So, I'm still waiting by the phone for those calls from people looking to give the evil monsters cats a new home. In case you've forgotten about the cats, I'll post a couple more photos of the marvelous creatures.

He always sits like this, like someone most in his comfort zone on the couch with a bag of chips and a liter of soda.

And her with the spooky--I mean luminscent--eyes.

As you can see, they're excitedly waiting to hear about their new opportunities. We needn't bother the humans with this--I'm allocating time in my schedule to handle all adoption proceedings. I look forward to hearing from you.

I've developed what the lady calls "a slight trepidation"--like that word?--around very small humans. She tries to understand it, but I do catch her giving me a baffled look when she sees my reaction to them. And she sometimes says, "You never used to be afraid of them. You're bigger than they are." Well, she's bigger than a lot of things I've seen her shy away from, snakes, for example.

The truth is that small humans are unpredictable. And the older I get, the more unpredictable they get. I seem calm by all outward appearances, and so they react by going all squirrely, trying to climb on me, following me around, pulling on my tail and ears. And they shriek--kinda like the lady's teapot--going all squealy for no discernable reason. They didn't used to do that. The lady thinks maybe because when I was younger, I was jumpy and playful, so they were nervous. Now the tables have turned. I hear them coming, and I chart a different course. The lady can just deal with it and detour with me. Self-preservation is not a bad thing. She can change direction with me when a small human appears, and I'll do the same for her when a snake appears. And I won't poke fun at her, although, really, you oughta see her. She's like 5'10" and wears heavy boots. A snake wouldn't stand a chance.

Oh boy, it's been a long time since my last post. Looks like my guest blogger only blogged once. If I were a human I'd make some kind of judgement about that and maybe call her a slacker--but since I'm a dog, slacking is not a term I use. What humans call slacking, I might call being. I can be philosophical, you see. So anyway, I hope everyone who reads this had good times together during the bring-the-tree-into-the-house season. We went to Montana. Lots of trees in Montana.

The lady and I would live there if we could get the rest of the people to follow suit. The lady loves the stars. We both love no leashes...and the space...the quiet...the smells. She doesn't love it when I roll in my favorite smells, though. Go figure. Humans are an enigma.