The two best parts of buying an X-mas tree.

One, we bought it at The Optimists Club tree lot. The trees themselves were less than optimistic. They were all dead. Some more than others, to be sure, but they were all dead. No replanting for these guys. They were all just standing around, dying slowly and thinking to themselves, "Optimists, my trunk. This is exploitation! I need a good lawyer." We got a good tree. His name is Andrew, and he's wearing my cowboy hat, for now.

Two, It has disco lights.

Well, it seems there is more kitty love in the air than I thought. Granola is bringing her cats back from paradise to live with K-dog and I, and the Cult Leader seems to have found a new follower.

(For the record, there were about a thousand crude sexual humor references that I came up with in my sick little thinking engine that could have been included in this post. I mean, when writing about felines, they just pop in there like the Stay-Puft Marshmellow Man. However, the management here at the 'Wrangler seemed to think such crude humor would be detrimental to this site's high literary and commentary standards. Personally, I think management are a bunch of pussies.)

I got asked a favor today, and I am looking forward to it like summer vacation. Marrilee asked me to look out for Thomas, because she is going to be out of town for a while. I absolutely LOVE doing this.

Thomas is, quite frankly, the most Sinatra fuckin' cat that ever lived. He's so cool it hurts. He's black and white, kind of skinny, and really cocky. He used to pick fights with the neighbor's cat, even though he doesn't have any claws. He's not stupid, he knows he is weaponless in the cat world, but he tries to kick kitty ass nonetheless. He's house trained and doesn't use a litter box, which is cool for a cat, in my opinion. He likes attention, and doesn't really do that aloof, who-the-hell-needs-you-anyway thing that most cats do. He'll head but your hands if he doesn't think you're giving him his kitty props. He'll sit about two feet from the door and just stare at it until you let him go out, without meowing loudly or generally bugging anyone. Marrilee swears he can tell who has come to the door by the way their car sounds on hte street outside. But there is one unique thing about him that makes me miss him like crazy.

He drools.

The first time it happened I was totally freaked out. Tom will sit on your chest when he's feeling like he needs some love, and while you pet him, he gets so happy, he drools on you. It's hysterical! I remember telling Marrilee that first time, "Hey!, Your cat is broken, it's leaking on me!" Apparently it's because his purring mechanism doesn't work properly. When he can't make that happy little rumble in his throat, he starts dripping. He can purr sometimes, I've heard him do it, but mostly it's just the drool. It sits on his chin in perfectly clear white drops, and it drips on you , sometimes as often as one every five or ten seconds. It's the most adorable pet characteristic I have ever seen. We watched Kevin's sister's dog for about three weeks recently, and Bailey was cool and a little weird for a dog, but no pet has ever been as cool as my ex-girlfriends cat, Tom. My friend Stacy, who is a big time animal lover, says it sounds like I miss the cat more than the girl.

That's absolutely not true.

Eight more days to go. I think K-dog and I are gonna give cloudwrangler a re-design for X-mas. Be ready.