Laugh. Learn. Love cats.
Ashton: It has been a long week waiting for the head peep to grill some more chicken for me. I can’t help it if I ate my week’s allotment of grilled chicken treat early. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
Did I just hear the chicken package rattling?
Ashton: Hey Newton! It’s getting dark out… time to party! Want to play?
Newton: I don’t know. I have some cat business to take care of.
Ashton: You mean you heard some thunder earlier.
Newton: Shhh, don’t let my fan club hear you say that. I don’t want to lose their respect.
Ashton: You have an awfully high opinion of their respect for you in the first place. You’re such a chicken.
Newton: You have chicken? Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?
Newton: I don’t see any chicken out here. Don’t tell me you ate it already.
Ashton: If I had chicken, I would have eaten it. Instead, I just have you. Come on, last one to the red dot has to wait in line at the litterbox!
Ashton: There’s a stranger in the house. I don’t care that it’s so dark here that no one can’t get a decent photo of me in my special hiding place in the back of the closet. In fact I like it this way. What if the stranger eats cats? Having it dark back here puts me at an advantage in case he tries to barge in and eat me. I’ll come out to eat when the visitor is safely asleep. Maybe.
Newton: But Ashton, I want to play!
Ashton: Not coming out. Cat eater out there. I know you’re brave and busy stealing things from his luggage, but I’m telling you, it’s just too dangerous.
Newton: You’re no fun. Where’s your sense of adventure? Where’s… Hey, where’s Pierre? He’s not in the closet. Not in the living room. Not in the bedroom…. Oh, there you are, Pierre. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the visitor, too.
Pierre: Huh? I’m just hanging out under here with my turbo track.
Newton: You can’t play with the turbot track under there. But if you come out, you can play with me!
Pierre: But Ashton said there’s a cat-eater out there.
Newton: Ashton said that the red dot didn’t live under the chair in the living room, too. She doesn’t know everything. He isn’t a cat eater. He’s a former blogger.
Pierre: A cat blogger? We like cat bloggers.
Newton: He was. He was once known as the King of the Cat Bloggers, and he founded Carnival of the Cats.
Pierre: Carnival? I heard that there are snacks at carnivals. Maybe I’ll check him out after all.
Newton: I don’t think–
Pierre: Do you have snacks?
Pierre: Okay, so you don’t have snacks. Are you blogging? I know how to help with that!
The head peep hasn’t made it around to visit blogs this weekend while her friend was visiting, but she should be back to visiting and commenting soon.
Disclaimer: No cats were eaten in the making of this blog post, despite what Ashton keeps telling anycat who will listen.
Ashton: Hi, My name is Ashton, and I’m a kibble addict.
Pierre and Newton: Hi, Ashton!
Ashton: It has been eight months since I first started to give up The Kibble. It was really, really hard.
Newton: Why was it so hard?
Ashton: Kibble tastes good! And I love how it crunches, too. But I was a little… Rubenesque.
Newton: *whispers* What does Rubenesque mean?
Pierre: *whispers* It means fat.
Ashton: DON’T CALL ME FAT!
Newton: But you aren’t fat, Ashton. You used to be fat, but you aren’t any more, I mean. Look what a difference eight months on canned food has made. If you weren’t my furbling, I would think you were a babe.
Ashton: Thank you, Newton. That’s very sweet of you.
Pierre: You know, not only does our canned food diet help us to maintain better weight, it also helps with our hydration. You two are too young to remember all of the cats who came before who all suffered chronic kidney disease: Cyrano, Rhett, Louie, and Talia. One after another after another. Kibble is about 10% moisture, so it keeps us chronically dehydrated, while canned food is more like 78% moisture. Hopefully, we won’t all have to go through the same kidney problems that the cats who came before did, too.
Ashton: We don’t want to be sick like that. Occasional hairballs are bad enough.
Newton: No, not if it means going to the vet. I don’t like that at all, even when it’s just to get my armpits manscaped.
Ashton: Well if you weren’t such a barbarian and actually groomed yourself properly, that wouldn’t be an issue.
Newton: I’m not a barbarian!
Pierre: Settle down, you two. I had one more thing to tell you.
Ashton: What’s that?
Pierre: I overheard the head peep saying that she eventually hopes to have us on a raw diet because it’s species-appropriate.
Newton: Does that mean she’s going to bring a bird into the house and turn it loose so we can hunt it like we were in the wild? That would be pawesome!
Ashton: I don’t know about that… I might stick with my cans after all.
