Last Night's Party.

Well, a party three nights ago, to be more exact. Last night's party was a karaoke grudge match that would've yielded much more interesting shots, but I can't figure out how to charge the camera battery. What remains are these candids, from a much calmer night at The Bar Called the Dublin.

Many of you might be asking how I managed to leave the House on Walnut, schlep to the bar, and take photos for this cat blog, when I hate people and cannot turn doorknobs or drive a car. The answer is: I'm not really concerned with logistics and neither should you be! Also, do not doubt my awesomeness. Also, shut up, dagnabit.


This actually looks like it could be from the karaoke party. Here, the One Collectively called Rileydia warble "You Don't Give Me Flowers" in perfect harmony.

The One Called the One With the Same Name as H.W.D.N.T.B.N. decides to walk around the bar sideways. Note the two girls in the background whispering about his overall foxiness.

I think this was an argument over benchpressing. Or maybe the collected works of Joan Didion.

Here, The One Called The Purple Rose of Hemlock puts all other posable humans to shame:

And that's just one shot, ladies and gents!

Maybe, for every T.O.C.T.P.R.O.H. photo I take, I should hold a caption contest, like those ones in the New Yorker that drive the humans wild. Send your thoughtful captions for this pic to the webmaster, if you'd like to brooch the subject. Ha. Human pun.

Lookout, World.

T.O.C.E.'s father rolled into town last week, leaving many jokes about the weather and $97.50 in blackjack winnings in his guffawing path. I like T.O.C.E.'s pop. I like him so much that, when he came to the house, I even let him look at me for about 30 seconds before I ran away.

But this story of famillial visitation is not all sunshine and roses--oh, no. Because T.O.C.E.'s father bought her a little gift, an item that, though it has existed for many, many years, I've prayed T.O.C.E. would never get her mitts on, as she has no spatial perception, taste, or knowledge of when to quit.

He bought her a digital camera.

While this might be considered a positive by many of my minions, who would never pass up the opportunity to get an eyefull of their favorite elusive cat blogger, and while it might also remove from my metaphorical jock the non-believers, who think a furry blogging entity cannot possibly exist in this mixed-up, crazy world, this new camera leaves me drowning in dread more than hope and excitement.

Case in point: Though the new camera might yield attractive, educational photos like this one, of me hard at work:

It will undoubtedly also yield thousands of kodak moments like this one, where I am mercilessly tortured, Olan-Mills style:

(help me.)

Or worse still, you know they'll be several hundred dozen terrifying stills like this one:

...just in time for the holidays.