There is something wrong with my cat.

It is 7 pm and he still has this much food left in his bowl.

He gets fed in an hour or so. And does not know the meaning of the words "moderation" or "conserve" or "save some food for later in case my owner abandons me because I am crazy". His food is usually gone within 10 hours of getting it (and he only gets fed every other day). I am a little concerned.

*Update*

He was stuck on a shelf in the linen closet. I am less concerned. Although probably a pretty bad pet owner. I definitely spent an hour drawing a picture of his kibble instead of looking for him.

Survival of the fittest, Babs. It's a good thing you are currently only competing with a cornsnake.

I would just like to give you an update on current affairs.

Apparently, Michigan has collapsed into civil war. The reasons for this are not entirely clear yet, but so far, the speculation is that recently buried corpses, who died of food poisoning at local hospitals around the state, are now breaking out of their coffins, and tearing around trying to find decent coffee. This moved the local government to declare martial law, which sparked a revolt from the civilians related to the dead, as state troopers began firing upon anyone upset about not getting their coffee quick enough, just in case.

Small camps have been set up, in rings around main cities, to try and block state officials from using roadways. The state of Michigan has so far developed its own constitution, and is in the middle of a second (well, counting the first civil war, the third) revolutionary war.

Do not be surprised if the feds come in and use super secret mind erasing technology to... well... erase peoples' minds.

Don't believe me?

You can check this information for yourself. All of the michigan.gov websites are down. This obviously proves that Michigan is currently in a state of chaos.

No, but seriously, all of the michigan.gov sites are down, and now I can't do my paper.

How sad.

I sometimes (okay, all the time) tend to have dreams about the most random people in my life. Personally, i think this seems normal, as there are probably thousands of people in my dreams. Assuming my subconscious is as lazy as I am, at least a fraction of these are probably pulled from already existing templates, or often, cobbled together from several. Put together with the fact that you are hypothetically going to remember a person in a dream better if you already know who they are, and you have an overwhelming majority of dreams that feature obscure characters from your life in the leading role. The mailman, the kid you sat next to in highschool English, or the girl who always manages to pull in next to you in the grocery store parking lot on Thursday nights when you run out of groceries.

The problem is, if you ever happen mention the fact that they featured heavily in a moonlit saga of Braveheart vs Rapunzel Barbie, zombie edition, it probably goes something like this:

Me: Oh, hey! Thanks for putting a plastic bag on that package you dropped off the other day, I really appreciate it!

Mailman: No problem! Just doing my job! *smileyface*

Me: Yeah but it's awesome that you really go above and beyond. So, did I get any mail today?

Mailman: Just an issue of Vanity Fair. And a bill from "Descreet Happiness". What a lovely shade of pink it's in.

Me: I know, I just love it. You know, I had the most interesting dream about you the other day.

Mailman: Oh--I--What?

Me: Wait, I mean, Jake Gyllenhaal was in it too!

Mailman: *awkward*

Me: And...there were...um...some zombies?

Mailman: Auh.. Well I'll be going then.

Me: Right.

You see, while it might seem cool in your head, because Dream-Mr. Mailman totally had your back while fending off Scottish monsters, Real-Mr. Mailman thinks it's creepy that your subconscious is thinking about him. And instead of delivering things cheerfully, he's going to be cheerfully thinking about what "Descreet Happiness" really is, and how happy he is to not be related to you. And how he only has to see you when he gets paid to.

So really, you just made your mailman feel like a hooker.

Which is the real reason that no one talks about how so-and-so was in their deepest thoughts while asleep.

You know what though? Dream-you has way hotter abs than Real-you. So there.

This is Babs.

Babs is a prima donna. He is also fat.

Anytime anyone eats anything, he starts to beg worse than any dog I've met, mewling and rolling on his back trying to look cute.

This is probably because he is currently on a diet.

As he is fat.

It is not entirely his fault. In fact, it is entirely my fault. You see, about a year ago, we got his man-parts removed. Apparently it is now entirely normal to chop bits off of your pets. I can see the convenience-- this is a more accurate picture of what he looked like at 5 months old:

As you can guess, I prefer my current eunuch.

And, if you think about it, most eunuchs get fat, so I think by now it's safe to say that his weight doesn't worry me. What concerns me is that he will only eat kibble. Never a scrap dropped will be eaten, never a can of tuna knocked over while I am trying to make a sandwich, never a bag of jerky broken into.

Now, it's not that he doesn't eat more expensive food. I love that my cat loves the cheap stuff. It's more that, if the world exploded and all the kibble plants were shut down, he would just lay around waiting for someone to shake some into his bowl.

Thankfully, he has recently redeemed himself. Apparently some of his survival instincts are still intact--he will beg for sushi-grade wild-caught salmon.

He wants the quantity of McDonald's burgers, or the quality of Kobe prime rib.

Stuck up little bastard.

I made this about 2 years ago in a badly concerted attempt at making a webcomic.

It makes me cringe a little.

But it also still makes me laugh. Hysterically.

There is a plastic doohicky in my bathtub that keeps falling down, spilling soap and shampoo everywhere. Boyfriend keeps trying to fix it, which keeps not working, so the cycle keeps going. He got a little upset about it the other day, so because I am an awesome girlfriend, I tried to make him feel better about it.

Apparently, insisting that it is actually the fault of Ninja-cat, and not Boyfriend's fault at all, is not that effective. Boyfriend does not believe that Booger jumped six feet in the air so that the shelf would be knocked down. I insisted that it was not at all the fault of his faulty plastic shelf installing abilities, which seem to keep placing the suction cups on the grout instead of the tiles, but is most definitely the fault of my rather obese cat.

I am such a good girlfriend.