I look younger?

Speaking of conspiracies, there is a rumor going around about my looks. People are saying I had “work” done. You must mean the eyeball thing. Sometimes I have them, sometimes I don’t. I can see just as well either way—personally I like the Sandy look, like Orphan Annie’s ocularly deprived pooch. But my mistresses also like the fakies my artist Mary put in when she redrew me.

They do make me look younger than five, don’t they?

Sometimes my body looks pretty buff, too. I call that a Good Abs Day.

Bet you wish you were having one.

Click on over to page 4

No, not on this thing…on the women’s other site, Writer’s Catablog (http://www.writerscatablog.com), to buy a coffee mug based on (blush) my fine form. Nancy and Star think all writers should have a mug on their desk reminding them that the freelance life is an exhilarating, though sometimes scary, Quest for Kibble. Brown balls, lobster, Kraft Dinner, whatever you people eat. They were saying just this morning how fortunate it is that the mug is alcohol-safe. I didn’t get that part, but they were laughing, which I do get. So…why not indulge? Tell ‘em I sent ya.

Look at her—thinks she’s so great

Oh, for Pete’s sake, I don’t know what is with you cat lovers out there. All I am hearing is cats, cats, where are the puddy tats on this blog? OK—happy? This secretive, silent, elephant-toed specimen is named Chonie, which as some of you multilinguals may know, means underpants in Spanish. I hate to get into this, but she has white markings on her stomach that resemble undies. I never thought I would have to type that word. But there it is. As you can see, Chonie is Star’s self-appointed secretary, demoting me to bill collecting muscle. Why did she have to pick this way to suddenly suck up? No idea. Wait’ll Star finds out she is plugging up the airholes on the monitor. That’ll be choice. Hee-hee. 

Come to think of it

After I ate a few brown balls from my bowl (darn, I like pizza rinds), I got thinking about how the “big” website has the word “cat” and even more mysteriously, the word “scat,” in it (my dog friend Andy’s person pointed that out). I would like this to be known as the DeScribbles Code. Look for more hidden kitty references as time goes on (http://writerscatablog.com). I hated that book but am not above stealing the title. Titles can’t be copyrighted, you know. I learned that from Nancy and Star. 

Dog blogging…and your point is?

 

…I am Scribbles. Everyone seems to be nosy these days, so let me tell you, I am 5. This is based on my owners’usual comment…”You don’t have to tell me! What am I, 5?” 

…I decided 5 was a good age. Maybe everyone actually is 5, I don’t know for sure. I am pretty sure some clients are.

 …My owners are writers. They sort of have a sense of humor, or used to, but now they need me to caper about in a most demeaning manner sometimes and raise their spirits.

…I do rather enjoy leaping on the couch (it has wheels), then riding it like a surfboard for a couple of feet.

…Then, to maintain my dour mien, I must hop off creakily and pretend it never happened.

…Nothing to see here. Caper-free zone. You imagined it.

…So what do I do? Let’s see. I collect invoices. Have you ever seen those cartoons of people with the seat of their pants ripped out by a dog? I can tell you polyester is the easiest.

…I also keep the cats in line. They think they are a big woo because they can jump on the desk. Please, what am I? Five?…Oh. Yeah. Never mind.

…Gotta go…My owners are coming back. (They don’t know I can type—but what do you think that funny claw on my leg is for?)