Little Monkey

This blog is still closed, but this entry is one I needed to make…

Today, I lost my cat, Deuce, A.K.A Debug.

He was killed recently, most likely by a car. He’d been missing for almost a week now.

Debug was my little baby. My little monkey. Little gray furball that loved to curl up in my office chair whenever it was unoccupied. He wasn’t a fighter like his big brother, Possum. He preferred the French method of Run and Hide, but hey, it worked for him. The only time he would ever take down either of his brothers was if they stood between him and the food bowl.

He lived nearly his entire life in my bedroom, used a litter box until he was about 3 years old when he decided to get brave and start living outside. He did that for about a year, and then on a whim, he began coming back inside the house more, and then soon, was spending 24 hours a day indoors. The only times he would go outside was to follow me when I fed my dogs, and when he needed to go to the bathroom – a process that was about 5 minutes at most, and then he was right back at the door, mewing like a banshee, as if he was saying “Let me the fuck back in!

Once back inside, he’d bolt right for the bedroom and curl up on my bed, and wait for the office chair to be free again. When I’d go to bed at night, he’d jump up on my chest and nuzzle my chin and get his ears scratched until he was ready to be left alone. He loved to be picked up, and held, most often, he’d lay, draped over my shoulder, purring like mad, and offer hugs whenever I called his name.

He was the type of cat who loved fried chicken and cheese, but wouldn’t touch tuna. He could care less about a laser pointer – he’d watch it, but not chase. He ignored catnip and toys for the most part, and never chewed a power cord, or clawed furniture. He was one laid-back dude, and I’ll miss him dearly.


8.03 – 5.21.10


The End.

I quit.

I wish I knew

what was wrong with me. I try and make time for friends, but the more I try, the less I manage. I am depressed. Severely – and I just feel that being around people in the current state of mind I am in does no one any good – especially those that consider me to be a friend. I mean who wants to hang out with a person whose only reason for living is to make sure his dogs don’t starve?

Holy Hell, I just realized that my blog is a year old (first post Jan. 17 2009!)

What a ride its been — and how boring a ride its been for those of you who actually read this damn thing.

Anywho – HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Blog!

*strips and gives his blog a lapdance*

I just realized this was in my drafts bin… written back in Jan. Figured I would post it for shits and giggles..

(Picture omitted because it pissed me off)

Afghan spectators watch a dog fight in Kabul in 2009. Outlawed under Taliban rule and now legal and very popular in Afghanistan, each Friday from November to March thousands of Afghans gather on the western outskirts of Kabul to watch the spectacle of dog fighting. A remote-control bomb exploded at a dog fight in southern Afghanistan on Friday, killing and wounding up to 20 people, police said.

I say GOOD!

Christ, this makes me sound nearly as fanatical as PETA…

End of the line

So I think I’m gonna close this blog, go dig a hole, crawl in it and die.

Sorry, I couldn’t resist making that.

Better late than never.

Edit: Due to illnesses caused by the photo included in this post, it has been removed. The nausea should go away soon.