I know, I know. You're tired of hearing about my cats. This is the last time, I SWEAR. (Although, we both know that's not true.)

This is Rufus. He's what we like to call an attention whore.

See that? I can freely rub his stomach. He's like a dog. Look at his face, he's totally into it. Claws: retracted. I walked away from this situation unscathed.

I could give you the whole back story on Rufus but frankly, it would take too long. And I don't have that kind of time. What with my new "growing blog" status, radio commentaries, and coffee shop readings, well– would you have the time? (Want my autograph?)I will say this, though: it's a story so full of mystery, intrigue, and fancy feast that it would make Truman Capote roll over in his grave.

Did I also mention that Rufus craves attention? Like right here:

Did I tell you about the whole face petting thing? What about the snaggle tooth?

Ah, yes. There it is. The tooth. You can rub it, he's totally into that. And Wilbur's ass. Of course.

THE END.

I was emailing some photos out this afternoon and I came across this in my pictures file. I was feeling generous and nostalgic for Six Feet Under (which was the best show on TV, and if you disagree I'm happy to have a dance off with you, which will undoubtedly prove that I AM RIGHT), so I decided to share.

I imagine that’s how David Blaine is feeling right about now. But, that’s what you get when you decide it would be fun to fast for 5 days, then hang out in a giant ball of water, and watch your skin slough off while simultaneously pissing in a bag and holding it up for all the world to see. And just for funsies, you try to hold your breath whilst in the giant ball of water, which now contains a heaping mess of bacteria and nastiness. Then the divers have to rip you out of the watery globe, which I imagine is starting to feel like the womb, and maybe when the divers pull him up, he's thinking "I was just reborn here in Lincoln Center, I am so overjoyed that I got to share this with my adoring fans, let's all sing Stevie Wonder and hold pruny hands." I’m sure vials of David Blaine snow globe water are FLYING off of the virtual eBay shelves.

And really, the question that begs to be asked here is, what the fuck?

The answer? Magic.

Yesterday in the very small town of Orange, Massachusetts, I was invited to witness something called a "River Rat," in which a hundred or so people cram down a river in their canoes. A friend's parents were hosting a barbeque at their house, which happens to be right on top of the river. They've been hosting these barbeques for years.

It was a bring your own meat and beer type thing, and myself, two friends, and my brother piled into my car and we headed on over.

Drinking beer at 12:30 in the afternoon is not my strong suit. Typically, when you drink at night, you either experience a joyful buzz, get tired and then go to bed. Or maybe you get so drunk you can't stand, and then you pass out, and wake up the next morning wondering where you are. Drinking in the Afternoon is a long and arduous process. (I've capitalized it, which means I'm serious). I've decided I don't like it. I was ready for a nap at 3 pm.

The fun part about watching the canoe race is that you get to heckle. The canoes have the names of the folks rowing them on the side of the boat, so you can get really personal. Like "Hey, Sean. You better paddle faster if you really want this! Do you really want this?!" or "Yeah, Johnson's Flooring & Tile! Work it!"

But the race lasts for about 10 minutes. Then you eat, and drink more beer. It was very cold yesterday, but fortunately, I happen to be Macguyver. Kristy's feet cold? No problem. Here, throw on N's gym socks. "Hmm, my hands are freezing!" Look, here are some wool mittens that are 4 sizes too big. That'll do!

The locals typically head to a bar, where there is some sort of outdoor music festival. Here, I got to see lots of people who desperately needed orthodontia, PDA between very unnattractive people, lots of tight jeans, and CHAPS! Leather chaps! I also had my ass touched innapropriately by a complete stranger, at 4 o'clock in the afternoon, no less. Of course, the Grateful Dead cover band kept the crowd in check. Secretly, I was hoping for a mosh pit.

After this, we headed back to my friend Kristy's house. Kristy has two goofy cats, Arthur and Albert. Much to Kristy's embarrasment, Arthur greeted us with a serious case of diarrhea and a stinky kitty butt. He spent the rest of the evening slightly ashamed and tired, because diarrhea makes you tired.

Albert is the cat that I wish I could have. He's the only male cat I've ever met with full-on teats. His got this flap of flab that hangs down like udders, and for some reason, he licks it bald. I love it.

I got home at 9:30, completely exhausted. And of course, I decided to throw in a movie about Hitler until N stumbled in around 1 am. I have no idea why I used that movie as my "Let's snooze for a bit" flick, other than that it was on top of the Netflix pile.

Come with me on a journey…

To a land not far from here– Albany, NY. Oooh. Ahhh.

We'll go to interesting places! (WAMC- Thank you for not smoking)

We will read our essays!

Oh, how exciting it shall be!

Thanks to N for documenting the blessed event. I should be appearing on WAMC in late April, early May.

So Rufus & Wilbur have this game they like to play. I call it Let's Try to Startle Eachother While the Other Cat is Trying to Use the Litterbox. It's usually initiated by Wilbur. What happens is that he will freak Rufus out while Rufus is trying to poop. Inevitably, some fecal matter or chunk of litter-clumped piss will fly out of the box. Endearing, isn't it?

Usually, the poop will be involved in a rousing game of Kick the Poop (like Kick the Can, but with poop). Or I will step in the poop with my slippers and drag it around the house, not realizing it until I notice that a stench has been "following" me. Or Rufus and Wilbur will step in the poop. Or because Rufus didn't finish making a deposit, some will get on his fur. It's usually poop, which is unfortunate.

So I came home this afternoon to find that indeed, a game of Let's Try to Startle Eachother While the Other Cat is Trying to Use the Litterbox had ensued. Both of the cats reeked of shit. So did my house. It was disgusting.

I then did something I promised myself I would never do: I filled up the sink with lukewarm water and mild soap, and I bathed the cats. Just a little rub rub here, spray with the hose, wrap them in a towel, and they were done.

Rufus didn't seem to mind so much. After he got in a comfortable spot, he started to head-butt me. It was more like a "save me from this misery" head-butt. Wilbur, however, was all claws and has been staring at me with this look of utter contempt and disgust.

But, I know great blog material when I see it:

(I should explain the Rufus in the dryer thing– he jumped in to explore, and then jumped out when he realized that he was basically a giant gerbil. But I felt it was so photo-worthy that I put him back in and took a picture. More evidence that I will be a horrible Mom someday.)

My sister said that I could post this image of Sophia as long as there are no creepy stalkers and weirdos reading my blog. So, creepy stalkers and weirdos– Nay, you may not read my blog.

But it is necessary for me to point out that I bought her that shirt.

I’ve been sharing this story with everyone, so I thought, why not here?

So my sister was being silly with Jackson and pretending to be a dog. Specifically, their dog Fenway. She’s barking and being goofy, and Jackson is not loving this. He’s taking it very seriously.

“Momma,” he says. “You not Fenfay.”

“Why not?” she replies. “I can be Fenway.” She continues to act like a dog, barking, etc.

“No Momma. You not Fenfay.” Jackson is growing very exasperated.

“Jackson, why aren’t I Fenway?”

“Cause you’re Momma! You have two arms, two legs and a ‘gina.”

Kind of makes your ovaries ache, doesn’t it?