Showing posts with label Toys. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Toys. Show all posts

Christmas Pressies and New Year Ressies

Damn that plate looked good. A bit small on the portion side, but hey...I'd still like to spend the holidays down by you one of these years. Can we decorate Mav like we would a Christmas tree?

One thing I do enjoy about being out here in Cali is being around more of my roomie's family. They really are darling creatures and yes, they even remembered me around the holidays.

Many thanks to the Buckleys for the stocking full o'fun!

I hear that humans have this silly notion of making resolutions for the new year.

Perhaps we should as well?

I know, I know...why should we as perfect examples of fabulous felines have to change anything about ourselves? And really, I don't think we should...but then again we aren't kittens anymore and I would like us to be around to live out the rest of the 8 lives we have to live.

Mitsy's Resolutions for 2010:
  • Exercise - chase after those annoying things with wings that I see
  • Medication - try not to eat around the pill my roommate thinks she cleverly sneaks into my food twice a day
  • Creative outlet - Work on my art, memiors and yes Ms. R...this blog more often

Phew! Thinking about having to do all those things more often this year really kinda poops a gal out.

Every princess needs her beauty sleep

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Playtime in the urban prison.

Woot!

I can't believe your roomy did that! I swear, next time she's taking a giant #2 in the loo, you sneak in and upload that to Youtube with some sort of title like "Megan Fox frenches Angelina Jolie" and rack up the hits.

Mmm, dahling, I don't know about that chap, he's a big Hugh Granty for me, but from the looks of things, your roomie is busy flirting with him while discussing your kidneys. Here are the kinds of vets apparently that we get over in Australia... or rather, Sydney:


Apparently Mr Bondi Vet surfs too. We just get the grungy ones in Melbourne.

Mav's a total bambino lately, and the grandparents have taken to calling him Lord Maverick since he sits around on top of the couch and everyone has to adjust themselves around him because he won't move. On one hand, I'm utterly in glee that they like me more (Grandma feels bad when he picks on me, and she's even let me sit on her lap!) but, tsk tsk, the royal title is mine! I might have to amp up the diva attitude to reclaim my throne in this house...

In either case, I'm in a good mood these days. Everytime I paw at Grandma's door, Mom comes running out, bleary-eyed and tries to discipline me. But then she takes me back into bed with her in an attempt to keep me quiet or she passes out on the couch with me, and I get to curl up with her all to myself! Humans are easy to train, I don't know what you're bitching about, really.

Speaking of training humans, look what I taught Mom to do. All I have to do is sit on a chair, and she fetches the ringy thing (I lovey love love!) that I swat at.


Omigod it's attacking me!


I kill joo! Good mom, go fetch it as I smack it across the room.

And then after a bit it's just way too much excitement for my arthritis (well, I'm lazy. Sue me. It's not like I'm a servant dog or anything.) I do my magic act!

Poof! I have disappeared!


Shh. I'm hiding dammit.

The best thing about these butt-ugly sheets that Mom has to use these days after Mavie repeatedly defecated on her favorite ones when he had his tummyaches is how well they camouflage my bootiliciousness and I can drown the world away.



So shh, don't tell the world. This is where Queen Rogueness hides out.

Toodles with my pinky up in the air,
-R

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