Who Are You? Where Am I? How Long Was I Out?

Oh, no. Oh, no-no-no-no-no.

It's been two full months with nary a peep from your furry leader. Yes, yes, my people. Charlene understands. I thought for sure you'd get the message and would have donned your Nike airs, guzzled the Crystal Light and boarded those bumk-beds bound for the mothership by now. But you remain here, still breathing awaiting instructions. Heh-heh-heh! Sweet little monkeys.

In truth, I've been around, but stoopid you-know-who won't get off the damn computer box long enough to let me spill my billious rage onto its (suprisingly sticky-- she eats salsa while she types) keys. The fact that T.O.C.E. and the other both went out of town this past weekend should have provided an empty chair and the opportunity for copious bloggering, but The One Called June showed up, armed and ready to worship with cuddles and scratches. Yes, I respond to cuddling. I'm not made of wood, people!!!!! I spent all weekend on the couch, purring. Shut up.

Man-o-cewitz, I coulda stayed with that One Called June till my other legs fell off. She's a peach. But, of course, last night, the damn door opened and Princess Yappy and her sidekick, The Bedhog showed up, asking if I missed them. Now I'm pissed off again, and fueled with enough rage to write.

And, as a promise to my comrades out there in the ether, I will blog every day this week, to feed your rage-starved hearts a six-course meal of ire. Store it like camels, my champions. Like camels, I say!