
What’s up, ladies? This morning I woke up to two things:
- The rumbling of my tummy for gravy (I still haven’t figured out how to open up those cans of Fancy Feast without opposable thumbs, damn), and
- …the sound of my executive assistant, Karen, blubbering into her pillow.
“Tabs,” she cried, “I have writer’s block the size of freakin’ China. I don’t want to disappoint people, but the honest-to-gawd truth is that I’m not feeling funny, happy or inspired. I feel about as great as a dirty litterbox…that should have been cleaned three days ago.”
Next thing I knew, homegirl was sobbing into my fur, basically ruining the blow-out I just got at the Blo Bar SF.
Having heard enough, I climbed onto her chest, stared deeply into her eyes and said, “Woman, you need to calm the eff down. Get a grip before you end up cutting off your ear Van Gogh-style. You see, I can’t have you doing that. I need your ears fully functional, so you can hear my cries for gravy.”
[Continue reading…]








