as you can see.

Eed's nard my fauld eef I heed the camera and breagh eed. I doan' lighe macro. You are nard payeen' me por thees.

BTW, whad's por deenner?

Sunday, September 6, 2009

My weegh

Eed's been so larng seence the Wooman led me seed ad the carmpudehair thad I cannard remembhair whad peecures I hab post-ted.

Thees was nize weegh arn the terrace. Fors' ob all, the Wooman was nard there. She was worgheen'. A.O.K.

Secon' ob all, the weathhair was fantasteec. YOU try to keep cool weareen' a forr coad een Nueba York en Augus'...

I caught four cicadas an' ate them orp croncha croncha croncha. Que rico. Delicioso. The green worns are the bes'. Beence gard so orpset. Ged a libe, I tole' heem. Forgh you, he tole' me.


Then the Wooman try to born the house down AGAIN. Whad ees wrarng weeth hor??? I maghe so moch stress when thees happens. Smoghe! Fire ! I try to warn them to escape, to ron, to call firetrorck. Bod they yos laugh. Ees how they preephair food.


I heed eenside a theen' call' a meenk.

Eed was strange. Fameelleear, bod crazee. Sad. Cozy.

The gringo put me arn his lap, so I feld bedhair for a while. Thees was afthair the Wooman declare War arn me. She say harsteeleetees woul' start the meenute I said Eep at 4.30am. An' they deed.

She said she woul' whoop my ass. She chaze me roun' an roun'. She say BADCAD! an', SLEEP!!!!


So I taghe the chair harstage. Eeff you whoop me, I make scratcha.

Bad cad! she say.

Bide me, I say.

To cheell oud I seed arn the roop today an loogh ad the streed. I talgh to my drorgs.

I sneeff them.

The Wooman tells me hor Mama ees cormeen' to beeeseet neghs' mornth. She tells me maybe I weel beeseet hor een Manhattan an' stay weeth hor. I say maybe I weell. I bed your Mama has a brain between hor ears an' nice sarfdboice, nard BADCAD!

She weell say, Nice cad, sarftboice.

She weell geeb me pelleds ad 4am.