Pussy Collective

The pussy collective has developed into two well-honed killing machines. In the past three weeks I have disposed of three birds which has brought the kitty’s confirmed kill tally to seven and a half (I received credit for two assists on the birds I had to close out with the back end of a shovel). Our cats have now re-focused their murderous rampage on newer victims; bunnies. The past two evenings, the pussy collective has brought a bunny to the back door squirming in each one of their mouths. Have you ever heard a cute and timid bunny rabbit scream in agony? Much like the Madonna song La Isla Bonita, it is something you can never un-hear. The pussy collective has established their dominance in the wilds of our suburban neighborhood via the Way of Chuck Darwin. I will keep disposing of bodies, my sweet kittens, as long as you keep those rabbits from grazing on the freshly-seeded patch of lawn in the corner of the yard.

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Newer Pussy

Yesterday Team Krugman called from the anniversary paradise of Palisade to inform the wife and I of a stray kitten that had been roaming the grounds of their bed and breakfast all weekend. Naturally they assumed we would take the feline as the wife gets weak in the heart at the site of kittens and is one step away from filling our crib with hundreds of cages and strays and stacks of newspapers and aluminum cans that she picked out of the garbage dumpster behind a Chinese restaurant. They claimed the kitty was hours away from going to a “farm where it will be able to roam free for the rest of it’s life” so we agreed to give “it” (it being the operative word as we will not know the sex of new pussy until the vet appointment tomorrow) a new home. Kitty is thus far very chill; purring each time you walk into the room and jumping onto your lap. MJ, our cat who is three times bigger, hissed and ran to hide under the bed upon seeing the newest addition to our household. We are keeping the two of them sequestered for a week so they can get used to one another and eventually go out and kill together.

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The Weekend That Was

The wife and I threw a housewarming party on Saturday night, inviting our friends and family over to destroy all the hard work we put into the place over the past few months. Some highlights:

  • Japanese Whiskey is a great housewarming gift and a fun treat for Grandma.
  • My four-year-old nephew held court over the fire of a citronella candle waxing philosophical to numerous adults on Star Wars, baseball, war and gladiators.
  • Johnny Ballgame rolled up in a new truck named “The Licorice Whip.” New is a relative term as said truck is an early 80s Chevy Half-Ton with visible fire damage and more miles on it than 50-year-old stripper. Jake reported that it died twice during the convenience store cigarette run. The convenience store is a quarter mile from the house.
  • My neighbor Kevin (who I have talked to three times) walked into the house grabbed a cup from our kitchen and poured himself a keg beer. He than greeted us and proceeded to hang out for the next six hours.
  • A pack of youngsters found kitty’s second confirmed kill in our backyard. That brings the body count to two in less than one week.
  • Most decadent housewarming gift: 80+ ounces of Grey Goose vodka.
  • Number of partygoers that threatened to Top Shelf one of the bathrooms: 2.
  • Number of partygoers that requested Journey’s Greatest Hits for a musical selection: 7.
  • Number of partygoers that had to be called a cab at 3 AM due to someone “taking their keys”: 2.
  • Number of partygoers that drank the bottle of rum they brought as a housewarming gift: 2.
  • Approximate time on Sunday that my hangover wore off and I was able to able to stand up without getting lightheaded: 4 PM.
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Kitty Gets Her First Confirmed Kill

Last night I walked downstairs to adjust the settings on the sprinkler control box and noticed a mess of feathers strewn about the basement. There I found our kitten, MJ, sitting cocksure over a dead bird with her smooth, serpentine tail slapping against the cold concrete floor. I caught her primal gaze and a bursting sense of pride welled up inside me. “Take that you stupid bird,” I thought. Then I did what any parent would do after they learned their child had just committed murder: lavish praise on said child (or in this case, said kitty) and than dispose of the body.

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Pussy Boxing

Last night our kitty threw down with a neighbor cat that wandered into our backyard (the wife described the interloper as twice her size and black). I was upstairs on the computer when I heard the ruckus. The wife bolted out the back door after the whirlwind of fur, fangs and claws to break it up. The felines were spry and the fight quickly spilled over the fence and into the neighbors yard leaving no time for the wife to hurl a broom javelin style between the cats like my late grandfather Broz. Kitty came strolling to the back door an hour later seemingly unfazed by the scrap. Further inspection revealed a bloody back paw and a claw that had been snapped off (hopefully in her opponents face). Her psychological well being seemed off the rest of the night (more so than usual) and we were concerned she tangled with some diseased pussy. To our relief, she woke us this morning in her normal manner; laying on our faces, licking our faces and purring like a chain saw. We can only hope she clawed the eyes out of her opponent and taught it a lesson.

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The wife and I have been back and forth to the local Petco for all manner of kitty supplies over the past few days. After three trips to the same store, I have noticed that every employee appears to have a serious drug problem. Sunday we rolled in with our new pussy to get some Meow Mix and a litter box. Our cashier who reeked of cigarettes, wore a bad perm and had fewer teeth than a jack-o-lantern asked us for the inane details regarding our feline. Tuesday we patronize the store for a litter box scoop and a spray bottle (or “Instant Kitty Be Good” as I call it) and the same cashier waits on us and proceeds to ask us the same questions as if she has never seen us before. The topper was this afternoon when I took back a food dish. A cashier with a female golf coach haircut smelling of pot waited on me. She had to call the manager over to approve the return. When the manager arrives, I am frightened with her countenance as she looks more strung out than Andy Dick, has pockmarks all over her face and has not one tooth in her head. As I walk out to the parking lot a Petco employee is smoking cigarettes and pretending to be collecting carts.

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New Pussy

What is the most sensible thing one can do when they are unemployed? If you answered, “add another hungry mouth to the family” then you are correct. That is exactly what the wife and I did this weekend when we responded to a posting for ‘free kittens’ on Craigslist. It was all very Madonna-esque; we entered a foreign place with odd smells (in this case Thornton), we ogled over some unwanted babies and then we took off like criminals with a little bundle of joy before parents and the authorities got wise. As I post this, kitty is napping at my feet and purring like the dickens.

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Bottled Pussy

Everybody loves kittens because they are cute, lovable and affectionate. It is tragic that they cannot stay kittens forever. Well they can I suppose, but I meant without stuffing them into a bottle and super gluing their asses shut.

Update: The Bonsai Kitten is an obvious hoax so rest easy future wife and Kaye. I just could not resist the golden opportunity for a super-glued cat’s ass joke.

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Evil Pussy

An excerpt from the saga of Satan Cat:

“Even after he shot it, that cat was so hopped up; we’re talking about a little, eight-pound cat, Mickey ran down the hall into the bathroom and jumped into the tub,” the husband recollected. “He didn’t die for at least five minutes. He was all nerves and adrenaline. He wasn’t in his right mind.”

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