blank'/> The Libe ob Don Estorbo de la Bodega Dominicana: 2014

Monday, November 17, 2014

Estorbito - R.I.P

I am very sorry to have to tell you that Estorbo is no more.

He was put to sleep on Sunday afternoon, at VERG, in Brooklyn. Vince held him, and Dr Slade administered the injection. Both of them cried.

I have little else to say right now. In Cape Town, where I write,  it is an obscenely beautiful day. In Harlem, where Vince has not slept for two nights, it will be very dark when he comes home to an empty house.

For now, I can only thank Estorbo's Amigos for their generous support - from their pockets, and from their hearts. You have made this very painful experience easier.

When I can I will post some happier pictures of the kitty whose presence in our lives belied his size, and his eep.

But for now, please send your thoughts to my husband, who has had to manage these last painful days on his own.

Here ends the story of the libe of a cad. He gave it all he got.

Sunday, November 16, 2014

Estorbo update

This was taken a few days ago. Vince sent it to me while I was traveling to Cape Town. Storbie on his new catbed. With the chillier weather we thought he might like to be upgraded from a kikoi folded on his favourite spot on the floor to something a bit more soft. He likes it.

Yesterday, however, Estorbo was taken to VERG and to Dr Slade (his de facto vet, from his hyperthyroidism days, and internal medicine specialist) because his breathing was too laboured. A quarter of a liter of fluid was drained from his lungs, and he was examined by a cardiologist. He is now home, with two additional heart medications in pill form (remember he is an Olympic pill-refuser).

I am very unhappy about him. I am in tears. I am angry. I am not there. I am in Cape Town. I know he is in the (next) best possible hands. I just wish it was all different. I feel so sorry for Vince. Some very painful decisions must be made. Nothing is certain, except that he will not get better.

Thank you to each of you, for your support, your sympathy, your understanding. It's impossible to explain to non-animal owners what they mean in one's life. This cat has been with me through the worst and best times of my life.

I will keep you updated. I wish I had something happier to say.

Update: Storbie at home worsened overnight. Vince was up all night with him. They return to VERG today.

Sunday, November 9, 2014

The weeken' ad la casa del gato

Satorday morneen', ees when breakfas' por the Diba-Wooman arribe arn a tray, por fabor. Bod also ees arribeen' a pequeno deesh ob treads por me, El Gato Dominicano. So she dreenk carffee con foamy leche y I ged the treads, y then I lie down to res' y maybe I read  a leedle, too. I lighe Meester McCarthy, he wrides abou' tortillas y beans.

I yam eadeen' dayeen, dayoud. Thad ees the good news.

The bad news ees eed ees sormtime' nard so easy to cadge my breath y I mos worgh har' por the breatheen'. The Wooman tell me ees because my hear', the lefd bentreecle ees too beeg y the blord goes round een a whorlpool before bein' made to pompa oud.


I as', can I nard hab a small arxygen tanghe y mask?

Bod she yos cry. I say, Lighden' the forgh orp, Wooman, ees nard lighe I yam forgheen' dyeen'.

More cryeen'.


Also good news: the potassium kaka gel is OBEHAIR! Gracias a dios worn ob my Amigos tole' os about TumilK POWdhair, y now I ead the powdhair sin problema arn my food. Forgh.

She ees planteen' me sorm new cadgrass to ead while she ees garn. I weel as' the Smoothman y John to carry me oud so I can ead. I lorb the grass.

Dayeen, worn forgheen' day ad a time, dayoud.

Pee ess: The Wooman say, Gracias a todos por the frien's ob the gato donations. She weell maghe correspondence weeth ebery person to say gracias.

Saturday, November 1, 2014

Geddeen' fad

The Smoothman eenstall the tweenkly lighds. Orderwise ees too forgheen' dark.

My tormmy is now so fad eed ees hard por me to make yompa. Yesserday I fell arf the whide bed. So embarrasseen'.

Bod I manage arn the badtasde70'sdaybed. So now I yab mas eensuleen so I yam nard so "boracious" as the Wooman say I yam. "Eensatiable" was the order wor' she use een email to Dr Slade. Who ees she tryeen' to eempress? I yam yos HONGRY. When a cad ees hongry, he ees hongry.

Ordhair news, I yab tres fabourite flabors ob food, all Weruba: Pekeen' Dork, Steagh Frites, y Fowl Ball. Righ' now Wile' Salmon ees kaka. Doan' show me northeen' weeth peas. Steell I yam lorbeen' the raw cheecken leeber, y the Wooman ees buildeen' me a bang vaul' een the freezehair paghed weeth many pieces, wrap' eendebeedual.

Ebery time she gebe me the kakapotassium (three time por day, Dios mio) she wash my faze weeth the warm washclarth. Ees pleasan', como bein' ad the spa.

So I yam OK.


Wednesday, October 29, 2014

My news


Por all the good weeshes, por the donations frarm Los Amigos de Estorbo. From thees fon' the Wooman say she weell draw dineros por the eensuleen', the forgheen' sharp needles, the KAKA potassium gel, the essameenations. Sigh. Dr Slade wan' to see me worn time por mornth. Whad deed I do to deserb thees?

Ees libe, Keeddy, say the Wooman. Sormtime' eed sorghs. Bod you you hab goo' frien's.

Here is esserp' frarm email the Wooman sen' to John, cad-seedhair-deloxe, las' weegh. She has to go to Cape Town to see hor parents, y the Smoothman ees planneen' to go por two weeghs (his only bacation thees year). Bod he say he woan' go eef I yam too seeck.

She doan' wan' to wride thees again, so I carpy y paste weeth my eyes close'. I yam nard readeen'. Bod you read, OK? OK.

Vet trip is over. And we now have a better deal on Zipcars. 

Estorbo's potassium levels are now normal. We don't actually know if the TumilK supplement is responsible for his remarkable recovery or not. I am guessing it is.

Dr Slade is conservative but suspects that the culprit is a tumour on the enlarged adrenal gland, producing too much aldosterone. He says that even if that were confirmed the treatment would be the same. And biopsies and blood tests would be complicated and compromised by other factors, see below:

His renal values are less than ideal (oddly, they have been normal till now). His heart has an significantly enlarged left ventricle - a cardiologist at VERG confirmed this. He has been prescribed baby aspirin, for now - every three days, to prevent clots from being thrown out. [He is expert at spitting these out some minutes later.] We have been told quite graphically what a coronary thrombosis looks like in terms of behaviour: loud crying because of much pain, possible hind-leg-dragging, requiring immediate emergency room admission and, probably, euthanasia.  

Obviously that is a worst case scenario. Gulp. 

I realize I am being very heavy, but it has to be said. I would hate for this cat to go without me, but in no way would I want him to suffer more than he has to, for a final goodbye. 

He looks so good now, that I am hoping the goodbye is not very near.

For now Dr Slade has him on 0.15ml of insulin twice a day - though I imagine it will increase. He is still eating very well. He has gained 2 lbs since he was weighed, there, but I'm guessing it's really 3.5lbs, as he lost more weight subsequently. His coat looks much better, he is active, in the sense that he jumps onto beds on his own and walks up the steps to the deck, and spends hours outside if he wants to (he loves this, so I indulge it). His front legs are nice and straight, now.


Whad the Wooman doan' say ees how moch I HADE the kakapotassium gel: eef even worn piece stay arn my for or wheeskers eed turn into hard plasteec an' eed stays porebber. The Wooman had to cort some ob my for arf to clean me. Now she washes my face weeth warm washclarth ebery time she geeb eed to me een forgheen' syringe. I lighe the washeen' - ees como my morder washeen' my face weeth hor raspy torngue.

Where ees my morder?

Theese peectures are frarm the terrace, three days ago. Ebery day I go oud to the terrace y seet arn the deck, or arn the table. Bod por the table the Wooman mos leefd me. I lighe to seed ou'side ad nigh' leessteeneen' to the rads een the garden downstairs.

I yam makeen' good yompa arnto the bed, ebery day I yam brosh many times, y I maghe squeaky noise when I porr. Ees maybe my hear' whad ees nard worgheen' so good no mas.

I yam eadeen' berber' good. Leeber, mead, fancy meat-cadfood cans, treads after the kakapotassiumgel.

Dayeen, day forgheen' oud.


Estorbo suggested that, in addition to the black cat thank you card for every Amigo, we should have a lucky draw for his Amigos, as a small token of gratitude. The cat is right.

So. The name picked out of a hat on January 1st will receive their choice of one of the Smoothman's photos, printed on aluminum sheets by an excellent lab in California - the print size is 12" x 18"

It's a very clean, beautiful look, and is float-mounted, meaning the image stands away from the wall by about a quarter inch.

There are galleries from which to choose: Africa, New York, Vancouver and the always interesting Miscellaneous

But we will also be compiling links to Estorbo-pictures by the Smoothman in case someone would like le chat nor on their wall (but we realize that is not everyone's speed).

Thursday, October 23, 2014

My Thorsday nigh'

Me een The Hotel.

My ride to Brooklyn een the red Zeepcar. Storck een traffeec arn 2nd Abenue.

Finally arn FDR, headeen' south - we see the beeg buildeen's.. people leeb orp there? Porquewhy?


Manhattan Breedge.

Biew to Brookleen Breedge.

Larng pausa.

I yam ad the ved. While the Wooman waid weeth me, the Smooothman go to Court Street to buy por os por deenhair a speendry' cheecken frarm Union Market, what we all lorb. I meess Brookleen.

They tes' my blord. My pee. They talgh to the Wooman y the Smoothman. Eberyworn loogh berber' serious. I say, Led's ged the forghe oud ob here. 

Eed ees nigh time een the rain. Eberytheen' ees blorry een Nuevo York.

Traffeec is bedhair rideen' home.

Forgheen' cabs.

One honnered twenny seventh streed. Ad las'.

We maghe deenhair. I ead cheecken. Delicioso. I wash the smell of of the ved frarm my ears y my feed. The I ead sorm raw mead. I yam berber' tire.

So ees the Smoothman.

We go to sleeb:

Weell sormworn pleease torn arff the ligh?

Here I go again...

Thees peecture was a few days ago. I yam un pequeno mas fadder, now, y also more florffy.

Today I receib bad news.

I yam goeen' bag to the ved. Again. The Smoothman taghe time arff worgh - again - y he weell peeck os orp een Zeepcar y we dribe dribe-dribe all the way to Brookleen. We coul' go een cab bod we hade cabs, also they are more eespenseeb.


Why? I say. Why torture me?? I yam eadeen! Y yam useen' the leeder tray. I yam eemprobeen' my for. I yam assepteen' the kaka potassium gel THREE forgheen' times a day. WHY?

Because your gluose ees sky high cad, y we need to see eef you mos ged higher dose on eensulin, y we need to maghe blord tes' por your potassium to see whad the kaka TumilK gel ees doeen'.


So. Again I mos trable in The Hotel (ees my new name for the Cormfortable Carrying Case - I slepd een eed por a weegh when I was berber' seeck), across Harlem, down FDR, ober the Brookleen Breedge, down Henry Street, pas' our ole' house (I meess my rooftarps, eeeep!) y arnto Warren Street where ees VERG y Dr Slade.

The yoomans are also theenkeen' maybe we mos transfer my papers (ees beeg mountain) to anorder harspeetal een Manhattan. Brooklyn ees berber' far y the yoomans say ees eghstra $100 every time we go. Sheet. I lighe Dr Slade.

Weesh me lorck. I yam tire ob be the preeckeen' y poolleen', y proddeen' y peencheen'.

Ees nard my fauld I yab bad genes. They use' kaka chemicals to clean the floor ob the bodega where my Mamá gabe borth! My Papacito was a trabelleen man!

Also, so embarrass, the Wooman torn me eento Sobway Panhandler: "La-a-a-a-a-dies 'n Gennelmen? My name ees Estorbo! I yam yos a poor hongry blag cad. My house born' down. Y I larst a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ll my keettens. Coul' you spare sorm loose change or a dollar...?"

See, she pud the forgheen Donade bortton arn my blarg.

I read eed y I say, porque eed say "Wile' Edeebles"? I yam nard a wile edeeble! She say, No, no, Cad, I am wile' edeebles, you are Estorbo [I maghe eye roll]. I say, You no spen' my morney! She say, Ob course I spen' your morney: your morney go to your forgheen' ved bells, keetty!!

She say eef I keep leebeen' (WTFORGHE???) I yam goeen' to be berber' esspenseeb. She say $1000 een las' 6 weeghs. Nard counteen' today. F-o-r-g-h-e.

Bod, she say, Doan' worry, Estorbo  you are totally forgheen' worth eed.

My libe.

Dayeen, day forgheen' oud.

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Leebeen' wage y bedhair worgh carndeetions

Seeck? I was nard seeck!? I was arn Strighe!

When a cad strighes, he strighes.

Now thad my deman's hab been med (toogh a larng forgheen' time - managemen' ees berber' stobborn, also stupeed), the Wooman  taghe to hor bed. Whad ees orp weeeth thad?

Y where are my treads?

Pee ess: I HADE EGGS!

Saturday, October 18, 2014

I'm steell standeen'...

...Sì, Sì, Sì!

Por those ob you lookeen' porwar' to the gran' funeral weeth the seex fad rads draggeen' my carriage eens stade down 5th Abenue, you hab to waid.

Arn Sonday the Wooman though' I was goeen' to die. Sonday nigh' she deed a lard ob readeen' arn the carmpudehair. Also, I theenk she pray to hor ancestor (porque deed she waid???).

Arn Mornday the Wooman started to feed me the KAKA potassium gel, TumilK. She biolade my rides by force-injecteen' eento my mouth. Three times a day! Ad fors I bide hor, har', then I realize eef I yos swallow queeck, eed is ober.

Arn Tuesday I star to ead un pequeno mas. Also my terreeble leemp is geddeen' bedhair.

Arn Wednesday I ead a leedle more, mucho raw cheecken leeber, by han', como siempre.

Arn the Thorsday my leemp ees garn y I star' to ead some Tiki Cheecken y Wile Salmon. Frarm a bowl! Y two portions of cheecken leeber (before was maybe one worn a day, manymany tiny pieces).

Arn Friday, hole' arnto your hads, I made YOMPA arnto the bed y woghe the Wooman orp. I ead beeg deesh of raw steagh (teell now, muy kaka), feeneesh my Tiki y star' my Nature's Eensteenct Benison. Also, now my glucose rise' y I ged forgheen' Eensuleen shart por fors' time in larng-larng time.

Today, Satorday, I maghe yompa arnto the bed again, Waghe orp! Feed me! So far I ead two cans ob food. Que rico.

My coad ees lookeen goo', I yam feelleen' good. The Wooman y the Frenchman (they are crazy) wonder eef eed ees "too good to be true." Stupeed humans. Also, they cancel my ved appoinmen' por yesserday because they say they wan' me to ged more strong before I go - the stress ees bad por me.

So I go neghs weegh por blord tes'. Forgh.

The Wooman tell me e-e-e-e-eberbardy ees theenkeen' abou' me.

Gracias a todos.

I yam steell here.

Wednesday, October 15, 2014

State of the Feline Speech


This is not the cat. It is the Wooman. I haven't felt able to write because there has been no good news, but in the last two days he has been doing better.

These five weeks have been a rough roller coaster with the kitty. I know the date precisely because his health took a downward swing on September 6th, the day after a dinner party on the terrace. He was there with us, that night, begging for bits of lamb from friends, very happy. Later, walking through the dark bedroom on my way to bed, I collided with him accidentally, kicking him. He is black. I didn't see him. The next day (after some earlier warning signs) his litter box habits changed, and he stopped eating.

I reported that to the vet when we took him, but on examination they found no correlation between his condition and my kick. But I remember. On that vet visit he was X-rayed, sonogrammed and his blood was drawn, and based on tests a diagnosis of diabetes was given. We returned for a re-examination, diabetes lecture and instructions, and insulin was started.

The litter tray was a perplexing mix and match of painful constipation and diarrhea. Fun.

Really, really not fun.

I'll skip the excruciating detail of the inbetween bits of some weeks, where his glucose levels went from vaguely elevated to normal to super-high, where he was on-insulin, off-insulin, and fast forward to now, where he has not had it for a week, and glucose is fine.

As far as I can tell, his occasional diabetes is just a symptom of something else. True to form, Estorbo has something special.

What ails him may be related to the enlarged adrenal gland, and perhaps his low potassium levels (hypokalemia) are more causative than I realized - that last alone has a list of symptoms which fit Estorbo quite well. But initially we were all focused on diabetes. I guess you have to start somewhere.

He was rallying until a week ago, voluntarily eating canned food well (two small, 3oz cans a day! seems like years ago), and putting on some of the weight he lost. Then last week he stopped eating again, and turned wobbly on his legs after a few days. The most he would eat at the worst times would be 15 treats (only 1-2 calories each; somebody needs to develop a super-calorie treat for very ill cats).

I actually said goodbye to him a few nights ago. I thanked him for being such an excellent cat, and felt we could not go on like this. I realized how terrible it is to watch a creature suffer. Or perhaps, how terrible it is to feel helpless. I am a fixer, a doer, and when everything you do is not good enough and doesn't fix it, you feel despair.

I thought we would lose him. But I kept waking him up every few hours to feed him one treat, or one sliver of liver. I brushed him very gently, and that always made him purr. When he started to get up then, and and rub against furniture, I knew things were improving.

The last two days have been much better. He has woken me to help him get on the bed, then has put his nose in my face and has pawed me till I got up, with exaggerated purring. What has changed is that I have found I can give him his Tumil K - a potassium gel supplement - by syringe, in the mouth. He hates it, but I wish I had thought of this earlier; till then he'd have none of it. "Palatable," my foot. Or his foot. I had been rubbing it on his feet and he would just leave it there. Poor cat. He would not even wash it off.

Perhaps the supplement is helping. His appetite is returning, his coat is looking good for the first time in months. He blinks at us slowly and lovingly. He looks up, instead of at the floor, glassily, or lies stretched out, rather than hunching on the balls of his feet with his shoulder blades sticking out.

Chicken liver, piece by piece

Most of his meals are still fed by hand. One piece at a time. Chicken liver is tops. Fillet mignon is kaka. Ditto ground beef. Ditto every kind of top notch canned food imaginable. Today he ate some Hill's pellets, on his own (rejected Wellness: super-kaka). Frankly, right now we don't care what he eats as long as he eats. If he wanted buttery snails in their shells he'd get buttery snails in their shells.

He is seeing Dr Slade on Friday, for more blood tests. I have no idea what they can tell us.

This cat has been through so much (so have we! and you!). The broken jaw, before I adopted him; the urethral blockages and kidney issues (till I figured out that his pellets should be fed to him IN water - canned food did not help; the mysterious, obsessive licking where he made patches his arms bald and had to wear shirts (as well as some..uh, other interesting outfits); then the hyperthyroidism and the radiation, and now, this new...thing. It took us by surprise.

Forgive the long cat story.  He is my friend. And I love him. And I know some of you care about him very much, too.

It is pouring with rain as I write. It has been very dry, for very long.

Surely that is good sign.

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Doan' call me boreen'

Sleepeen' after treep to ved las' weegh.

Call me loco, bod doan' call me boreen,' Ok? Ok.

The Wooman ees sayeen' bad theen's about my parentage. Sormtheen' como "eenbreedeen' " y "defecteeb."

Forgh. I yam nard defecteeb.

Eef you beeseet my Fazebooh page by now you know thad I , Don Estorbo de la Bodega Dominicanaheearmerooareeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep...hab a new y eenteresteen' disease. Bod whad eed ees, we doan' really know.

We do know eed ees nard typhoid [Editor: hyperthyroidism]. Thad was feexed by the kaka-I-doan'-wan'-to-theenk-abou'-deed-radiation las' May, 2013. Si. I know you all remembair thad.

Now, Dr Slade ad VERG say I yam diabeteec. Porquewhy? Porque my fructose lebels are high.

Bod also - because I yam a gato berber' eenteresteen' y unique, I yab ber' enlarge' adrenal glan'. Also my heard ees areethmeec. Also, I am loseen' weighd y nard eadeen: yos many tiny pequeno meals ob steagh, feesh, leeber, treats en agua, yogur', anytheen' the Wooman can maghe me ead. Thees star' ten days ago (the nard-bein'-hongree). I yam yos nard hongry. Ees strange por a diabolic [Editor: diabetic!] cad, whad ees usually a beeg fad peeg. I yam gedeen' theen. ALSO, my bag legs are pequeno warbly y now my fron' legs are loogheen' fonny ad the wreests when I stand orp straighd. They ben'! The Wooman say maybe thees ees Feline Diabetic Neuropathy. Forgh.

Now I yab forgheen' STEBS to help me clime!

Whad. The. Forghe?

So whaddarewegonna do?

Dr Slade say we mos corm een again for lesson ob eensuleen' eenjections. I yam habeen fear for thees. Anorder treep to Brookleen, all een worn weegh. Ad leas' I can trabel een the new, attracteeb florffy barx (see whad happen to the ole'one! Forgheen' onnatractteeb grey barx) The Smoothman y the Wooman steeckeen' needles een me. Por whad?

Whad deed I do to desorb thees?

Eed's libe say the Wooman, Sometime' libe is berber' sheetty, y eed owes you no essplanation.

Bod today try to essplain to you.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Cadge your own mouse

Ees sayeen' the Wooman to me, Estorbo, we hab un pequeno mouse problem.

Y she loogh ad me.

Mouse, I say. Whad ees "mouse?"

Small forry creature onder de floor, she say.

So? I say.

Also onder the freedge, she say.

Oh, I say, Si, I hear' scratcheen' noise onder the freedge. Eed corm frarm downstairs through hole. Ees many holes onder the floor.

Whadebber, she say. Can you cadge eed?

Me? No.


Como? She say. You are a cad!

Forgheen' Einstein, I say.

You mos' cadge eed!

No forgheen' way, I say. Mouse ees dordy, eed no wash eeds feed. I ged forr een my mouth.  Kaka.

You are FIRE! she says.

Bide me, I say.

Bod I maghe carmpramise, I say: Whad eef I geeb you muy especial, muy rico, muy sabroso peanod bodhair por trab?

...Blordy cad, she say.

Ged ober eed, I say. I yam retire'.

Saturday, August 9, 2014

My pardy

Ees my borthday.  I gard geef's.  Treads. Fancy food weeth candle (born my forgheen' wheeskairs).  Cad scratch mad weeth cadneep (maghe me ANGREE!). Ribe peaches frarm Nuevo Jorsey. Spreengbok rogby shor'. Reebons.

I yab no forghen' idea how ole' I yam. Feefteen. They say.

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

I yam steell porreen'

Eed has been worn year y three mornths seence I paghed my bags to go y be eenjected weeth radioaghteebeedy y espose' naked een a CAGE to a tribe ob forgheen' gerbeels, all een the name ob science y to cure my typhoid.

The treadmen' was berber' espenseeb y was made parseeble by the eencredeeble generoseedy ob Los Amigos de Estorbo (my gard I yab so many frien's!) who gabe so selflessly, weeth no regard por feedeen' their own cheeldren. I, Don Estorbo de la Bodega Dominicana, May He Leeb Forebber, Heear Me Roar Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep! ber' gradeful

I was forgheen' traumatize' y peed een my onaatrcteeb forgheen' barx, bod soon (nard forgheen' soon enorf!) I was arn the road home (een a taxi!) to recorbery.

The Smoothman meex me the atomeec keeddy beectory sarng to celebrade.

Y now I yam wrideen' to you frarm Harlem, home of blag cad powhair. Bod I yam home alone ALL DAY. No marches por me. The Wooman ees habeen' fon een forgheen' Cape Town weeth the dreaded Corg, y the Smoothman ees habeen' no forgheen' fon ad worgh [hey, who wrode thees blargpose'?]. Y me? Where ees my fon?! Where ees my bride?! He has his fon! He has his bride! Waid! Snaboudobeed. I thogh I was Neekolas Cage. Thad ees anorder mobie. I am loseen' eed. I tell you. Ees forgheen' cabeen feebhair.

Y now? The final eensol'? My preebelage ob seein' Pebbles, the lorb ob my libe frarm the backyar, one floor below, hab been reboked. The yoomans theenk I woul' nard sorbibe the fall frarm the terrace, or the feline leukemia that Pebbles woul' geeb me. Bod lorb woul' geeb me weengs! Lorb SPEEDS arn leukemia! Ghhhhtptooeee! Y anyway, eben eeb lorb made me seegh, small price to pay por the lorb ob Pebbles. Eed doan' madder nada eef Pebbles ees male or female. I woul' lorb heemhor equally. I larst my keetens a larng time ago.

Anyway. So now there ees a kaka fence between me y the larng drarp to the backyar', y I cannard eben go oud dureen' the day. I spen' my time sleepeen', sweateen' (I wear a forgheen' for coad!), eadeen' cronchee, golden, deleecious, nutreetious, pelleds, y dreenkeen' mucho agua. Nard always een thad order. Repead maaaanymany time'.

Dayeen, dayoud.

Bod when my orpstairs neighbors walgh pas' my fron' door I geeb them recital. Eed ees my especial fusion style of yodel, fire engine, opera, barb dylon y donkey.  Before I was LEFD ALONE all day, I reserb thees especial recital por the Wooman y the Smoothman, bod now I seeng ebery time I heear thad forgheen door open to the streed. Eeeeeds me, Storbie, I wan' sorm gardamn attention! Led me oooooooooooooud!

So the neighbors they email the yoomans y as'...Ees your keedy Ok?

No, their keedy is NARD FORGHEEN' OK! OK?

Sure. I yam ole'. Y washeen' does nard seem as eemportant when I was a freesky young cad. Y I yab baddle scars como my bad claw (sostain arn the roop een Brookleen, bod I weel nebber tell), y my barxer's jaw (I doan' wanna talgh abou' deed!). I yab been through a lard, I yab had an ebentful libe. Y loogh ad me. I yam steel forgheen' gorgeous! I stan' proud - between lyeen' down por larng nabs, ob course.

Bod I yam ready to mobe to Mesa Verde. You see, een Mesa Verde, there ees a bank...Y nard yos any bank: THE bank. Full ob treads y pelleds.

Y thad ees a story I weell tell anorder time. Or you can wadge the mobie.

Por now I greed you, my esteemed frien's. You hab helped me leab a larnger y eentersteen' libe.

Gracias a todos.


Tuesday, July 8, 2014

My awar'

I yam Dominicano. I can taghe the head.

Bod I worn my especial carmendation por endurance arn the terrace een Harlem.

You know whad ees my secred? Doan' tell nobardy, or maybe they taghe eed away:

 (I ornzeep my forr!)

Now can sormworn tell me why the forghe my medal says Cape Argus Cycle Tour???

Saturday, June 21, 2014

Cad een the weendow

Sheed. A man een a had.

The Smoothman freaghue' oud when the Wooman leds me seed arn the weendow seell, you know, ou'side, weethoud the bogscreen een place. He only allow me to seed een open weendow behine' the bogscreen.


I ain' no forgheen' bog!

So the Wooman led me seed here sometime, bod she stay weeth me, because she know I could maghe-a yompa to the stebs, behine' me.

Doan' tell the Smoothman. Por a calm person, he go heestereecal when he know I seed here. Wabes arms como un ween'meel.

Whad ees over there???

I cou' squash thad rad!!

Deed you call a cab???

Forgheen' bords!!!

Dayeen. Dayoud.

Wednesday, June 4, 2014

Forgheen' low-teg lawnmowhair

Eberybardy wan's a sheeb to mow their grass. So nice por the enbironemen'.

Nard me!

I do nard wan' a sheeb. To mow. My. Forgheen'. Grass.



Ees CAD grass.

Ead my grass WORN MORE TIME, y you weell be seezleen' arn the forgheen' greell.

Tuesday, May 27, 2014

My terreetory

Ad larng forgheen' last eed ees spreeng. Or maybe sommhair. Dios mio las' nigh' was hart.

Eberyday I go oud to the terrace y lie arn the deck. I yam nard afraid frarm the men een the weendows no mas. I yam nard eadeeen' the bords. Eef I ead the bords, no mas TB to wadge.

Bod I keep my eye arn the forgheen' blag squeerel. He is CIA. Black arps. Colleghteen' my eetelleegence.
He shoul' ged real jarb.

Maybe I weell bide his yogular.

Also, eenteresteen' debelopemen. There ees a new poossy in town:

Maybe the Wooman can maghe por me a laddhair? I know how to go orp y down a laddhair.

Sunday, May 4, 2014


Sonday. Ees so boreen'. Nobardy play weeth me. Anyway, I yam seeck ob streeng.

Maybe I go to the cornhair chorch y seeng garspel weeth the beeg microphone y eempresseeb robes. I bed they nebber hear Domeeneecan garspel. Neghs door to the chorch there ees good barbecue. Bod the Wooman tell me I yam allergeec to pork. She loogh ad all the yooman meals an' fine' I ead pork teedbeeds before each recen' orpchock episode. Pork charps worntime, y pork tendhairloin the order. WTF?

You theenk?

I doan' know why. Perhaps I yam Musleem. Or Jeweesh? I yab an Arabeec nose.

Ladely we are eadeen' lamb. So I yam A-OK.

Yawn. Maybe I go y wadge bord TV arn the terrace. There are preedy leedle red worns... I theenk they tasde lighe ras'berries.

I doan' eed ras'berries.

Ees there a bord whad tasdes como mango? Or moshroom?

Forgheen' bords.