Toothless OutsideThis is Toothless, yes he has teeth. Tooth is named after the dragon from How To Train Your Dragon. He is part Maine Coon and all big baby. I spoil him. Believe it or not he is Stan’s brother.

IMG_20120314_003753Yes, this grey and white cutie is his brother. Back to Tooth.

IMG_3515He and I are both big fatties. I was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease and rheumatoid arthritis about six years ago. Both illnesses make most days painful and difficult to move around and has been a huge part of my continual weight gain/weight loss seesaw.Toothy and I are fat asses. Tooth is because I spoil the hell out of him with treats and he is a breed of cat that is generally a huge cat. I am because many days my body hurts so bad I do not want to leave my bed, my house, or do anything. Going into college I had huge assed dreams to match my huge ass. Bipolar disorder and my aforementioned diseases have prevented me from going forward with…any of them. Broken dreams have formed into the scar tissue covered excuses I use on a daily basis to explain away the reasons why I am wasting away.


In an attempt to combat all this shit, Toothless and I have been going on walks. They aren’t lengthy time consuming trips. They typically only last a few feet and end in a hand full of Cheesy Middle treats for him and a sense of some kind of accomplishment for me. Getting his whiny ass on the grass and away from the porch was a huge accomplishment for both of us. 



My husband typically motivates both of us to get outside. Because of the benefit of strength in furry numbers we try to get all the cats outside together. Our three boys: Tooth, Thomas, and Stan are mainly indoor cats but we believe in allowing them to roam a few hours a few days a week. I guess it’s the small steps that count right.

Thomas and Marley

                   Marley and Thomas


                 Thomas on the porch


     Stan and Toothless: Brotherly Love




Pearls Before Swine

Bill Watterson is the Bigfoot of cartooning.

He is legendary. He is reclusive. And like Bigfoot, there is really only one photo of him in existence. 

Few in the cartooning world have ever spoken to him. Even fewer have ever met him.

In fact, legend has it that when Steven Spielberg called to see if he wanted to make a movie, Bill wouldn’t even take the call.

So it was with little hope of success that I set out to try and meet him last April.

I was traveling through Cleveland on a book tour, and I knew that he lived somewhere in the area. I also knew that he was working with Washington Post cartoonist Nick Galifianakis on a book about Cul de Sac cartoonist Richard Thompson’s art.

So I took a shot and wrote to Nick. And Nick in turn wrote to Watterson.

And the meeting…

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This blew me away!

The Chirurgeon's Apprentice

PM15I remember rummaging through an old trunk in my grandmother’s house when I was a child and coming across what seemed to me at the time a very unusual photograph. It was a monochromatic image of a beautiful, young woman lying in a white casket (not dissimilar to the photo on the left).

Curious, I plucked the photo from the trunk and went to find my grandma, who was parked at the kitchen table sorting through the piles of mail that inevitably found its way into her house everyday. She told me that the woman in the casket was a distant relative of mine named Lena, who had died tragically at the age of 17. “You know, people used to take photos of the dead back then,” she said, taking the picture from me and studying it closely as if she had never seen it before. “Imagine that,” she remarked…

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I hear crying of a fellow furry friend. His yowling is haunting and pitiful. Pleas for food, companionship…I’m not sure but I am as I should be curious. I poke my head through the dusty blinds and stare out into the flooded porch. I see him. Brown wiry fur with a peppering of black. He is stout but strong looking. His face is round and sweet but his balls scare me. Floods of jealousy flush through my system. Unlike him I am kept in my domicile by my parents and he is allowed freedom. He has been given the opportunity to procreate, I can tell this by his ample and protruding testicles and his quick shots of yellowish spray that shoots from him all over anything he wants to mark.

His cries sadden my heart. I want to help but lacking opposable thumbs and the ability to give I have no idea what to do, other than stare. I stare all day. At him. Birds, him.

Today was an exceptional day as I was able to escape and explore the front yard. I stalked a bird for a few but mother lorded over me in the window as dad sped toward the driveway. I thwarted his initial attempt to catch me through and nested myself beneath the shed in the backyard. It had just rained and water had flooded but I did not care at all. The cool water was soothing and the chase from capture is always fun.

I will continue to stare, and listen. I hope one day I can help this poor soul. Until then I wait.

Working in a gas station has made me realize one truth about humans, they are gross. In the past few months I have seen and smelled things that have made me puke on first whiff. Children make similar messes.Children commonly poop their pants, smear bodily fluids all over things, and take bites out of food and put the remainder of the uneaten food back in the box where the food was found. Children do these things because that is what they do, adults commit these sort of acts because they are gross…and rude…and I’m guessing pretty bored. Unless an adult has IBS or another gastrointestinal disorder I don’t understand the need to crap all over a public restroom. Not once in my life have I gotten the urge to soil my pants, find the closest gas station with a bathroom, remove my soiled pants and underwear in the bathroom trashcan, and smear and track feces around said gas station. I have also never found it a pleasant experience to take a poop in a clogged gas station toilet that has already been clogged to the brim with another individuals butt bombs.

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