Newsday Tuesday, Item 2

A few of you have inquired as to what was in that huge box I was standing on a couple of weeks ago. I was negligent and rude and didn't reply. I can now reveal the contents of the box. It turns out, it was for the woman. A stereo that records records and tapes onto CD so they can be put on the computer and Pop can listen to them on his i-pod. I didn't photoshop out the make and model number in case someone else's peeps actually still own—or for that matter—know what records and tapes are.

At least I got to play in the box for a few days.

Newsday Tuesday, Item 1

A couple of months ago, I wrote about the stone-age woman and her love of rocks and how she even used one to bathe with. Then a couple of days after the piece ran, we got some new rocks in the mail. They were so heavy, the porter had to carry them up. When he rang the bell, he said, "These are heavy. What's in them? Rocks." The woman said, "Yes." HAH!

She told me they're salt lamps. The tiny light bulb heats the salt, which purifies the air. Come again, woman? She said they're better than the air purifiers we had because they don't emit ozone, which can irritate the lungs of little cats. If anyone else is interested, she got them at the Himalayan Salt Shop, where they're currently running a sale.

These salt lamps are very pretty but I still think the woman has rocks in her head!

This salt lamp weighs more than I do. Seriously.

Wednesday Words of Wisdom

He who enters tunnel, deals with Keisha

Eulogy For A True Goddess

A year or so ago, the world was treated to a new sensation out of Liverpool, England. She was bigger than the Beatles; bigger than any entertainer to come out of that town. Men cats swooned. Lady cats all wanted to be her. We all wanted to be cool like @MedusaJ, the scaredy cat with the orange legs. The diva had entered the world of Twitter and Facebook. They would never be the same. And neither will we.

Sadly, MedusaJ, aka Rosie Cat, has left the building. She went OTRB yesterday morning at 9:45. She left way too soon and she left us pleading for an encore.

Rosie was a good friend. Wait, she was much more than a good friend. She was someone I could be myself with. I could get a little bit raunchy and know that she understood and wouldn't get bent out of shape. I didn't have to watch my "P's and Q's"—whatever than means though I hear its a common idiom around here. She even followed my Pop on Twitter when I mentioned that he opened an account so he could make sure I wasn't getting too naughty with the boys.

I used to love to make her laugh her evil laugh. Bwaaahahaa! She became my "Cracklin' Rosie" after she posted a picture of herself in front of the fireplace at Christmas.

I love her. Unfortunately, with the time differences, we didn't meet too much on Twitter. Thank God for Facebook. The time we did spend together always made me laugh, or at least smile. She brought out the best in me.

This isn't Goodbye because I know that we'll meet again OTRB. To her Mum Marie, her Dad and minidude—I always loved that name—I offer love and support and a shoulder to cry on. I know I'm a better cat for having known her.