Chuckalicious

Ohmigosh, have I had a weekend:

Karen's mother's birthday was Wednesday. Thus, I feel compelled to write her a somewhat belated birthday letter:

Dear Karen's Mom:

I wanted to wish you a happy birthday and tell you thanks for all of the things you do for Sadie and me when Karen is slacking on her duties as house manager. When Karen heads off for work and doesn't fill the our bowl, leaving me to eat what touches the plastic dish, you always step in and take care of business. Truly, I appreciate that more than you know.

As my birthday present to you, I have decided to honor you with my undying gratitude and admiration. I told Karen to buy you a Mercedes, but she said that you wanted a tree for the backyard instead. I suggested an orchard, but she said you weren't the "orchard" type.

Truthfully, I think that's code for Karen is cheap and lazy. You really should have raised her better. But what can you do?

Anyway, we hope your birthday is lovely. Sadie and I think you are fabulous.

-- P

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

He's baaack. . .

Chuck

The Chuckster

Chuck a luck a luckster.

I think Chuck is addicted to methanphetomines. His eyes are bloodshot and he's always moving around fast and erratically. I really don't think Karen's parents should allow a known drug addict into their home. I mean what if he starts burning the Sudafed to get a fix? I read somewhere that meth is highly flammable and dangerous. I can't have our house exploding, like on one of those tabloid news shows. After all, I'm Penelope the Cat, I have a reputation to uphold.

"Chuck is not a meth addict," Karen told me. "He's bug eyed so stuff irritates his eyes easily and for crying out loud he's a puppy. Stop judging him."

Whatever.

"And don't be going online and telling all your blog friends that Chuck is a meth addict. That's not responsible journalism."

Too late

Furthermore, he ate some of my food. Actually, he ate a lot of my food. I know this because he left dog stench and slobber all over.

He also sat in my chair.

That dog has some nerve. Thankfully, he's leaving Monday morning, so I'll have some peace and quiet.

Sadie is ready for him to go as well. She's taken a liking to Karen's mom and they to the crossword puzzle together in the evenings. When Chuck is here, Sadie does not feel particularly comfortable curling up on the couch with the evening paper.

I don't think he's sanitary either. One of the first things he did when he got in town Saturday afternoon was crap all over the living room. You should have seen it. He left poop on the floor, on the rug, by the back door. I've never seen so much crap in my life that wasn't confined in my litter box, of course.

Anyway, all is pretty good with my world right now. O.J. Simpson got convicted of stealing sports crap. Saturday Night Live hasn't had political sketches this good since, well, ever. And Karen and I are upstairs in our room. She is grading papers and I am sitting quietly with watching Ironman on her DVD player. Sadie is in the bathroom chillin in the sink. And for some weird reason my computer is not letting me paragraph break. Freakin' Crazy. Go 'Stros.