And  yet I’m compelled.

I’m not sure how I found this (File under: The magic of the internet), but check it out:

What if pets ruled the holiday season? Would ugly holiday sweaters be buried in the snow? Would carolers sound like whirring can openers? Describe the perfect holiday season from your pet’s point of view, and you could win big!

Pamper Your Dog Package ($6,795 Value)

The Ultimate “Pamper Your Pet” prize package, brought to you by Purina, includes:

• Roundtrip coach airfare for two (plus your pet) to New York City (Travel must be booked by 3/31/2010)
• Pet-friendly hotel accommodations for two nights and dinner for two in New York City
• A private training session with one of Biscuits & Bath’s expert trainers
• Customized dog grooming session
• 1 Luxury dog house and more!

Pamper Your Cat Package ($5,800 Value)

A Natural Health Weekend at the Sagamore Resort on beautiful Lake George includes:

• Airfare to and from the closest airports (Travel must be booked by 1/15/2010)
• Deluxe accommodations for three nights
• Spa treatment and dining package
• Breeze For Cats system with 1 year supply of refill litter
• Heated pet bed, automatic pet water fountain and more!

Wipe Your Paws Home Makeover Package ($28,000 Value)

One lucky winner will receive a pet room/area makeover complete with:

• Custom room sketch for pet room or area by Libby Langdon, an interior designer and expert commentator on HGTV’s “Small Space, Big Style” (Photos for room makeover must be submitted by 3/31/2010)
• Phone consultation from designer
• $8,500 to bring the design to life
• Personal organizer from Real Simple to organize the home closet and pet area

Best In Show Package ($5,100 Value)

You’re invited by Us Weekly magazine to celebrate the hottest in entertainment at the annual star-studded Hot Hollywood party. Prize package includes:

• Round trip coach airfare to and from Los Angeles, CA (Travel must be booked by 3/31/2010)
• Two nights hotel accommodations
• Two tickets to the Us Weekly Hot Hollywood party in April 2010
• Custom pet basket with grooming products, leash set, dog bowl and dog bed
• Custom dog house, gift basket and more!

Licking Chops Package ($4,375 Value)

The Purr-fect Epicurean Adventure Prize Package includes:

• Roundtrip coach airfare for two to New York City from the closest major airport (Travel must be booked by 3/31/2010)
• Double occupancy accommodations for two nights at a celebrated New York hotel
• Two dinners at “purr”ific restaurants such as BLT Fish, Blue Fin, Lure Fishbar, Mary’s Fish Camp or Red Cat
• A trip to New York City’s acclaimed MOMA to see Paul Klee’s iconic “Cat and Bird” painting
• 1 Cooking Light® Gift Basket, 1 year supply of Purina pet food and more!

Oh man, I don’t even know where to start with this.

But let me say…Dozer does not travel well.

The last time he stayed in a hotel, I left him for 30 minutes to get some lunch and when I got back the guy in the room next door was moving out.

Whoops.

He’s a howler.

With mild separation anxiety.

Sorry ’bout that.

Plus, putting him on a cross-country flight to spend two nights in a dog house (prison), getting trained (Nazis) and groomed (torture) is probably the opposite of his “wonderland” and certainly nothing he would describe as “pampering.”

To be frank, Dozer’s perfect holiday season would involve being camped on the couch and delivered an unlimited quantity of roast turkeys to devour at his leisure, and I’m not so sure that reality is a contest winner…

Now Fu on the other hand.

Fu is travel-sized.

And fancy.

And magazine-worthy.

And I think he might make a nice excuse to win a free trip to NYC. Just one question: On this ‘purr’ific restaurant…I don’t have to take a f*cking cat into a NYC restaurant, do I?

Cause that would be awkward.

Even more awkward?

A $28,000 pet room.
What the eff???

I have enough “my pet thinks I’m his servant” problems (times two). Designing him a special room and closets and featuring this nonsense on TV?

Count me out.

It’s Licking Chops or bust…

But in case you have short term memory issues or don’t really care enough to remember the little incidentals about me or simply show up to look at the pretty pictures and don’t actually read anything…I am easily amused.

And I will proceed to prove that fact to you again in a moment.

But before I do, let me take you back to a time in the not-so-distant past. A time we thought the world was going to end because of some faulty computer programming written thirty-five years earlier.

A time when we all learned the word ‘hanging chads,’ something we now know to be a little scrap of paper that destroyed Al Gore’s soul, but left him an environmental guru (as well as inventor of the internet).

An era when a little boy named Elian showed up off the Miami coast clinging to an inner tube and captured America’s attention…shortly before being deported back to Cuba and spending the rest of his life bad-mouthing us, joining the Young Communist Union of Cuba, and currently training in Cuban military school. Remember Disneyworld, Elian? Do they have anything like that in Cuba? Mickey Mouse? Goofy? Space Mountain? Didn’t think so.

The era when O magazine first hit the stands, Katie Lee Gifford quit Regis and Kathie Lee, and AOL bought Time Warner, thus sealing both of their fates.

It was also, as you may recall or may just now be learning, a time when Jack Black did not suck.

In fact, he was pretty damn funny then, culminated by his somewhat ridiculous band (and related HBO show) Tenacious D. And there was an episode of Tenacious D that year where they meet their ‘biggest fan’ who has set up a website about them and seems rather obsessed – kind of like Mel on Flight of the Conchords (another great HBO show about a ridiculous band that you should be watching if you’re not already watching it.)

So anyway – and yes, I still remember the original point of this post and am slowly plodding toward it – this is the clip containing a character named Lee. To fill you in and spare you the lengthy version: They’ve met Lee the night before, checked out the website he set up dedicated to them, and become obsessed with him. Way to turn the tables on your stalker! Watch it and learn.

And that is relevant because of this rather hilarious ‘Muscle Milk’ ad (I’m not immediately familiar with Muscle Milk, but I have seen it for sale at the gym. I imagine it’s for babies who want to be really buff.) sent to me late last night, that is highly relevant because of its earnest celebration of the impending holiday known as Thanksgiving.

And because that guy is obviously Lee.

And because he vaguely reminds me of my friend’s boyfriend (kind of like how Bret of Flight of the Conchords reminds me of my other friend’s boyfriend.)

And because this is my first year of appreciating that Thanksgiving can be funny.

(And lastly, just in case you’re not already watching Flight of the Conchords, here’s one of their songs to get you started…)

Oh hell, it’s the holidays. It’s the season of giving. So in that spirit, here’s another one of my most favorite Flight of the Conchords bits:

You know when I’m down to my socks it’s time for business, that’s why they call it business socks…

Jermaine should have been on my list of freaky-looking dudes I have crushes on. If the show is accurate, he’s part Maori (because there’s an episode where they set up “New Zealand Town” in New York City and force him to play the Maori.)

p.s.

The entire time I’ve been compiling this for you, Fu Manchu has been nursing (and there really is no other word for it. There’s a strange, loud, and consistently-timed sucking noise emanating from his head) on my bathrobe. Now I’ve got to wash my bathrobe, Fu.

Thanks for nothing. Weirdo.

p.p.s.

So as to prove my point, there are little bits of bathrobe material caught under his nails.

Don’t commit any crimes, Fu, because those claws of yours are evidence magnets.

I had a brief impulse to get all cutesy on you and call this “The Fine Art of ReloCATion” but I hate a pun as much as the next guy. More.

Me on the flight from Seattle to Miami after about three hours of sleep...the first night like that of many.

Apologies for my lengthy absence. In a practical sense, internet connections have been non-existent. In addition, traveling with three people, three cats, and nine pieces of luggage was, to put it simply, painful.

To put it less simply:

I wrote that blog for you Friday, and it was pretty much pure chaos from there on out. Stress was running high, and my friends expressed theirs during a lengthy and protracted bickering match that lasted about three days.

Oh joy.

At any rate, allow me to cover the highlights of pulling off such a feat, should you ever feel so stupid.

On Horseshoe Bay beach. I was kind of proud of this artsy shot.

Step one: Clown car experience.

1.  Grossly overload a rented Toyota Camry.

2.  Realize there is no room in said rental car for the third wheel you’ve included in your nightmare (me).

3.  Overreact and come up with a weak plan to call a cab 15 minutes after you originally planned to be at the airport, thereby guaranteeing extraordinary amounts of stress for all parties.

4.  Decide instead to load third wheel vertically into the front seat, where she will lie in a precarious and painful position – wedged between the drivers seat and passenger side door and astride another person in a manner she has not even come close to attempting since she was 13 years old – for 45 minutes.

Me at Jobson Cove - a spot the locals used to use to raid ships that crashed in the surround reef (so said the homeless guy bathing there.)

5.  Pray to whatever you believe in that lying in this manner doesn’t dislocate a disc or damage your back or send you (me) through a windshield or whatever.

6.  Arrive at airport in one piece. Hallelujah!

Step two: Security meltdown

1.  Take three fancy Persian cats through airport security

2.  Refuse to kowtow to the tried and true.

3.  When asked to remove a cat from its carrier and carry it through the scanner, become hysterical that that cat will scratch, kick, bite, break free, and live its life begging at the Anthony’s Seaport Grill.

Horseshoe Bay - bad weather rolling in

4.  Flirt with imprisonment. Get irritated and use words such as “harassment” and “abuse of power” during TSA employee deep dive on bags.

5.  Lose shoes and start wandering around security area sorrowfully looking for them.

6.  Watch as four men escort you a private room for further bag investigation and a thorough excavation of the cat carriers. Ask if the cats will be receiving a cavity exam, and feel stupid when no one realizes that’s meant as a joke or laughs.

7.  Race to gate, realizing you have no food or water for the six-hour flight to Miami.

8.  Discover cat has peed on self in crate

9.  One hour into flight, notice harrowing smell and realize another member of the feline trio has crapped on itself.

10. Take offending cat to the restroom for a sponge bath.

Why would you buy eggs in a jar? Shipped from Portugal?

Step three: Travel waaaay out of your way for dinner

1.  See above note about bickering

2.  Hang out in your room at the airport hotel with the cats until approximately 11:40pm

3.  After a knock at your door, greet your anxious (and hungry) third party member, and join her for a quick meal at the hotel bar at 11:45pm

4.  Learn that hotel bar is no longer serving food, and throw a conniption fit.

5.  If you are one of the two female members of the group, have a drink. If you are me, have a gin martini straight up with four olives (quite possibly the only solid substance you’re going to get tonight) and pray it goes to your head immediately.

6.  If you are the non-female member of the troupe, go and ask the concierge about places to eat, and completely lose your shit when you are told everything is closed. Storm out of the building – on foot – in search of an iHop. An iHop nobody has claimed exists.

If they hadn't cost $7.00 (USD + Bermudian are interchangeable. They even give you change in American money if you ask) I probably would have bought these out of curiosity. And because I like pickled eggs. Usually.

7.  Talk to taxi drivers and return to your comrades at the bar. Explain to them that you just learned there’s a restaurant a few minutes away called “South Beach.” Convince everyone to join you for a quick meal.

8.  Pile into back seat of taxi and ride…and ride…and ride…and cross bridges…and ride…and go to another continent…and ride…all with the growing realization that you are not going to South Beach, the restaurant, but South Beach (and you are in no way, shape, or form dressed to take on South Beach)

9.  Eat a pretty good meal (all things considered), discover a new way to make vodka lemonades (add mint!!!, and get back at 3am, all the while wondering how this day got so damned long.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

More tomorrow on day two of the journey to get here (and hopefully wifi for my own computer so I can upload some photos to augment your reading pleasure).

p.s.

Justice was served. Blueberry neither peed nor pooped himself. In the end, the bad cat was the good one!

Welcome to day one of Project Move Three High-Strung Fancy Pants Cats to Bermuda.

This afternoon the six of us (three cats and their three human porters) head to Miami, where we will be spending the night, before a late afternoon continuation to Bermuda tomorrow. The two owners of the cats were quick to claim their under-the-seat-in-front-of-them companion, and I got stuck with the loud mouth.

Let me introduce you to the cast:

Jack Frost

Weighing in at 7.5 pounds…

Jack Frost.

Male Himalayan.

Approximately three years old.

Often referred to as “the good one” and not surprisingly, the first one upon whom ‘dibs’ was placed.

Jack will be traveling today with A, my friend’s boyfriend.

Charlotte

Weighing in at 5.5 pounds…

Charlotte

Female Persian (sporting a very attractive poodle cut at the moment)

Approximately nine years old

Often referred to as the ’sweet one’ and all but guaranteed to cower in silence in the corner of her travel bag the entire time.

Charlotte’s light, non-back-breaking frame will be transported by my friend, K, today.

Blueberry

Weighing in at a chiropractor visit-inducing 10.5 pounds…

Blueberry (whom I have dubbed “Big Boy.”)

Male Persian

Approximately three years old

Blue is a pistol.

From the moment this little adventure was revealed in all its glory, I was told “HE is going to be the problem.”

In addition, last night I was warned to keep and eye on him because ‘he’s probably going to take a dook in your suitcase.’

And that’s really unfortunate, because Blue has come to know my suitcase as a beloved second home.

Make yourself at home. I wasn't going to wear those pants, anyway.

So, I’ve already had two sleepless nights, I guess I may as well cap it off with a day of cat mewling.

My human travel companions were discussing how they were going to sit with their respective cat – within its travel sack – in their lap for the duration of the six hour flight.

Too bad for Blueberry.

In contrast, I plan to work on this here laptop editing and possibly recording some thoughts for you guys. Later, I will eat snacks and maybe play “Pocket God” on the iPod.

This is why you should never have more than two kids.

There simply isn’t enough love to go around.

On the upside, if Blueberry refrains from peeing on me or my stuff (he went on the closet floor last night in an obvious act of political protest), there may very well be a Swedish fish or other snack treat from my stash in his future.

I was hoping for a big jug of this with a spray gun to wear on my back, but due to strict TSA guidelines, I'll be flying without a net.

I’ve dubbed us ‘Team Badass’ and anyone endeavoring to the Seattle International or Miami International airports today (or staying at the Marriott by the airport tonight) had best eat their Wheaties this morning.

I’m insanely tired and cranky and Blueberry has a snaggletooth snarl and the moxie to go with it.

We’re in no mood to be messed with.

Just listen for the sound of cats yowling or sniff for the scent of urine and feces, and you’ll find us.

Please, no photos.

I don’t look so hot when I haven’t slept in days.

Straight from the cold, mean streets outside my massage therapist’s office comes Fu Manchu!

My dad Photoshopped Fu's eyes from evil red to blue for me. The red eye is extreme and rather sinister-looking.

Weighing in at 6 pounds, 3 ounces, Fu is an intact, male chocolate point Himalayan with an oral fixation. Seriously. I didn’t know about it until this morning, and it’s kind of creepy. He took a chunk of my shirt into his mouth, and working his little brown feet like there was no tomorrow, started sucking.

Hmmm…

Not so much.

Hopefully the dog is into that, because I think he’s going to have to find an alternate resource with whom to get his freak on.

At any rate, Fu Manchu – previously known by a name that reminded me of The Taliban and thus had to go – hopefully does not have leukemia or some horrible, unfixable illness. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one for imaging bad things for sport, it’s just that he was running a fever at the vet yesterday, and she got a little grim.

He's like a little Jawa!

As far as we know, he’s about a year old, has never been vaccinated, and has been living off the land for about two months. I find this rather shocking for a cover-of-Martha-Stewart-Living-pure-bred-long-hair feline. I suppose I always figured cats like that would just explode into a pile of fairy dust or at least find a sad grandma to mooch from if abandoned, but I guess not. Or maybe Fu is just dumb? If so, he will make an appropriate addition to the stupid pet menagerie I’ve got going on, currently featuring the cheerful and idiotic Dozer (who, appropriately enough, is licking the couch as I type this.)

Anyway, having roughed it the last few months, Fu was in less-than-stellar shape.

After dealing with his ear mites, chin acne, and a minor abscess (so much for the ‘free’ new pet exam), he was given a week’s worth of antibiotics for the fever. Presuming it is gone by then, he’ll be neutered on Tuesday.

Dozer thinks this is the best thing EVER.

And Tuesday cannot come quickly enough.

Did you know that intact, adult male cat urine is a biological weapon?

Seriously, it is so unspeakably horrible, I don’t even know where to begin.

But let me try…

First off, the cat himself, despite being a super cute little fluffer bunny, smells like piss. Scratch that. He REEKS of piss. It’s almost like he rolled around in filthy litter and then dumped a bottle of ammonia all over himself.

Secondly, his use of the box (which thank god he knows how to do) – just a single time – renders it something so foul, so abhorrent, and so beastly that I think he could land in a part in the next Saw movie. Saw VII: You’ll Wish You Were Dead.

He smells, but I wuvs him.

Lastly, there is almost nothing I am more judgmental about than walking into someone’s home and being blown away by the stink of cat pee. And now I am mortified that this little cutie boy is going to render me one of ‘those people.’

You know.

The ones you walk by at Target and think, “Did I just smell cat urine?”

That’s why until he’s neutered on Tuesday he’s either in the crate or in an unfinished basement room. I am a soft-hearted rescuer of poor, helpless animals…but I’m not a sucker.

In conclusion, lest he sound rather awful, let me assure you that Fu Manchu is extremely sweet and laid-back dude. I went ahead and ordered him a tag for his collar today, thus making him official.

Welcome Fu!

It’s nice to have you on board…once you stop stinking.