Devil With the Blue Dish

This post is just to let everyone know that Chiclets, my cat of eighteen years, is never to be contacted or even thought about by anyone ever again. EVER. That cat is so dead to me it's not even funny, and if you want to remain friends with me, he's dead to you too. I don't want to hear his name, I don't want to accidentally see any of the dozens of photos of him I've e-mailed to your workplaces, NOTHING. Eighteen years of love, nurturing, affection, and a roof over his bastardy little head, and then WHAM, he has pretty much officially moved onto the back porch next door, ALL BECAUSE MY EBAY-SELLING BUM OF A NEIGHBOR PUT OUT ONE LOUSY DISH OF FELINITY PREMIUM SELECT CAT FOOD ON THE PORCH FOR HIS OWN LITTLE SLIMY FURBALL TO EAT AND CHICLETS HAPPENED TO TASTE IT. That's it. That is ALL it took for my best friend, my companion in life, my only child, to abandon my ass for a so-called better life. Now he sits on that damn porch day after day nibbling at Tinkybelle's meals, which cost all of TEN PERCENT more and taste maybe FIVE percent better than the ones I've been providing for almost two freaking decades. The smelly cheater won't even respond to my name anymore, he just looks off at some tree or something when I yell at him to come home. So let this be a lesson to cat people everywhere: the rumors are true. Cats are the most relentlessly back-stabbing creatures on earth and NO cat owner is safe from their treachery. EIGHTEEN YEARS, and then some company decides to throw a bit of pineapple into their special formula for mature cats and THWAP, my pet is gone, remorseless, unashamed, his back turned to me, dozing on that crappy porch made so shoddily by the drunk Greek contractor down the road. Fine, Chiclets. I hope you FALL INTO THE GIGANTIC TERMITE HOLE IN THE MIDDLE OF THAT PORCH AND DIE. How's that for a farewell? Let's see your precious cans of Felinity Premium Select somehow sprout arms and throw a rope down to you so you can crawl out before you FREEZE TO DEATH IN THAT HOLE, FURBALL.

Oh, and Madolyn just left me on Tuesday, the day after our twentieth anniversary. Said she wanted to be with some dentist in Baltimore. It's all good, I'm more into blondes anyway.