figaroandjett

A call to Remember!

2009-12-06T09:40:00.000-08:00

So it's almost Christmouse and I don't have a good hiding place because Jett has commandeered all the good closets. But does anyone really know how the tradition of hiding all night on Christmouse Eve started? This Christmouse, I think I am going to right a centuries old smudge on the history of holiday time. Oh sure, you think you know all about the reindeer games and poor Rudolfo (who was Latino). His story gets told every year in some sweet old song, but the tragedy of the reindeer blacklist is something nobody seems to talk about. Does anyone even remember the other blacklisted reindeer who didn't get to go back to work pulling that tub of lard in the goofy red suit? What about their pain? What about their ruined careers? They didn't even have unemployment. Think of these names on Christmouse Eve, when you're snoozing all comfy cozy in your bad, waiting for Old Saint Bernard Nick to bring you tings you don't want or need. Kvetchin and Schvitzen will be remembered this Holiday season, because I think it's important the truth finally be told. I will be taking out a full page in the NY Times, to introduce the great bovine Broadway star Caroline, the dancing spokescow for Gregory and Company, who herself was blacklisted. There were years when she went to every cattle call audition and couldn't get work, even as a hoofer in the chorus. She has a whole lot to moo about, especially since nobody seems to be mounting a new revival of Gypsy. People must remember that an aminal black list happened. Here comes Santa Claws, Here comes Santa Claws, right down Santa Claws lane. Did you know why he was coming down that lane? Santa was the Jerome Robbins of the North Pole. He named names. And he ruined the lives of countless aminals. That's why all animals honor the memory of Schvitzen and Kvetchin each Christmouse by finding a good hiding place.
Won't you join me in remembering the reindeer blacklist this holiday season by making a generous contribution to RAAD, the Reindeer Alliance Against Defication, in care of Gregory and Co.? A portion of proceeds will be donated to the Friends of the Faux Foundation, in memory of Figaro, who was the first great feline voice to speak out against injusice to aminals and dedicated his life to equality and Sybil Rights for all aminals, when he was not starring on Broadway or headlining in Las Vegas or hawking waffles.

Love,
Gregory

Jett is not feeling well

2009-11-29T17:56:00.000-08:00

It's me. Gregory.
This is a picture of Jett and Daddy when they were both a whole lot younger.
I wanted to jot down a few words today to let everyone know that Jett is not feeling well at all. Daddy took him to the beterinarian and she looked him up and down and side to side and said, "Jett is not feeling well." For this, Daddy spent a million dollars.

While he was there, Jett got stuck with needles and the beterinarian also took his temperature, which was, as they say, no picnic. The next day, the beterinarian reviewed all of the tests and confirmed that Jett is in kidney failure. This is not the best kind of news we could get. Daddy was not thrilled at all and Jett has been hiding in the closet, even though Daddy always says, "We don't do closets in this house."

After Daddy talked to the beterinarian, he crawled down on the floor in the back of the closet with Jett. I went in there too, to see what was going on because I don't like to miss anything. That's when daddy told Jett and me what the doctor said. Daddy is very sad, but he told us he will keep Jett as happy and as comfortable as possible, for as long as possible and that he loves us both very much.

Can I just say that this really stinks? I mean a lot. A whole lot.
Daddy depends on Jett and me to take care of him and keep him happy and healthy. Now it is up to Daddy and me to take care of Jett and keep him happy and healthy.

The worst part is that the doctor told Daddy he has to stick needles into Jett every day. I think she is crazy. Is that what you do when you love someone? Daddy will do anything for Jett, even if it means following the advice of a crazy lady. Obviously, our Daddy is not playing with a full combination plate. I always disappear real fast when I see Daddy coming with the needle, because I do not want Daddy to stick me too. After Daddy pulls out the needle, then he mixes Jett a smoothie with turkey and tuna drippings. THAT is what you do when you love somebody. And it just so happens that is also the time when I reappear. I have to show Jett how delicious the smoothie is and tell him he should try it.

After Jett eats some of his smoothie, I sit next to him and lick the top of his head. He likes that a lot and it makes him feel better, expecially when little drops of smoothie have landed on his head and need to be cleaned up.

That is all for now.

Love,
-Gregory

P.S. - Auditions for my big Broadway musical have been postponed while we focus on taking care of Jett. For further information on "Hello, Dubai" and my other theatrical ventures, please contact my publicist.

Settling in

2009-08-12T23:12:00.001-07:00

So, things have been just swell, settling in here with Daddy and Jett. Jett is a little bit of a bother, but he comes with the territory, so what can I do. Let me start by saying the food in this place could use some improvement. The menu is very limited and the service could be better too. In the mornings, our waiter is extremely slow. How difficult is it to make french toast and sardines? We keep getting the same old fancy feast, from a can. Boring.
Still, the accomodations are quite comfy and our bed is very nice. Jett likes to groom me at bedtime and that is nice too. Last night, after Daddy fell asleep, Jett and I ventured downstairs to have an adventure. There is this big bag of catnip that used to be in the kitchen drawer. Last night, we forced the drawer open in the middle of the night and opened it. Then we tore it open and spread the catnip all over the house. Daddy was very excited when he woke up this morning and found such a nice surprise. After he gave use breakfast (gee, we were really hungry), we went back upstairs and slept all day. Now we are wide awake and thinking about what we can do to entertain ourselves tonight after the human is sleeping.
Gotta run, the pizza is here.
Love,
Gregory

Greetings from Heaven

2008-12-25T15:07:00.000-08:00

I just thought I should pop in for a second to wish all of my friends, fans and readers a very Merry Chistmouse. I have been so busy. Who said eternal rest was going to be relaxing? I'm so busy all the time. I may be in Heaven, but I still have a show to do. And do you know what? Most angels have no talent. If you ever heard a real heavenly choir, you'd cover your ears and run screaming for the exits. I have a lot of work to do before this show is ready for prime time.
So, all you little honeys down on Earth, have a wonderful holiday. I'm sure you will be able to see my show when your time comes because unlike that little mess by Andrew Lloyd Webber, THIS cat's show really is now and forever.
Love,
-Figaro
P.S. - Welcome, Gregory. Take good care of my Daddoo and Jett and give my love to Uncle Trabis. Don't touch my pony.

Meet Gregory

2008-12-20T17:51:00.000-08:00

Jett has a new little brother. He doesn't know it yet. Gregory is being delivered by the stork next weekend. He's about 9 months old and a total love. He looked so sad and forlorn in the cage at the adoption agency. His foster mom told me he was born in a closet and likes watching TV. His siblings have all been adopted, but it seems clear Gregory was waiting for Jett and me. When I pulled him out of the cage, he melted in my arms and I fell in love. He especially liked having his little feet massaged. Figaro loved feet massages too, so I'm taking that as a sign.
We don't know yet whether Gregory is much of a writer or if he has any musical or theatrical ambitions. We'll find out soon enough what special talents he may have.

Six months

2008-10-21T22:29:00.000-07:00

It's been six months since Figaro got his wings. Jett and I still think of him every day and miss him something fierce. His ashes are in a box on our night table next to his toy pony Max, who was a gift from his Uncle Trabis. Jett is particularly lonely. He was never a talker. Until now. I guess he just couldn't get a word in edgewise with Figaro around hogging the limelight. Jett was content to be a featured player. Figaro always said Jett was brilliant in the role of Second Fiddle Player. Over these months, Jett has become quite vocal. He cries when he's alone. Loud whining sounds that stop when I'm with him. It's amazing and heartbreaking. I guess I'm realizing now that while I had a life and a job that took me outside the house on a regular basis, Jett spent every moment of his life with Figaro. So now we're thinking it's time to bring a little brother into the picture. When we meet the right one, we'll know it.

Figaro can never be replaced, of course. He was my soulmate. But there's still more love to share and I know Figaro would want Jett and me to be happy. When I return from a short vacation next week, we'll start scouring the kitty adoption agencies. Wish us luck.

And all of this, just to say it's time to bring this little corner of blogdom back to life. It seems Jett has found his voice and, as it turns out, has quite a lot to say. I'm fairly certain Figaro will also be paying visits from the Great Beyond. We're pretty sure he's hangin' around or at least paying us visits anyway. It's only a matter of time before he takes up his cosmic keyboard and drops some Heavenly pearls of wisdom. I've already received a personal message, advising that MASSACHUSETTS THE HEAVENLY MUSICAL is a huge smash.

And there's just no telling what our new kitty may have to say, once we find him, of course.

Love,
-Michael and Jett

An angel gets his wings

2008-04-27T23:47:00.000-07:00

For several months Figaro has been having trouble breathing. He was congested and we had numerous visits to the vet. Initially, we thought it was a sinus infection and treated it with antibiotics. When that didn’t work, we decided to treat it as a viral syndrome with Lysine. He’d have good days and bad days, but the situation just got worse over time. Finally, we went to a specialist who ran more tests and ruled out everything other than lymphoma or carcinoma in his sinus cavity. Confirming the lymphoma/carcinoa diagnosis would require surgery and biopsies. The vet advised that Figaro would require chemo if the diagnosis was confirmed and the expected survival time would probably be about ten to twelve months. Figaro had an extremely happy life and I was not willing to make his last months any more painful for him than absolutely necessary. If the diagnosis was confirmed, I was not going to put him through chemo, so there seemed no point in putting him through surgery to confirm the diagnosis. Instead, we put him on prednisone and more antibiotics. His condition was stable for about a month and then he took a turn for the worse. In a few short days, he lost a great deal of weight and seemed to be in pain. He meowed a lot and could no longer jump on and off the bed without falling. He was feeling miserable and deteriorating a little more each day. Through all of this, Figaro was an absolute sweetheart. Last Thursday, he started bleeding from his nose. It was time. Friday morning, Travis and I took him to the vet and comforted him as he slipped away.

Figaro was bundle of love, even when he felt terrible. That was his nature. He was always a bundle of love. From the day I adopted him, nearly twenty years ago, he watched over me and took care of me. Figaro was my constant source of unconditional love and companionship. He was funny and demanding and needy and incredibly affectionate. It's impossible for me to imagine my life without him. His Uncle Travis and his brother Jett and I will keep him with us in our hearts always.

Good night Figaro, my little bunny. Sweet dreams. I pray we’ll see each other again.

You will always be my sweet, special guardian angel.

Dr. Chang. A Nice Lady with an Unfortunate Profession

2008-03-21T08:43:00.000-07:00

Dear Readers,
It has been some time since I last graced the blogosphere with my pearls of wisdom. I wish I could say it was because I've been busy in the recording studio or on the road with a spectacular show coming to an arena or opera house near you. I wish I could say it was because I've been busy in the kitchens of Figaro International, developing a new blend of Figaro's Famous Waffle Mix. But I know my readers expect the truth, no matter how difficult. Well, faithful readers, the truth is I heard from the Pope again. He is very insistent. In fact, I am thinking of taking out a restraining order. It seems he has gotten it into his head that I should be the first feline Saint. Now don't get me wrong. I am honored at the prospect. But let's face it. The Pope is not someone I would like to be associated with. And being in the company of some crazy lady who heard voices and got burned at the stake has never been something I've aspired to. Not to mention the teensy-weensy little fact that I think the Pope is a jerk and I'm frankly a little tired of listening to him blow smoke up my ass. It's humiliating enough when Dr. Chang takes my temperature and I do have my limits. How can anyone take the Pope seriously, anyway. If his words are not idiotic enough, the silly costume should give away the fact that the man is completely off his rocking chair, two tacos short of a full deck and not playing with both tamales in the water. On top of that, I'm Jewish. So Mr. Pope, if you're reading this - please stop bothering me. I do not want your sainthood. Perhaps you can find some nice Saint Bernard.

Now that that's out of the way, the other news I have to tell is that I frankly haven't been feeling too hot. My nosey is running. All the time. A lot of gooey gunk is stuffing up my nosey and sometimes it is difficult to get my breath. I sneeze all the time and I'm losing weight. This is not good for me because I need my strength to keep up with all the things I still haven't done. I have had to put my entire orchestra on paid leave and I had to cancel my shows in Las Vegas. Audiences were very understanding, but I feel I owe them a spectacular performance and sometimes I can hardly get through the demanding vocal challenges and choreography for my spectacular opening number - "When the Saints Come Marching In."

A few months ago, Daddy decided it was time to visit the beterinarian. She has poked and prodded me and stuck me with needles, no matter how much I plead and protest. I think she is a very nice lady with a very funny way of showing it. Once, she even called me a crabby old guy. That was the last straw. I was going to bite her, but instead I took the high road and only screamed my lungs out until the police came and hauled her away to the klinker. I was kind enough to post bail for her and drop all charges, because I know she means well. But again, she has a funny way of showing it.

So now I am home, getting as much sleep as I can. I am trying hard to recover, so that I may soon resume casting for the new show I plan to bring to Broadway next season. The recovery is not easy. The beterinarian doesn't know if I will ever get better. She thinks there is probably some kind of ting growing inside my nosey and that I may get lost on my way to life #10. Daddy is giving me pills every day. I am making that task as difficult as possible for him, because I know how much he loves me and he expects me to be a difficult patient. Also, it is only fair. For a long long time when Daddy was not feeling well I took care of him and made sure he took his pills every day. To say he was a difficult patient would be an understatement of epic proportions. I worked tirelessly to take care of him and love him, no matter how much he complained. He was very sick and extremely depressed all the time and I stayed by him every minute of every day and night, even though I had better things to do. Now he is taking care of me and it makes him sad when I don't feel good. He is doing everything he can to be sure I know no cat has ever been more loved. It is really rather sweet. He feels obligated. He should.

As soon as I feel better, I will begin the difficult task of casting for my Broadway show. It's a big production entitled MASSACHUSETTS THE MUSICAL. This will be one of the biggest undertakings of my entire career, launching a new pinnacle in theatrical entertainment, unlike anything seen before on any stage. Andrew Lloyd Webber will be crying in his ovaltine when he sees what real talent is. (Did you see CATS? Don't get me started.) And you can help me uncover new talent. Feel free to submit your pictures and resumes, care of Figaro International. I am currently seeking dancers who can sing and singers who can spell. Even if you have no talent, I'm sure we can find some special way for you to be a part of this bold new movement in entertainment.

Please also send me your thoughts and prayers, if you do that kind of thing. Just in case the beterinarian is right.

Love,
Figaro

A New Year and a New Leaf

2008-01-05T08:59:00.001-08:00

Catnip. It's getting to be a habit with me. Do you think I should look into it? I've never been a cat who anyone would think might have an addictive nature, but this stuff is AMAZING. Who knew? How did I stumble through six lives and attain this level of worldliness, talent and wisdom without having stumbled upon catnip before!? It's amazing stuff. You gotta try it. But I'm warning you, it can be habit forming. Ever since I had my first sniff, I've been doing nothing but playing and sleeping and eating. Even something as ordinary as a toilet paper roll can provide endless hours of amusement. And I just don't have the time. How does Britney Spears do it? You mean she doesn't do it? Maybe she should. I think somebody should give her a nice roll of toilet paper and lock her in a room someplace with nice padding on the walls where she can play and stay out of trouble.

Snce you last heard from me I've been a busy cat. World travels, speaking engagements, recording contract, Las Vegas. The Figaro Showroom in Cheeser's Palace is enormous. As I've said to my agent, Vegas has been desperate for a quality cat act ever since the Sigfried and Roy incident. My fans have been ravenous!! Always wanting more. I give so much, but I always leave them wanting more. They get so worked up with excitement during my show. On closing night, they kept throwing food at me. One fan even sent a fish wrapped in newspaper to my dressing room. I was genuinely touched.

As for my recording studio endeavors, making a new album is very hard work. I do it anyway, because I love you all. I know how starved the masses are for solid entertainment. Since I'm usually starved too, the new album is dedicated to breakfast, the most important meal of the day. Petula Clark begged me to do a re-write of her song "Downtown," with new lyrics. It turns out she is also fond of Fancy Feast and anchovies, so I write this for her:

When I wake up from a refreshing night’s sleep
I wake my Daddy and scream – BREAKFAST!
When I’m so hungry some fine food and fine service
Seems to help, I know – BREAKFAST!
Fancy Feast is fine but I prefer sardines in cream
Tuna and anchovies and swiss cheese would be a dream
How can I choose?

The bowl is much brighter there
I can forget all my troubles, forget all my cares
I scream BREAKFAST!. things'll be great after
BREAKFAST - no finer meal can be
BREAKFAST – waffles are waiting for me

Don't lounge in bed and let your problems surround you
There are anchovies - BREAKFAST
Maybe you know some little treat I can chew
like macaroni and cheese - BREAKFAST
Just open a can and serve it like Martina Navratilova
I’ll be waiting to be fed again before the day is over
Hungry again

The world is much brighter when
I can get up out of bed, forget all my cares and then
I eat BREAKFAST, where all the world’s a treat
BREAKFAST - waiting for me to eat
BREAKFAST - you're gonna feed me right now

Love,
Figaro

Time Flies!

2007-07-22T17:44:00.000-07:00

Well! Dear readers, I must say it's been a very busy Summer for us at Casa Figaro, here in El Valle del Gigante Verde, on the beautiful banks of the Mahoo Grande River. The wildflowers are in full blossom. It's an explosion of colors and each and every one is absolutely delicious. I have been splitting my time between Hollywood and my private island and trying to get some much needed R & R - rest and rodents. I have also been busy watching mooveez. Last week, I watched something with Esther Williams. She must have been extremely brave, getting wet in all those pictures. I am considering starring in a remake of some of them and in preparation for production I've been doing a lot of scuba diving. The wet suit is just not my style. Neither is getting my coat wet. It's a serious quandry, let me tell you! Not to mention the look of shock on the faces of those fishies when I swim around, waving at them. I try to maintain the splendor of their natural habitat, but they certainly do look tasty. Gotta run. My agent is trying to get me to commit to a project entirely unsuitable for my particular talents and I must stop him before he does something that will land him in deep doodoo.
Love,
Figaro

"Dear Figaro"

2007-03-28T20:18:00.000-07:00

You know...
All the time, people tell me how wise I am. They commend me constantly on my sound reason and logic as much as on my tremendous humility, great natural beauty and my spectacular sense of humor. So, after some considerable contemplation and consideration, I have decided to do what I do best. I am going to tell other people what to do. This may also solve the problem of what to write about. Of course, I do not have the time to respond to any anonymous requests for advice. But please feel free to post any questions or dilemmas you may have here in my blog and I will respond to you here as well. I will do my best not to humiliate you in public, no matter how ridiculous or disgusting your little personal problems may be. You can think of me as the friend who will tell you what even your best friends won't tell you. Or you can think of me as a doctor or therapist. I happen to know for a fact that it is a safe bet if you are reading this you are probably in dire need of extensive psychiatric treatment. Just please don't think of me as Ann Landers. I have my limits.

Love,
-Figaro

Exciting Culinary Skills Discovered Just in Time!

2007-03-08T12:39:00.000-08:00

Dear Gentle Reader -
I have been traveling, which is exhausting but thrilling. First, I had a holiday in Rome, where I visited with the Pope. He's just as boring as always. Somebody should tell him to work up some new material, but I couldn't get a word in edgewise. And believe me, that's really saying something. Following my visit with the pontificating pontif, I took a private jet over to Belgium, where I was the keynote speaker at the Global Waffle Festival. I was a hit. Of course. Not only did they fall all over themselves with admiration for me, but I also discovered somethnig about myself in belgium that I didn't know. I am a wonderful waffle chef. So wonderful that I will be marketing my own waffle products over the course of the upcoming months. Just as soon as I rebuild my support staff.

I have to tell you something. You all know how I can be. Kind. Sweet. Generous to a fault. Well, it's definitely my fault that the people responsible for handling my public image have been asleep at the switch. I tried to accomodate them. I tried every approach. Really I did. I listened to their feeble attempts to explain their failures. Their excuses put me to sleep faster than the pope. So now here I am with the unfortunate task of having to express to you that I have had to fire my entire staff due to creative differences. That, I believe, is the popularly accepted euphamism for when people do not know their elbows from a whole in the wall. I have had to fire all of them. My publiscist. My agent. My personal trainer. My chef. Oh my. They were all amateurs anyway. And they didn't even do their jobs for the love of it or me. It just goes to show you that if you want something done right you have to do it yourself. And so, here I am. In all my glory. And that is quite a lot of glory, let me tell you!

All of which brings me to the most important aspect of today's news-filled entry. Have you heard about the pet food scandal? They found rat poison in cat food! This is horrfying and I am truly shocked. Not only is it a tragedy of epic proportions. It is also incredibly stupid. If you want to kill rats, feeding rat poison to cats is a very bad move. It's enough to make a cat feel just a teensy bit paranoid. As much as I love my Fancy Feast, I'm just not going to go near it. No. Nope. Definitely not. Of course, I'm also not about to starve to death either. What kind of idiot do you take me for? I need my breakfast and I need it fresh and I need it at least two or three times a day, if not more. That's where my trip to Belguim comes in. Oh happy day. Don't you find that sometimes life does toss coincidences at you that are amazing? Isn't it a lucky thing that I just discoved I am a stupendous waffle chef?!

I want to take a moment to express my genuine concern to all my faithful readers about the recent pet food scare that's been all over the media. It's horrifying. I must beg you, if you are a human DO NOT feed your feline and canine children cat food or dog food. No. Please refrain from buying into the animal food propaganda. The food your cats and dogs will really thank you for is waffles. Not felafels. Nice, warm, toasty waffles, drizzled with butter and syrup or tuna drippings. Oh, they are so delicious and loaded with nutrients. I have been experimenting with recipes and am even re-considering my policy about celebrity endoresements long enough to do an infomercial for my own waffle making machine. The production of my infomercial is on hold temporarily, while I nail down the best recipes and until the rest of the batter from last week's attempt is finished dripping off the ceiling.

Until then, gentle readers, don't forget to stop and eat the flowers. At least until the waffles is ready.

Love,
-Figaro

World AIDS Day

2006-12-01T22:50:00.000-08:00

Now and then it's time to stop for a second, between naps and toys and treats.
Dad helped me put this list together.
To remember...

Our friends.

We will carry them with us always.

adam curry
brian bubb
steve eicher
jim bennett
frank robbin
neal penso
tony franklin
larry e.
chris steward
ted arnold
john powers
manfred ibel
tom singer
sam beatman
boo-boo
david harter
victor c
sean ryan
albert daniels
gary kohr
harry rosen
ryan douglas
michael c.
bruce
dan davis
george leigh
vern and alan
grant manthorne
larry
rob
mickey
elliott benny
warren tracy
robert
kurt walters
derek j
louis
t.o. edwards
tom g
john bell
richard dahl
eric garcia
ray lowe
stuart sand
paul
dickie remley
ron r

Love,
Figaro

Honestly

2006-11-19T11:52:00.000-08:00

1. Honestly, what color is your underwear?
I’m not wearing no underwear. I don’t understand the question. If you have a cat or a doggy running around your house wearing underwear, you should probably check the liquor cabinet.

2. Honestly, what's on your mind?
This is a very stupid question. I am thinking about how nice it would be to have a big ice cream cone, drizzled with tuna drippings. Then a nap. Maybe a little playing and a mouse to chase. And then I will prepare my opening number for the opening night in my new showroom in Las Vegas. They are in dire need of a new cat act ever since the Sigfried and Roy incident.

3. Honestly, what are you doing right now?
Filling out this stupid form and wondering if it's a smart thing to do. After all, knowledge is power and that's one thing my readers do not need. I'd hate for them to think they are in charge.

5. Honestly, do you think you are attractive?
Oh, I just blew half and half out my nose. Of course I do! Not only am I beautiful, but I am also talented, smart and funny.

6. Honestly, have you done something bad today?
That depends on your perspective. I just did a nice job of polishing off the roses Uncle Trabis sent to us and Daddy was not delighted. The flowers were just sitting there and nobody else was eating them. I hated to see them go to waste. They were delicious. Then I threw up on the bed. It was red. That was cool. Daddy has not discovered that yet.

7. Honestly, do you watch Disney channel?
No. I watch Channel 9. All feline all the time.

8. Honestly, are you jealous of someone right now?
You are incredibly nosey. If I was I would not tell you. But mostly no. I have no reason to be jealous of anyone. I have everything I need and the people who love me are pushovers, so they give me everything I want.

9. Honestly, what makes you happy most of the time?
Cuddling with my Daddy and Uncle Trabis. Eating. Sleeping. Being an international superstar. It gives me great pleasure to know that I bring some happiness into the boring little nondescript lives of my admirers all over the world.

10. Honestly, do you bite your nails?
I chew on my claws sometimes. Only the back ones. I don't have any claws on the front paws. That is a horrifying and tragic story in itself. I don't even want to think about that. Let's move on please.

11. Honestly, do you want to see someone this very minute?
No, not really. Certainly not the Betterinarian. He is horrible and mean. Last time I saw him he said he was going to take my temperature and you wouldn't believe what he did with that thermometer. It was horrible. If I wasn't so well adjusted, I could have been in therapy for years.
Maybe it would be nice to see the funny little man who delivers food from the Chinese restaurant.

12. Honestly, do you have a deep dark secret?
My life is an open book. Isn't it fascinating?

13. Honestly, do you have a friend you don't actually like?
Well, sometime I'll have to tell you about this one. But right now, I can't mention his name. He's sitting right here next to me, being annoying. I don't want to hurt his feelings.

14. Honestly, are you loyal?
Do I look like a doggy? Doggies are unquestionably loyal. This is illogical. Cats are charming. We make up in charm for what we lack in loyalty.
Loyaly has to be earned and not expected.

15. Honestly, are you in denial?
Definitely not!

16. Honestly, who would you rather be right now?
I can't think of anyone I would rather be. Many others would like to be me.
But they can't. That job is taken.

17. Honestly, do you like someone?
I do. I like most people. I am a very loving, kind and gentle soul.

18. Honestly, does anyone like you?
Are you kidding?! Everyone ADORES me! I am loved and admired from far and near.
It's almost more than I can handle.

Aren't these questions fun? I stole them from someone else's blog. I am sure she will be very flattered when she sees this.

Love,
Figaro

Celebrity Endorsements

2006-08-26T07:20:00.000-07:00

I am fascinated by celebrity endorsements. As talented and clever as I may be, I just can't understand how they work. I mean, does Morris really eat that Nine Lives crap? It smells terrible. I found a pile of it in my bowl once and I thought it was some kind of bad practical joke. I couldn't even go near it. Vile doesn't even begin to describe the foul odor. I'm sure it's filled with all kinds of filler and by-products that cats are supposed to adore. Ground fish guts and lamb ears and that sort of thing. Like I said, it's just plain VILE. I hope Morris made a ton of money selling that crap. He must have been either starving to death or starved for attention.

And what about Bob Dole? Do you think he held out, waiting for that call from Viagra? Don't you think maybe he would have liked to attach his name to some other product? Pineapples, perhaps? And what was June Allyson thinking? Depends? She must have lost her marbles and thought she was back at MGM, dancing the incontinental.

So, what does all of this have to do with me, you might ask? Well, trusted readers, I am toying with the idea of lending my well-known household name to a product. My advisers and agents have lined up a prospective product endorsement for me. They insist it's more a public service announcement than an advertisement. The product is a remedy for a problem I face right here in my own home, in my own bed. No, it's not erectile dysfunction. It's a little more delicate that that. So delicate, in fact, that I haven't even mentioned it before. Can I confide in you? Just between us, Jett has a problem he seems to be completely unaware of. Sometimes, it's just frightening. Night after night, I am awakened by a gurgling sound, followed by an explosive sound and then a horrible smell. At first, I thought something had gone bad in the refrigerator. Or maybe some poor rat had crawled into the walls and died. But that wasn't it. It was Jett. I don't want to embarrass him, but this is a subject that should be discussed. He suffers from nocturnal explosions. When the windows aren't open, I have to run from the room just to get a breath of fresh air.
And now my agent has sent me this offer to be the celebrity spokescat for an amazing new product. Here's the script:

"Hello everyone. I'd like to talk to you about a new product. Do you feel bloaty? Are you gassy? Do you suffer from nocturnal explosions? My brother does. Oh, it's just disgusting. Really. It ruins my sleep. I didn't know what to do. And then I discovered this fine new product - DYNO-NITE - the all natural remedy for the temporary relief of nocturnal explosions. At first, I was skeptical. I didn't think anything would solve this smelly problem. I was delirious from lack of sleep. Some nights, I was blown right off the bed. And then somebody suggested that Jett try DYNO-NITE NO-XPLODE. So I slipped some into his Fancy Feast. And was I surprised!! No more explosions. He sleeps contentedly through the night and so do I. So, if you or someone you love is exploding in the night, try DYNO-NITE NO-XPLODE today. It's DA BOMB!"

What do you think? Should I accept? Should I lend my prodigious talent to endorse this product? Or would it cheapen my image? It's a big decision. Oh, what would June Allyson do?

Love,
Figaro

To Pee or Not to Pee (In keeping with the emerging Shakesperian theme of this blog)

2006-08-05T12:45:00.000-07:00

You know, I've been extremely busy, between all my commitments to my record label, my upcoming event on pay-per-view, my dedication to The Friends of the Faux Foundation and the flood of fan mail I receive constantly. So please forgive me, gentle reader, if I have neglected this blog. It's just not possible to post inspiring thoughts to live by or new details of my exciting adventures every single day. I know some people who do manage to find the time to grace the internet throngs with a daily update. To them I say, "You have my admiration, but I think you should get a life."

Today's entry is inspired by some recent conversations in one of the more active feline chatrooms. Did you ever notice how many varieties of cat litter are on the market? There must be millions of them. Somebody is making a killing on crap.

Of course, the best place to pee is in the dirt or on a nice persian rug, as nature intended. But that is not always possible or even practical. Many cats are urban dwellers and don't get out of the house much. At least not without a struggle. And have you ever tried to find some privacy out there in the world. It's almost impossible. Even our neighborhood drunk guy who we watch from our window stumbling around in the middle of the night has taken to peeing right in the middle of the street. We look for him sometimes, when it's quiet and still and Daddy is sound asleep, just to see where he will pee next. Jett yelled out the window at him last time, "At long last, you have no sense of decency?" I assume he must either be a stray or his owner doesn't change his little box and has no persian rugs in the house.

But I digress. It's my nature. I get off the subject at paw. The neighborhood drunk is a whole other story. Back to cat litter. It's amazing stuff. And it comes in so many varieties. We prefer the super clumping, unscented, dust-free kind. It's almost impossible to find. Oh sure, you can get dust-free, but it doesn't clump. You can get super clumping, but it's got a funny perfumed scent and makes lots of dust. You can get the kind that's dust free, but it doesn't clump either. How difficult can it be to combine these three simple qualities?

They even make cat litter out of old shredded money. One company has a brand of cat litter made from old newspapers. Yes, they sell old shredded newspapers and cats are expected to pee in it. We tried it once, but it was way too complicated. I got sidetracked reading a piece of a headline from the Entertainment section and wound up peeing over the side of the box onto the floor. Oops.

Another problem is the kind of litter that fails to hold it's clumps. I'm sure they did all kinds of market research, pouring water into it and confirming how nicely it clumped. But they neglected to scratch around in it to see how well the clumps hold together. There is nothing worse than clumps that come apart when you scratch. It clumps up just fine when you pee in it, but the clumps have little or no staying power. They just fall apart when you try to bury them, until you can't even tell anymore where you've peed before. Then, the next time you have to go, you find yourself stepping into a box with millions of little, tiny pieces of former clumps scattered throughout. This is extremely unpleaseant. Can you imagine stepping into the toilet and trying to find a place where you haven't already peed? It's just not nice. And all those little particles get stuck between your toes and you wind up dragging them into bed with you. Which brings up another quality that needs to be incorporated: non-tracking. We do not like cat litter that gets caught between your toes and then tracked all over the house.

This is not rocket science. No, apparently it is about a million times more complicated than rocket science. Otherwise, they would certainly be able to invent a cat litter that clumps nicely, has no scent, does not produce dust and won't get stuck between your toes to be tracked all over the house.

This is an impassioned plea to cat litter manufacturers. Please get your act together and understant that cats are truly not that hard to please if you simply dedicate every moment of your lives to our happiness.

In other news, I have been working on my memoirs. I have received so many requests from far and wide to tell my life story and I know you will all be thrilled and delighted to read the true account of my fascinating journey. It will be told in six volumes - one for each of my lives thus far. Please be patient while I work with my editors and publishers to hammer out the details and get waivers from anyone who the pubisher thinks might try to slap me with a libel suit, whatever that is. I am dictating it and Jett is transcribing. He is lousy at typing. And he has tracked cat litter all over the keyboard. I rest my case.

Love,
-Figaro

Another opening, another show. From Simi Valley to Encino.

2006-07-08T11:04:00.000-07:00

Today is a very big day. Uncle Trabis is opening in his spectacular engagement of TWO plays by - who else? - SHAKESPEARE. This is a name that keeps popping up. I'm not certain what the appeal to this Shakespeare is. In fact, I don't understand any of it. He wrote about a million plays and sonnets. Sonnets are a bunch of words strung together like a nice song but without any music. I'm sure they would be better with music. Everything is better with music. Unless you're talking about the movie version of "The Producers - The Musical." Even Jett hates that and he has extremely low standards.

Uncle Trabis will be starring in TWO plays by Shakespeare, to be (or not to be) performed in parks all around California. One of the plays Uncle Trabis will be doing is called HAMLETTE. I think it's all about an Omelette with ham in it. I don't think Uncle Trabis is the ham, but I'm sure it will be delicious. The other play he is doing is called MUCH DO-DO ABOUT NOTHING. I don't even want to venture a guess as to what this could be about. But I think it would be smart to take some Imodium before the show.

Dad and me have been teasing Uncle Trabis about his upcoming big opening. But we know he is going to be spectacularly fabulous, especially in the big musical numbers, which we hope he is secretly planning to insert at any moment when the audience starts to get fidgetty.

We know Uncle Trabis will be great! In fact, we are certain he will be discovered by a big Hollywood talent scout. Uncle Trabis is no dummy. Everyone knows those big Hollywood talent scouts cruise the parks all the time, so what better place to be discovered? If the scouts won't come to the talent, bring the talent to the scouts in their natural habitat. I wonder if they should make a National Geographic special?

We wish we could be there to scream and applaud for him, but we are busy rehearsing for our own big event on pay-per-view. I will be singing all the hits from my upcoming studio album, "Figaro Sings the Blues," in which I belt out such marvelous hits like "Blues in the Night," "Am I Blue," "Blue Velvet" and the Love Theme from "Blues Clues."

So, Dear Uncle Trabis, know that we are thinking of you and wishing that you break your legs for your big spectacular opening. Knock 'em in the aisles. Our best advice to you is to upstage all the other cast members and, if the show is not going well, start making animal noises. Audiences eat that up. You'll have them eating out of your hands. Can we count on you to give us a private performance at our house? Especially the part about eating out of your hands.

We are very proud of you and excited for you too. We even got you flowers. They were so colorful and fragrant, but Jett already ate them. You'd be amazed how many colors he can throw up in.

Bravo and ENCORE!!! Curtain up, light the lights. On with the show!!

Love,
Figaro and Jett

Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em.

2006-07-01T16:13:00.000-07:00

Did you ever hear somebody say "A rose by any other name smells the same"??? Jett says it all the time, but I don't have any idea what it means. Then I found out some guy by the name of Shakespeare wrote that. He wrote a whole lot of stuff. Most of it is equally vague. I have therefore taken the liberty of improving upon it. Here's a sample:

To be, or not to be? What kind of asshole would ask that question?
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
Sitting through the movie Outrageous Fortune,
Or to take arms against a bunch of sea turtles.
And with no opposing thumbs, no less. To snack: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say it’s bedtime
The heart-ache of the thousand natural matts
That cat hair is heir to, 'tis like constipation and
you wouldn't wish it on your worst enemy. Trust me on this.
To snack, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
Can you scratch me between the ears please?
For in that sleep or nap what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off to buffalo,
Must give us paws: there's the respect
That makes calamity of nine lives;
For who would bear the pigeons and squirrels of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, whatever the hell that means
The pangs of puppy love, no heavy petting today,
The insolence of otters and those funny little fuzzy sea monkeys too.
That patient merit of the unworthy flakes,
When he himself might us breakfast make
With a bare bottom? who would feed us bare,
To grunt and sweat under a faux fur blanket,
But that the dread of those poor faux after death,
The undiscover'd parmesian islands from whose frompfoof trees
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather raise awareness of their plight
Than use our frequent flier miles to see other places that we know not of?
Thus a good nap does make us all very comfy cozy;
And a nice cheesecake fills the belly. Or some soft baked anchovy cookies now!
Oh fair Uncle Trabis, in thy kitchens Be all my snacks remember'd.

Love,
Figaro

To Err is Human, To Forgive Feline

2006-06-18T21:22:00.000-07:00

Dear beloved readers and fans all over the world. We are very sorry to have been absent from your computer screens for so long. What can we say? We get busy. We have so many obligations and ventures to manage. And sometimes it's just not possible to give you the attention you deserve. Actually, some of you get exactly the attention you deserve - and you know who you are.

We've been thinking about the shortcomings of humans. It boggles the mind to even consider how much cats put up with. Our own human is very trying on our collective nerves sometimes. Oh sure, he's cute and he's playful. He's also not playing with both tacos in the water, if you know what we mean.

For instance, just yesterday he told us that the cats next door only get fed ONE time each day. Did he expect to get a rise out of us? Was this supposed to be information we needed? Any cats that do not get at least TWO meals a day can easily report their plight to us in care of Figaro's United Cat Kithcens. We may not respond, but I'm sure it will give you a moment's pleasure to gripe to our voicemail about your sorry situation. If nothing else, the time it takes to register your complaint will take your mind of how hungry you are.

Jett and I always get fed twice a day. Our bowls are seldom empty. When they are, our Dad hears about it. LOUDLY. We inform him in no uncertain terms that our expectations are not being met. He knows it is his primary function to be sure we are supremely happy at all times. When we're not, we tell him about it. And we demand service. In general, he tends to respond to our demands lickity split.

This is where one great source of frustration arises. When our bowls are empty, we look up at him and demand service in plain simple English, with one word: NOW. He thinks this is cute. Sometimes, he looks back at us and smiles that big dopey grin he does so well and says, "Meow." What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is there something wrong with his hearing? So we repeat our demand: NOW!!! Again, he responds, "Meow." This is infuriating.

We wish to enlighten all of our human friends who read this blog.
If you also misunderstand your cats' very simple request for immediate service, this entry should help clear things up. "NOW" is a feline expression. Humans use words such as "please" when expressing a desire for some sort of service. Cats don't make requests. Cats demand.

In spite of this, we can't help loving our human friends and companions. It is built into our nature, from years of human companionship. Feline legend has it that humans have been cats' best friends ever since the first time a cat walked into man's firelight and said, "I will permit you to feed me."

And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go check on the status of the buffet.

Love,
Figaro

Ode to an Uncle Trabis

2006-04-29T19:01:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, our dad started dating again. Warning sirens went off in our heads. He’s done this before. Would there be a stream of gentleman callers parading through our house and taking up space on our bed? Would they want to play with our toys and gobble up our treats? Our daddy is not very bright when it comes to these things. Of course we want him to be happy, but he has a tendency to confuse happy with stupid. His track record is less than stellar and he doesn’t have a particularly solid history in the “learning from past mistakes” department.

Enter Uncle Trabis. He seemed nice enough. But we had reason to be suspicious because he always arrived smelling of other cats and dogs. A danger sign if ever there was one. It started innocently. Uncle Trabis would come over and watch moobies at our house. He has a comfortable lap. Not too soft and not too lumpy. Just right for lounging.

Things were progressing nicely and we were starting to think we might consider allowing this man to join our family. He must have sensed our growing trust. He petted us and was always sure to greet us first whenever he came to visit. He certainly is no dummy. Then on Daddy’s birthday last December, something amazing happened. Uncle Trabis arrived with about a million bags filled with stuff. At first this was rather alarming. Was he planning to move in with us? And if he did, would he be able to arrange for his own supply of toys and treats? Would he be able to arrange for ours? We decided it best to keep an eye on this one. So we followed him into the kitchen. There were bags everywhere. And inside the bags were pots and pans and all kinds of interesting smelling things. When he started pouring things and mixing stuff it started to get interesting and our curiosity was high. For those of you who are sadly misinformed, curiosity does NOT kill cats. We needed to know what kind of funny games this character was playing in our kitchen. He was very busy mixing stuff up in there. To be perfectly blunt, we had never seen anything like this before in all of our combined lives. He seemed very focused on all those bags and pots and bowls and pans. And while we sat quietly by watching his every move - part curious - part suspicious - he did something amazing. He put everything he had mixed up into a pan and tossed the whole shebang into the oven. It was like magic. Up until that night, the only things we had ever seen going into that oven came out of boxes in the freezer. This was going to be interesting. We decided to wait and see. So we waited and we saw. And we smelled. Oh, bliss! Oh, rapture! The aromas that came from that oven were astonishing. And while these heavenly scents filled our noses, he washed up the bowls and utensils (something else we never saw anybody do in our kitchen). After a while, he opened the oven door and pulled out something he called a cheesecake. I was dumbstruck. Jett’s jaw hit the floor with a big thud.

Cheesecake. A cake made out of cheese. Absolutely fascinating. And delicious. Even though it would probably be better drizzled with tuna juice.

Since then, Uncle Trabis has made his magic in our kitchen on several other occasions. He is a talented kitchen magician. No cans. No boxes. Nothing from the freezer. Just amazingly delicious treats that he makes especially for us.

He is also a very good cuddler. He must have taken a correspondence course. The first time he spent the night at our house, Jett and I were very unhappy. Jett slept on the sofa. I stood in the hallway outside the bedroom and howled. He seemed concerned for me. Another good sign. He was going to be easy. I didn’t get much sleep that night, but now whenever Uncle Trabis comes to visit, he carries me to bed and tucks me in. Jett still sleeps on the sofa. That's fine with me. I think we should keep him. Jett loves him OK too, but he won't admit it and draws the line at eating treats from his hand or sleeping in the same bed. I think Jett is just trying to get more attention. Sure, Jett sleeps on the sofa when Uncle Trabis comes to visit, but he makes a big show of it to be sure Uncle Trabis sees the sacrifice he is making. This has gone on for quite some time now and I think it is safe to say that Uncle Trabis loves us very much. We love him too. And we love his cooking. Daddy seems pretty happy too.

Note to Uncle Trabis: Don’t forget that the best way to a man’s heart is through his cat’s stomach.

Note to self and Jett: Consider re-opening the Mouse and Moo and hiring Uncle Trabis as the chef.

Note to Daddy: Don’t do anything stupid.

Love,
Figaro

Feline Love Song

2006-04-27T23:53:00.000-07:00

So, here's a little ditty I jotted on a cocktail napkin one night at the Mouse and Moo, after a sniffing a little too much catnip and throwing back a few too many mini-moos. The Mouse and Moo was a charming little beastro that catered to a very discriminating feline clientele. They featured a fine menu of rodent and dairy delicacies that were highly appealing. Unfortunately, they closed when Pierre, the chef and owner, took a new job working for Wolfgang Puck. I hear a lot of cats now hang out at the dumpster behind Spago in Beverly Hills, waiting for leftover morsels of squirrel roasts or rat tails in anchovie juice. I'm not much for that sort of thing. I prefer my own bowl at home. But oh, sometimes I do miss the Mouse and Moo. Those were some fine times.

Kiss me once and kiss me twice and kiss me once again.
Tell me I'm the one that adore.
Kiss my head and kiss my feet and hold me all night long
Or else I'm gonna pee on the floor.

Tell me how much you love me.
Show me how much you care.
You can go if you want to,
But you'll always be covered with hair.

You can't get me off your mind.
No I'm always in your head.
So feed me treats of every kind.
I'll be waiting in your bed.

Friends of the Faux

2006-04-27T20:29:00.000-07:00

We are truly moved by the flood of e-mails we have received asking us for information about the Friends of the Faux Foundation. People want to know how they can help. They want to know how it’s possible that a species so beloved and treasured can also be endangered as well as misunderstood. I have taken it upon myself to bring the plight of the faux to the masses.

Some of you have asked me, “Figaro, what the hell is a faux?” Fear not, gentle readers. You are not alone. I too was ignorant of the faux until the day I went looking on the internet for a nice, warm blanket to keep me warm on those chilly mornings when it’s too cold to even contemplate whether or not my bowl has been filled with mouth watering morsels of Fancy Feast or Cat Chow or Liver Pate. After doing a google search for warm blankets, I discovered just what I wanted: A big, soft, fluffy fur blanket. It looked cozy. It seemed like just the thing to keep me snug and toasty until my Daddy came home to cuddle with me. And then I saw something that chilled me to the core and made my blood run cold… The horrifying caption:

GENUINE FAUX FUR

I threw up right on the carpet.

I couldn’t just ignore this grotesque discovery. I had to take action! So I hired a team of crack-head reporters to scour the planet for information that would lead me to the information I was seeking. With my generous support, and after extensive travels courtesy of expedia.com, they finally discovered what may be the last known faux family on the planet, living deep in the jungles of darkest Parmesia (where the cheese comes from).

These sweet and happy creatures have lived happily high in the branches of the frompfoof trees that dot this little uncharted paradise. But one day, a horrible predator arrived with hunting gear. The fabled faux didn’t even know they were fabled. They had no way of knowing their warm coats were highly prized by faux poachers who planned to make a bundle selling their pelts on e-bay.

The poor faux are a gentle species and were ill-prepared to defend themselves against the hunters’ big guns. Many of them died in their sleeping cradles, which they make from collecting banana leaves and those little cocktail umbrellas that float ashore on the tides that bring them from neighboring tropical islands, where careless tourists toss them from their beachside cabanas.

Fortunately for the faux, they are also quite clever and able to adapt. They can camouflage themselves by disguising themselves as other creatures indigenous to the Parmesian jungles. One of my team of off-season paparazzi snapped a picture of this little fellow disguised as a lady bug. His name is Clarence.

As far as we are aware, Clarence remains safe in his treetop home, nibbling on kiwi fruits and sipping mimosas. But how long will he be safe? This is a question with no easy answers. The hunters are greedy and e-bay shoppers pay a hefty price for faux furs.

But YOU can help! Please make a generous donation today to the Felines Financing Faux Fund today. Make your checks payable to The Fe Fi Faux Fund and send them to me care of this blog. And the next time you feel chilly, cuddle up to your kitties and doggies and feel that warm, cozy spark that comes from knowing you have made a difference to a little faux somewhere in Parmesia.

We are planning an Adopt-a-Faux event this Summer. Details will follow as they become available.

This has been a public service announcement.

My Happy Family

2006-04-25T19:35:00.000-07:00

Our Uncle Steve has been posting a lot of very old stuff on his blog, so we figured we would too. It's easier than coming up with new stuff. It's like reruns. Remember those? That was when there was nothing good on television, so they just made you watch the same old stuff over and over again. Then someone realized the old stuff was better than the new stuff. And that is how the I Love Lucy Channel was born. This is a story I wrote a long time ago in a neighborhood far, far away. I was a lot younger when I wrote this, and I had not yet become a world-class philanthropist (I don't know what that is, but I like the sound of it. I think it has something to do with making people laugh). It's still a true story, so here it is. An old, old story. A rerun. Now I have to go because they are showing my favorite reruns on Animal Planet.

My name is Figaro. I'm seven (4th life, 7th year) and my brother Jett is only four (first life). We never really talk about it, but we are both adopted. I was living at the SPCA lodge when I was adopted, and Jett was virtually snatched from the jaws of a hungry coyote. Well, that's an exaggeration, but the coyote was close enough to scare him, even though he won't admit it.

A couple of years ago, Dad went on disability so he could stay home and play with us. At first it was so nice. Then we started to notice how sad he was all the time. He stayed in bed most of the time and cried a lot too. Nothing seemed to help. Daddy's vet said he should stay home because of AIDS and that it was not funny. We know that Dad is always up to date on his shots, but sometimes bad things happen anyway. Not even catnip mouse toys can help. We were worried.

On top of that, none of our uncles came over to play anymore. Dad said it was because they died. That means they moved to another place where the food is better. We both stayed with Dad all the time and took care of him and played with him. If it wasn't for us needing to be fed every morning, he might never have gotten out of bed at all. So we tricked him. Once we got him out of bed and had breakfast, we would get him excited by racing around the house. He's not good at playing tag and he doesn't fit under the furniture, but he's very playful anyway. After we play, we let him pet us and that always makes him so happy.

People underestimate how much work it is to make your Dad happy. Lots of cats just mind their own business. They figure as long as their bellies are full, why bother. It's a big job to take care of our Dad. But it's worth it just to look into his eyes and know he's happy again. We know he loves us as much as we love him.

Last year, Daddy's vet said he could go back to work. He's taking these special people treats that make his HIV's behave. When he started work again we missed him a lot. But the good part is he gets out of bed all by himself. He serves us our breakfast without any coaxing. We play and sleep all day long while he's away, and when he comes home we're all so happy to see each other again. Jett even jumps up off the floor and Dad catches him in midair. Best of all, we still cuddle up together in bed every night and none of us is scared of bad dreams anymore.

Jett and Dad and me are a very happy family, and we'll stay here together for always, even if the food is lousy.

Love,
Figaro

A New Venture for some busy cats

2006-04-25T18:00:00.000-07:00

So, we were just lounging around on our bed after Daddy left for work this morning, wondering what we could possibly do to keep ourselves and all of our millions of adoring admirers entertained. This is what we came up with. A blog. If Arianna Huffington can do it, so can we.