Scott&Lori's blog

I am the DC DeMooCat. I live, eat, poop, and chase birds, squirrels and
dogs in our nation's Capital. Or Capitol. I'm bad with homonyms, as I've
stated earlier. It seems the Capitol is the building that sits in Capital, which
is the city, where the legislators sit to do the bidding of the capitalists. Is
that right? Jeez, it's tough to keep this stuff straight.

On my left is that scrawny, squeaky little stick boy, "Red State Ross the
Republicat." God, I hate him! (Although he does photograph well). He's
moved to Virginia, but we used to live together in a small apartment in DC.
It was awful! I was a kitten then and Ross used to slap me around. Now, I'm
15 pounds. (I'm not FAT! I'm big boned!) Ross is like seven pounds tops
and has just three legs. I have this elegant, almost silent, purr. Ross
squeaks like a freaking mouse! And GOD it's annoying.

Last summer Ross lived in my house for a week or so. I tried to be nice to
him since I'm twice his size and I let him get a away with a few things. But
once he tried to sneak into the main bedroom and sleep with my humans.
THAT couldn't happen. Those are my lazy butts to nap on and we had it
out in the hallway. He squeaked like a mousie cat girl and slunk back to the
closet I left him as sanctuary.

Anyway, I can't believe my humans are making me blog with stick boy over
there.

A science fiction writer my prime human likes said cats are furry
Republicans because we dislike change. True, to a point. Yes, we don’t like
change. My prime human often goes on business trips, leaving me to the
mercy and memory of the stupid auxiliary human. I hate that because I’m
afraid he'll forget to feed me. But that's not fear of change. That's fear of
starvation at the hands of someone I regard as a closet "dog guy."

But just because I don’t like change doesn’t mean I don't care whether
humans improve their way of doing things. If it leads to a better treatment
of the cat, well that's all to the good. For instance, my humans were giving
me tainted food! Cats died from eating this food! I know, because I listen to
NPR all day! (What else would the DeMooCat listen to? Fox?) I knew the
food was bad! I took a sniff and walked outside to eat grass. (Did my
humans notice? No! The are idiots!)

But, I've got to admit, I'm with Ross on this hunting dog thing. The other
night, two dogs started mixing it up right in front of my house. I ran outside
to watch. I was so hoping for a fight to the death. But no! Their humans
pulled them apart and the snarling poop machines went their separate
ways. I normally support the DC gun ban, apparently overturned in the
courts, but to have had a gun, opposable thumbs and fingers that night
would have been . . . well . . . eeexxxxceeeellllllent!

Hi! I'm Red State Ross -- the RepubliCat from the great state of Virginia
and also formerly of Florida. (Ah Florida! Now there was a red state that
gave us not one -- but TWO -- Bushes with executive power).

I used to live in DC but I hated it. Why? Well, politics aside, part of the
reason was because I had to live with tubby over there. (More about that
later, but last summer I had to live in fatty's house for a while and I
RULED! Ate her food, napped with her humans and pooped and peed in her
litter box!)

Anyway, why do I love Virginia? Two reasons: Guns and hunting dogs. You
can get guns everywhere here, unlike in DC. In Virginia, you can even get
guns in convenience stores, which means you can also pick up a six-pack or
two to go with your guns.

Ah! Guns and beer just go together like . . . well . . . acts of drunken
violence.

And then there is hunting dogs. I hear it over and over that Virginians just
love hunting dogs. I love hunting dogs too! I hope my owners will stop at a
convenience store some day and buy a gun so we can go hunting dogs
together some weekend.

I can see it now. A dog in the woods: "Bark, bark, bark bark, sniff, sniff,
sniff, sniff, poop, poop, poop, poop -- BANG, BANG, BANG!"

If there's a better way for a cat and its humans to spend a weekend, I just
can't think of it. Wow! Hunting dogs. Talk about quality time.

Wait! Now my humans -- Jill and Greg -- and are telling me I got this wrong.
They say "hunting dogs" is more nounish than verbish. (I'm a cat! We don't
get this whole parts of speech thing). They're telling me that hunting dogs
are a kind of dog that goes hunting, rather than being hunted.

Well that's just stupid. That can't possibly be right. Why would anyone
want to take a dog hunting. This is one thing that me and tubby agree on.
Dogs are noisy, slobbering poop machines. Take them hunting? What
could they possibly catch? You can hear a dog coming for miles.

Cats, on the other hand, are sleek and silent hunters. (Well . . . I am,
anyway. That fatso Moo couldn't slink up on her own ample shadow).

In fact, I must've had it right the first time. My humans must have this
wrong. Virginians should take their cats out hunting dogs. In fact, I bet it's
legal in Virginia to buy your cat a gun. And I bet the guns are close to the
aisle where they sell the kibble! And if my humans want to pick up a
six-pack or two (too) in the next aisle -- I say indulge!