And the Winner is . . .

When I won my blogging award last week, I was supposed to pass it on to five others.

I couldn't decide who to award, being so many important blogs out there in cyberland.

However, I take my obligations within the blogging community quite seriously. At the same time, my ability to follow directions is lacking.

What do you people expect? I'm a cat. We are not designed to do what people request. That would just be ridiculous.

So, of course, I changed the rules.

Weekly (or whenever I please) I will award a fellow blogger with a "You are no ordinary cat award".

Here are the rules:

1. You must post said award.

2. You must write an acceptance speech. You may steal speech from wherever, I really don't care. But you must post one.

3. You must send me your first born child.

Actually, Karen told me to scratch number three. She said we really didn't want a bunch of first born children running around here. It would crimp our bachelorette style.

If you do not follow the rules of the award, I will send Sadie to your house after feeding her a galloon of milk and a twelve pound bag of kitty treats. Trust me, you really don't want to incur this wrath.

My first award goes to my dear friend Robyn from Robyn's Nest.

Her link is to the right.

Why, do you ask, does Robyn get the first award?

The answer to this is quite simple: Robyn, a famous fashion designer, I'm assuming who works for Chanel, made me a poncho.

She's the only one who sends me gifts. So she gets the first award.

Are you crying foul? Sadie runs the complaint department. She's illiterate. Good luck with that.

Anyway, Robyn just opened an Esty Store. You should stop by and purchase a bunch of her ever so fabulous crafty stuff. Eventually, I'm will pose in an ad for this store. Robyn is working on persuading Steven Meisel to take the pictures and everything.

Anyway, that's all I have today. I'm going to bed as Karen is sick and she told me that if I wake her tonight for any reason other than a homocidal maniac running through the house, she would send me to live with evil Jeff.

Empty threat

Poncho and Sadie

Friday was Karen's birthday. Her parents threw her a party, and invited Sadie and I to attend, which meant Sadie crawled under a piece of furniture upstairs, not to be seen until Karen goes hunting for her when it's time to leave and I mingle until some small child makes an attempt on my life.

For her birthday, Karen's friend Robyn made Sadie and I ponchos. Karen of course was thrilled. My first reaction was to be appalled. Not two days ago I saw a kitty wearing a sweater on someone else's website and the poor thing looked miserable. Karen saw it and thought it was just "so cute". For a few days I was very concerned Karen would bring home matching sweaters for Sadie and I. (The last thing I wanted in my life was a sweater; the second to the last thing I wanted was one that matched Sadie's.)

Karen immediately put the poncho on me and much to my surprise, I found myself actually liking it. The yarn is soft and the bright fuscia color looks great against my black fur. I'm wearing it right now, as a matter of fact.

Sadie's not as keen on wearing her poncho. She's not as fashion aware as I am, though. Karen told me I can wear hers, if I wanted, but I like mine.

I told Karen she needed to buy some cashmere yarn and tell her friend to make me another poncho. I'd like to have serveral in varying colors to match my whims. I also asked Karen to take my picture in my poncho to add to the blog, which she did take, but has not down loaded to the site (surprise surprise).

Speaking of pictures, I'm about this close to firing Karen over the whole picture issue. First of all, I asked Karen to hire the famed fashion photographer Steven Meisel to take some pictures for my blog. She blew me off. A few days later I asked her about this again.

"Yeah Penelope I made that call," she told me. "Mr. Meisel has a very busy week scheduled hanging with models and celebrities and whatnot. He couldn't fit you in."

Whatever.

Karen is about as useful as Sadie sometimes. At least Sadie doesn't smart off. Sadie takes me and my needs seriously.

"Then get Sadie to make the calls to famous photographers," she told me, knowing full well that Sadie doesn't know her numbers well enough to use a phone.

I've got to get a better staff.

This whole issues is stressing me out. I'm exhausted just thinking about it. I'm off to take a nap, so I'll be refreshed to watch the season ending episode of Desperate Housewives.