I hate to have to do this...

What can be done? I am Pablo. Pablo's honour must be defended, so Pablo has hacked Mike's blog.  Mike calls Pablo evil, but Pablo is not evil--Pablo is filled with the passion of life, and happens to also like desks.  Pablo would love nothing more than to eat, lie on a desk, and be loved--for Pablo loves love; but Mike has called Pablo out, and Pablo cannot stand by wile he is insulted. So friends, do not believe all that you read on this inter-web. Hear Pablo, that Pablo is not evil.  Perhaps Mike is just fearful, because Mike is insecure, as well as being a big smelly pants.

Why no bed for the fuller figured cat?

I think you see my point.

Everyone needs an antagonist

I know, I know, Blogoshpere, I have been most negligent in enlightening you with my thoughts, lately. Suffice it to say, I have been preoccupied. There's a new cat in town, and to quote my favourite film genre, this town ain't big enough for the both of us... literally. My nemesis comes in the form of--stop me if this sounds familiar--a very large-framed  tuxedo cat. Granted, he is long-haired, while my coat is trim and neat; but the fact remains that he--Pablo, they call him--is cramping my style.

Although I am not pleased with Pablo's arrival, I did have a moment of epiphany which gave me pause (no, not 'paws'--puns are beneath me.) It occurred to me, Blogoshpere, that every protagonist needs an antagonist. Every--dare I say--hero needs a nemesis. Far be it for me to upset the balance of the universe. And so, alas, though I do not celebrate his arrival, I humbly submit to the primordial dance of good and evil. Think about it. Where would Roy Hobbs (Robert Redford in The Natural) have been if not for a weird, gun-wielding seductress?... Okay, happily married to his high-school sweetheart, and enjoying major league success, but that's not a very good story. Where would Hamlet be without Claudius?  Sherlock Holmes without Professor Moriarty? Suerpman sans Lex Luthor? Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid without the Bolivian Cavalry? I'll warrant, their lives may have progressed more peacefully, but where is the poetry in that?

I have yet to surmise in what way Pablo will plot against me, but I am certain he will. He is my antagonist. It is his raison d'etre. But rest assured, Blogoshpere, I am no shrinking violet.

By the way, if as you read this, you are trying and failing to figure out who is the evil archenemy in your plot, I have news: It's you.

Creative Pursuits

Blogosphere, you know about my effort to sample new foods; but truly, this is more of a hobby, than it is a creative outlet. And although this passtime is enjoyable and entertaining, it doesn't exactly exercise my right-brain creative self. So, I have found myself with a lot of pent-up creative energy; and if you have ever found yourself in this situation, you will know that an outlet must be found. Well, last night, much to my surprise, my creative outlet came in the form of a blues song:

I can't see the crunchie bowl,
Woman took all the crunchies away.
Well, you know I can't see that crunchie bowl,
Woman took all those crunchies away.
Well, I can't even have a little nibble,
'Cuz she didn't even leave no kibble.
I got the empty crunchie bowl blues.

There's a strong smell up in here,
This litter box is smelling foul.
Oh, there is such a strong smell up in here,
Lord, this litter box is smelling foul.
Well, I guess I'll just have to go on singing,
'Cuz of that smell, my eyes are stinging,
I got the smelly litter box blues.

I'm pacing the floor now,
No place to rest my weary bones.
Well you know that I'm pacing the floor now,
'Cuz there's no place to rest my weary bones.
Well you know that I try and try,
But there ain't no place big enough for me to lie,
I got the great-big cat blues.

You know that I try and try, and try and try and try,
But there's nowhere for a cat like me to lie.
I got the great-big--
and you know that I mean great-big--
I got the great-big tuxedo cat blues.