My, my, how time flies...

Two long years I have been on this planet now... and what a couple of years it's been! Still, my cutie-pie self is bringing in top ratings on ratemykitten.com - of course!!

The B-Day BBQ (TM)

What can I say, my friends? They have once again invaded my territory, but they have done so to celebrate my fuzzy ass. Life is sweet. See below photos of the second of my birthday barbecues - this time with an extra portion of rain.

IT'S MY BIIIRTHDAAAAY!!!!

And for the occasion, my meowmy prepared a special shrimp cocktail cake for me, with two chicken stick candles and fish-flavoured cake decorations. Hooray!!

Here's photos of me devouring the pretty little thing:

[one candle down, one to go]

[fangs!]

[there goes candle number two]

Get Ready Peeps!

Kitten Sleepover

As if a toad and the planning of the year's most important event wasn't enough, my house has now been turned into a YNCA* for nuts. My resident humans are having what they call "kitten sleepover" to help out the other humans below. What a joke.

Of course there is only one thing to say about such an audacity on my part:

I'M IN UR BEDZ, STEALING YOUR DREAMZZZ!!!!

Oh the beauty of dominance......

Cashew nut and the bike chain also became quite friendly by the way, resulting in an interesting grease tache.



*Young Non-Christian Cats Association

Birtday BBQ Countdown!

It is time! I am happy to announce that all official invitations to my second birthday BBQ have gone out today. Thus, the official countdown to the year's biggest event also begins with this very post.

17 days and counting, people!!

Out-rageous!

As if I needed more proof that my resident humans were demented and insane... they have just brought into the house a non-mammal of the "hunted" category.

"Mr. Toad" as they call him was rescued only minutes ago from Troublenut outside who tried to pat-pat-pat him to death.

Follows not a quick throwing over the fence, no! They decide to lock me out of my eating quarters and treat the cold, squishy blob to a photo shoot on the dining table.

Mr. Toad got his own back for which I would almost respect him, was he not what I consider an appetiser... as he lept towards the lense, my female tormentor screamed such a high-pitched scream that it could only be rewarded with a wet patch on the dining surface. And I leave to your imagination to work out what kind of wet patch I am talking about.

Oh, I would also like to be the first to announce the scientific discovery that toads can, in fact, hear.

Namaste.

I declare W.A.R.

Things have gone too far. I am sharpening my claws and preparing for retaliation. 'Nuff said.