that d@mn cat {part deux}

She's back.

If you missed episode one, see that HERE.

No, seriously. Go check it out...you won't regret it.  Well, maybe you will, but that's not my problem is it?

Izzy has graced us with her presence religiously since her reappearance in November 2013.  I prefer to think of it as her reincarnation because that makes way more sense considering I was Shirley MacLaine in a previous life.

Unfortunately, Izzy didn't come back as a cabana boy.

We're used to going a day or two, or even three (occasionally) without seeing the little hairball.  Gone missing a week to 10 days?  That's reason to celebrate worry.

Philly: She's gone this time.  We're never going to see her again.  I'm burning her house.

Me: This has all happened before, and it will all happen again.  Don't burn her house just yet.  You know if you do, she'll turn up and you'll have to build her a new one.

Joyful, cat-free days fly by with no sightings.  We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun.

Then Emma comes home for a couple days. The jig is up. We're going to have to break the glorious news.

Strangely, Emma doesn't seem the least bit concerned.  Clearly, she doesn't give two craps about her cat like we do.

Soon it's time for Emma to take her leave, so we're all saying our fare-thee-wells, and Emma decides to say goodbye to Izzy.  She walks along the side of the house and calls for That Damn Cat.

Philly and I exchange knowing glances. That Damn Cat is Gone, Girl.  Never to be seen again.  She's dust in the wind "mrrweow...??"

....as the pussy-footed little shite comes wandering out of the rose bushes like she's been there all along.

Of course, Emma is clueless as my mouth gapes open while Japanese beetles swarm my epiglottis.

Oh, and it's all love, love, love freakin purr, purr, purr.

After Emma left, and I roused out of my state of despair shock, I asked That Damn Cat, "Where have you been, and why are you back?"

Meow, meow, meow freakin purr, purr, purr.

The Zombie Catpocalypse occurred and she was one of those infected, only to return and never die.

It's the only explanation. Unless you buy the Shirley MacLaine crap.

Creme Puff?  Thirty-eight years old?  Ptttthhhht.  That Damn Cat will make it to 40.  Wa-freakin-hoo.

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In other news, we just got back from attending a 50th Adversity-Day party.  These are wonderful people I've known most of my life, and for some reason they still like me. Their daughter is one of my oldest and very dearest friends. I don't mean she's old she's my age we've been friends since barely out of diapers. For example, when her Dad worked at the local college, he took us to their theater to watch ALL 3 STAR WARS EPISODES BACK-TO-BACK! Best day ever. We also took a bus trip together to Washington, DC. 

Great, great friend. Anyway...

Her uncle approaches us at the party and says, "Is this the friend who taught you how to swear?"

Me: Well, I don't remember doing that, but it does certainly sound like me.

Actually, I turned bright red and was speechless for the first time in my life.

My reputation precedes me. I'm infamous. I'm a bad influence.

It's about time I was recognized for my true talents.

If you missed my own Adversity-Day swearing post, you can read about that HERE. 

And my son is getting married in 6 weeks. Can I lose 30 f#$%(#@ pounds by then?


I didn't f#$%(#@ think so.