Happy Hallow-meowi!

This time of year has become bittersweet, as I am severely missing my Mr. Ted E. Bear , because I’m bat shit crazy enough to dress pussies up in costume. And we’d have been in costume today. In an ode to the fur baby that I may as well have birthed myself, here are a few of my past faves.

Since Tedstar was beyond high maintenance (just like his mama) he was immune to catnip – the magic in which I thought would work to ease him into costumes. Instead, turns out a sniff of wine worked just as fine (again with the birthing thing).

Ahh….relaxing vino.

We first got into the idea of Halloween costuming after seeing Ted’s cousin, Gunner, in a bee’s outfit.

I mean c’mon, doesn’t he look cozzzzzeee?

They immediately became twinsies much to Ted’s dismay.

FOR FUCKING REAL?

Even though the Bear didn’t last long enough for a night full of Halloween thrills, I was happy with the outcome.

Ted, not so much.

Buzzed out.

The following year, Teddy Krueger and I not only acquired a new mini manse but also a partner in crime for him – New Cat. The idea of wrapping my arms around two costumed cats didn’t seem like a huge feat until I tried.

Fuck you. Fuck these masks. Fuck being your cat.

Turns out, Ted was used to being the star of the show and I’m pretty sure he pushed New Cat out of the shot.

Only room for one star. Beat it.

As always, the Bear was right. We made such a dashing duo.

Tedstar shining bright.

The following year I was racking my brain as to what Baby Bear and I could be…and then, Miley Cyrus inappropriately grinded on Robin Thicke’s thighs at the MTV Video Music Awards. Voila!

My favorite Halloween photo ever was captured (mind you, this was a one handed selfie – yeah, I have MAD skills). Thank you for your slightly bananas year, Miley.

The photoshoot was one helluva shit show , as purrfecting this pic took 4,791 tries but it was waaaaaaay worth the outcome.

Our last Halloween together, we went as the ultimate Star Wars duo (or at least the duo of costumes I could find – mine was an XL dog’s outfit).

It’s too soon to tell which of my fabulous foursome of current pussies will come to my costume rescue next year.

But I doubt any of them will let me get as handsy as Ted did. While I miss him something terrible, the memories of Halloween’s past are making me smile.

We so would have been Neegan and Rick from The Walking Dead this year.

Rest in peace Baby Bear.

CBXB

 

 

 

Weekend Winks – Panic, Boos! and Pussy Shenanigans

Friday started on the right foot with some prep for a Halloween party at the office tomorrow.

However, things took a hard turn when I had a panic attack out of fucking nowhere after lunch. I had to leave work, after catching my breath and then I managed to throw up while driving down the interstate. With my head out the window like a dog. And still  got my empty stomach contents all over my shoulder and down the inside of my door.

Adulting is hard.

I threw my newest armour on that I received last week via mail with no note. Now, obviously the sender really knows me, as the shirt not only included sparkly pink text, it read, “Onward Buttercup there’s fuckery to spread.” I had posted a blog about my own personal Harvey Weinstein on Friday (thinking back, possible trigger for a panic attack), and got this text from the sender.

I have the best friends.

Unable to un-tense any section of my body (even my eyeballs ached), I wallowed on the leopard couch, played Words With Friends that pissed me off when realizing my favorite state isn’t really considered a word.

WTF?

I was joined in snuggles from Iowa by my sister and Princess B.

Miles apart but the same at heart.

I was being mauled by my fur balls and I didn’t hate a second of it.

Fierce feline snuggles from Ruby Sue.

Precious and Rocky joined in, too.

I was mighty happy the Iowa game didn’t start until 5:30 pm on Saturday, so I was able to do one out of 100 loads of laundry I should have done, lay on the couch, and watch my 81-year-old boyfriend Lee Corso on ESPN’s College Game Day rock a skeleton outfit. It was pretty much a perfect fucking all day.

Game day ready.

Extremely conflicted as to wear a costume, Iowa Hawkeye gear or a combo of both, I went for the gaudier side. A little Halloween and a whole lotta Hawkeye.

Conflicted costume.

Traveling out to Dada CBXB’s for the game (also known as Pamela Anderson to my Kid Rock this time of year), we got to see Cousin Eddie and Clark that I originally rescued but they took to my dad so much so, that I wrapped them up and gave him to them for Christmas two years ago. He can’t tell them apart and calls them Cat 1 and Cat 2.

To me it’s beyond obvious.

Cousin Eddie

Clarkie

We were all Skinny Pirated up and ready for the 5:30 kick-off. Some of our crowd were more excited than others…

Although the first half was kind of a snore, my Hawkeyes pulled out a win and we take those no matter how ugly!

Two touchdown and one victory shot! Whoop!

We then settled down with nightcaps of Manhattans courtesy of my BIL’s famous recipe.

Nighty night.

I slept the most consecutive hours Saturday night in as long as I can remember. TEN hours. TEN! I’ve been averaging maybe four per evening the past two years, so saying I felt like a new lady is an understatement.

To top off the start to my Sunday, I was treated by Dada’s world-famous cheese omelette (according to him) which is one of my fave things he cooks.

Ah, yeah baby.

My Iowa twins couldn’t decide which holiday they wanted to celebrate more…

From Halloween. To Christmas. Back to Halloween.

Pumpkin perfecting.

With some elbow grease to finish.

Paw Patrol is still big at the Twin Castle, and my handy sister was able to create adorable ensembles for the most adorable duo on the planet.

Skye

Zuma

Then, all hell broke loose for me when fucking Facebook popped up a memory from a year ago and feelings started to seep into my soul. This time every year, I would be prepping Teddy Bear’s costume – this is the first time in eight years I haven’t been able to do it. And top that off with it being National Cat Day, I had a come apart of epic proportions.

Hole in my heart over my main squeeze who is gone too soon.

Not wanting my current fur babies to feel left out, (as I do have the cutest kids on the fucking block), I still celebrated my fave four pussies, of course.

My fab four. Rocky, Fabio, Ruby Sue and Elsa Pants.

I’ll leave you with a little wisdom one of my Nashville sistas gave me in regard to closing out 2017, looking forward to a new year:

Anyone have any cheese for my cracker?

CBXB

Two Pussy Lovers in a Pod

It’s not every day you go on vacation and meet your soul mate.

Pussy lovers unite!

Pussy lovers unite!

We all know by now that I’m a cray cray cat lady. If you don’t believe me, check out my bawling episode in Ernest Hemingway’s cat cemetery post from last year.

Yep. I did this.

Yep. I did this.

So imagine my delight when I realized there was a living, breathing male pussy loving version of myself when I visited Sunset Pier in Key West.

I knew as soon as our eyes met that he might just be the perfect man for me (I mean, he lives in on the beach and hoards cats like yours truly albeit he’s about 65) as he wrangles seven cats with the ease of me slurping down a Skinny Pirate.

Back in his glory days tempting ladies with that mullet. And that vest.                 photo  catmanofkeywest.com

What’s the most telling sign that we’re meant to be together (besides the fact that his name is Dominique and he speaks with a French accent. *sigh*)?

The fact that he’s known as The Cat Man.

I took this to heart as I was recently bequeathed the nickname of Cat Woman from my pharmacist (after I had to get a prescription filled for a stray cat I’ve taken in and unemotionally lovingly named New Cat – it was a master blaster hearing that name called over the loudspeaker).

Yep. Seriously.

Yep. Seriously.

As I watched The Cat Man prep the fur balls for the upcoming show, I elbowed six-year-olds in the head so as I could score a seat in the front row.

Pussy prep.

Pussy prep.

Clapping among six year olds.

Clapping among toddlers.

What makes The Cat Man ultra impressive is the fact that he can get cats to do tricks…with each other (anyone who’s ever owned a feline knows how cooperative they tend to be).

Pussy whisperer.

Pussy whisperer.

Two at a time.

Synchronized stool sitting.

Fire

Ring of fire.

Teddy has some work to do.

Teddy clearly has some work to do.

What was the shining moment in our budding May-December romance?

Our shared characteristic for the love of a camera. Although I couldn’t really tell if he was flirting with me (and the other 94 peeps that wanted a photo with him) or trying to get rid of my stalking ass after I started to put my arm around him and he said:

“Stay where you are. Go back to your seat,” accompanied by his French accent.

Of course I refused to move without a snapshot of us.

When he caught wind of my cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs mentality over pussies, The Cat Man couldn’t help but lean into my Cat Ladyness and turned me into his own personal Leaning Tower of Pisa.

Lean

Close.

Lean 2

Closer.

Lean 3

My ass almost hit the pavement.

While no phone numbers were exchanged, we promised to meet again.  Well, really I told him I’d stalk see him again when I was back in Key West.

I’m now practicing tricks with Ted and New Cat in the hopes they can perform along with The Cat Man’s crew next year.

Fingers crossed I don’t set my mini manse on fire.

Cheers!

CBXB!