Communal Food Is Gross

As some of you know, I work in an office. Specifically, in a dinky CUBE in an office. I've detailed the glories of toiling in a cube here: Working in a Cube Is HELL.

Anyone who's ever worked with others knows the delights of SHARING: sharing cramped quarters, sharing a fridge, and sharing a bathroom. Let's not forget sharing food. And I'm not talking about the "sharing" that happens when you bring in yummy leftovers and store them in the fridge, and a rude coworker decides he wants to "share" them. (For the record, Sir HelpsHimselfALot, that's "stealing," not "sharing.") No, I'm talking about communal food. I suspect that almost every office has The Bowl of Rejected Candy in the kitchen. You know, a giant vessel with a grimy coating of crumbs and wrappers at the bottom, partially filled with anything that's not chocolate. So, the Runts, the Gummi-anythings, the lollipops...yeah, the shitty candy.

This has been sitting in a pathetic pile at my workplace for roughly 152 years.

Another office staple? The Canister of Crappy Snacks.

Yep, that's a plastic container with the remnants of some pretzels (in the kitchen for approx. 36 yrs.). Who the hell likes pretzels? And who the hell likes pretzels that 47 other people have sifted through? Okay, you know what? To this I say, NO! I've just been in the bathroom with you, and I know that you barely used soap and you for sure didn't wash for the 20 seconds that hygiene rules dictate. So, madam, please don't plunge your filthy hand in that bowl of pretzels, swish it around vigorously to find the verybestone, and expect me to follow suit. I'll be in my cube, muttering and slathering on antibacterial gel.

As you gazed hungrily at those pretzels, your eyes surely were drawn to the Toblerone candy bar to the left. I know what you're wondering. Did someone leave that in the kitchen by mistake? Why, no! Apparently, that's a candy bar for everyone in the office to share!

Mmmmm, I hope you used your mouth to break off that section.

Yes, indeed. The communal candy bar! Who in their right MIND would want to snap off a piece of that after dozens of filthy fingers have groped all over it? I admit, when I first saw the candy bar (and it was sealed), I had an urge to whisk it straight into my purse to enjoy later. Then I decided to not be a pig and let someone ELSE have it. But I expected someone to take the whole bar, not just nibble/pry off bits [shudder].

In the kitchen where all this food sits around, there are bound to be roaches rats hobos dirty dishes and crumbs. Fortunately, there also are cleaning supplies! Like this sponge!

Yeah, the dishes were cleaner BEFORE you used that sponge.

  And this dish drainer!

This exact collection of dishes has been here for at least a year. I'm thinking of painting a still life.

I spy with my little eye...something unpleasant lurking beneath the dish drainer! Let's take a closer look, shall we?

Dorito, circa 1987.

There's no mistaking that neon-orange glow! Who the hell brought in Doritos? And why don't we have THOSE out rather than the f***ing pretzels??

When discussing office sharing, it's impossible to avoid the topic of the beloved potluck luncheon! You know the drill: signup sheet in the kitchen; Jill with her famous meatballs that everyone secretly hates; me uhhhh, Amber, who always brings something with cat hair in it; Andy and his purchased-5-minutes-before-the-lunch bag of cookies...

The thing about potlucks, apart from the crappy food and stilted conversation, is that one can't help but think about just HOW that food was prepared. Here's a handy tip that the germaphobes in your office will surely appreciate you following: when making food for the office potluck, please, for the LOVE OF GOD, do not enlist the aid of your children. While I'm totally sure your son is the most adorable and sweet child on the entire freaking planet, I suspect he's also picking his nose and licking his fingers nonstop.

Please....NO. 

You know who DOES make a fantastic kitchen helper? Capt. Nap!!!

He totally washed his paws after this picture.

My frequently shedding, counter-lurking fur-baby is as clean as a whistle! That's why we let him lounge around on our clean clothes!

"Can a cat get some PRIVACY? I'm trying to pee!"

So if you see a cat hair or 20 in the food I bring it to the next potluck, not to worry! My cats are the cleanest, sweetest, most adorable kitties on the entire freaking planet!

My Cat Has No Teeth

Poor Captain Nap. You remember--this guy:

"Why you gotta treat me so bad?"

Capt. Nap is the unfortunate victim of the feline herpes virus. (My gyno SWORE he couldn't catch it from me.) (I'm TOTALLY joking. I didn't ask my gyno.)

Okay, okay. All kidding aside, it was this little minx who gave it to him. Remember the adorable Pepper Anne?

"I'm winking at you because you think I'm healthy, but I have a hilarious secret!"

Yes, the missing-an-eye (so, not winking) Pepper Anne, who we adopted in a moment of weakness, because, you know, she's so damn cute. Anyway, we've had her for nearly a year now, and she's been the cause of:

1. Marital discord
2. Horrific sores in Squeaky's mouth
3. Capt. Nap's full-mouth extraction
4. Plenty o' good times!

Without going into too  much detail (because it involves science and medical terminology I don't really understand), Pepper Anne, who we renamed "Peeper" (get it? One eye?), has this herpes virus, which is what caused her to lose her eye before we adopted her. The other cats, not being all that particular about where/what they eat, snuffled around in the same food bowls and caught the virus from Peeper.

Squeaky was the first victim.

Squeaky guarding her favorite toy from Peeper.

Because she's black, I didn't notice at first that she'd developed a sore under her nose. By the time I saw it, it was bleeding. I raced her to the vet (after a mighty struggle to get her in the carrier), who looked in her mouth and found a bunch of ulcers. We had lots of fun medicating Squeaky! She was quarantined in our bedroom for two weeks, which she seemed to like. A lot. In fact, she still goes in there every day. It's her Peeper-free sanctuary. We finally got her outbreak under control.

That's when I noticed Capt. Nap's breath. It had gone from regular-cat gross to atrocious. As in, he'd open his mouth a crack and I'd want to flee to another house.

The captain is embarrassed that I'm detailing his bad breath.

I raced HIM to the vet. She looked in his mouth and gasped. I'm not joking. She then called in a vet tech, who looked in his mouth and also gasped. She showed me what they were gasping about (surprisingly, not his breath). His gums were an inflamed mess; bright red and sore looking. The herpes virus had manifested itself as something called stomatitis. I nodded somberly, not realizing fully the magnitude of this condition until I got home and googled it. One of the cheering articles was titled, "Cats and Stomatitis: A Condition You Wouldn't Wish on Your Worst Enemy."

So the bottom line was his immune system was rejecting his teeth. Or something like that. The best way to treat a case of stomatitis that was as bad as Capt. Nap's was to remove the worst of his teeth. We started with a dental cleaning and extraction of several teeth, in the hopes that those measures would do the trick. They didn't. Last week, I bundled Capt. Nap into his carrier for the 4,786th time this year and dropped him off at the vet so they could take out ALL of his remaining teeth. It sounds extreme, I know. But I did a lot of reading about it, and talked at length to my vet, and it seems that a full-mouth extraction is often the best way to relieve a cat's suffering. Goodness knows, I didn't want my old friend to suffer.

He's back home now and gobbling his food as if he's in a race. Even dry food! Twice a day I put out canned and dry; usually he makes a beeline for the dry. Go figure.

He's still recovering, but I can tell he feels better. He's grooming himself (something he abandoned before because it was too painful) and even seems more playful. Hooray! It's been a long and challenging year getting Peeper integrated into our household. With the help of Prozac, Squeaky is coming around (although she does get annoyed with Peeper fairly frequently). Also with the help of Prozac,* my husband no longer seems in favor of divorcing me. He did say, however, that three is the ABSOLUTE MAXIMUM.

Also, I was wondering if anyone could lend give me $38,971.95? That's my rough estimate of what I've spent on vet bills this year.

The end. (Get it?)

*J/K about my husband and Prozac. Not j/k about Squeaky and Prozac, though.

I Was Abducted By Aliens, Which Sucked

I know, I know, it sounds RIDICULOUS, but it's totally true. And despite all the sci-fi movies about aliens being all super smart and possessing amazing technology, there was no way for me to work on my blog. From the, ah, spaceship. So! That's where I've been. (In space.)

Gotcha! I wasn't REALLY abducted. Hahahahhaha, bet you've really missed that razor-sharp wit. No, what happened was in May I went to the pool. First I got drunk, because when you're over 40 (BARELY), going to the pool is a bit frightening. Oh, that's just me? Hmmmm. Anyway, I got a bit drunk, donned my swim shirt and shorts...hang on, I think I have a picture...

Weird how that "Frankie Wetjacket" text appeared at the top of the pic. Will have to get my camera looked at.

So, yeah, I was perched on a table, poolside, when... OKAY, FINE, that's not me. Here's the real photo:

Clearly, I needed a shave. And boobs. And a psychiatric evaluation, STAT.

All right, you got me. That's not me either. But my actual attire vaguely resembled the second photo and looked absolutely nothing like the first (although my hair and makeup were super stunning). So I sauntered into the pool, wings fluttering, and proceeded to hop in, whereupon I was immediately ejected for failing to take a shower before entering the pool in which 27 people had just urinated.

DAMMIT, I'll just tell you all the truth. Nothing happened. I got really busy with work and felt more fatigued than usual. Might have been the summer heat, exacerbating my ever-present MS-related tiredness. Whatever it was, the blog became The Blog I Had Been Neglecting Horribly. I felt as though I'd also neglected the friends I'd made via the blog, which made me feel like an ass. When I thought of all the work I'd have to do to worm my way back into everyone's good graces, I felt even MORE tired. So I continued to neglect my blog and others' blogs, and staved off most of my guilty feelings by telling myself you're all big jerks anyway.

Hahahahhaha! Of course I didn't do that. Some of you kindly contacted me to make sure I was okay. So, thanks; really. For those of you who are still reading me, I will be easing (worming) into the blog and popping over to see what you've been up to. I've missed all of you big jerks. A lot.

Working in a Cube Is HELL

When you're a Certified CrankyPants (CCP), working in a cube can be nightmarish. As I type this, someone is rustling around with a candy bar wrapper, making an ungodly racket in this otherwise quiet office. This person shouldn't be hungry. Want to know how I know? BECAUSE HE JUST FINISHED ROOTING/RUSTLING/CHOMPING through what must have been a family-sized bag of the noisiest chips ever made! That's how I know. It took him *24* minutes to make his way loudly through the contents of that bag. I was gritting my teeth and watching the little clock on the bottom right-hand side of my computer the entire time.

• 1:50  Bag makes its first appearance [crinkle crinkle]
• 1:50 Cube dweller (CD) wrestles the bag open [CRINKLE CRACKLE RUSTLE]
• 1:50 CD opens bag and plunges entire fist into the opening to seize a chip [ROOT ROOT CRINKLE CRINKLE]
• 1:51 - 2:10 CD jams chip after chip into his mouth [CHEW CHEW SMACK ROOT RUSTLE CRINKLE]
• 2:11 Is he done? [SILENCE]
• 2:12 - 2:13 CD upends bag into his mouth to dislodge the crumbs at the bottom [TAPTAPTAP SMACK SHAKE RUSTLE]
• 2:14 CD disposes of bag, noisily [CRUMPLE CRUMPLE CRINKLE]

Lord, by now I need a tranquilizer, but the hell that is CubeLand has just begun.

This is a Shutterstock photo of a really annoying and nosy CD (caption dedicated to my blogger friend Birdie!)

Okay, seriously, WTF is that guy doing peeping over the wall of my cube? Oh, yeah. There's ZERO privacy here. Want to have a private phone conversation or talk shit about someone in the office? Good luck, because about 12 people will hear every word you're saying (best to just blog about it so your complaints can be read over and over, as well as shared with coworkers who weren't in earshot).

"Were you just talking about me, Ms. CrankyPants?"

In addition to chewing noises, there are many, MANY other irritating sounds that emanate from the cubes. How about these gems to make your day just that much more annoying?

• Clipping nails (yes, really)
• Receiving text alerts (cute tones OR vibrating)
• Cracking knuckles
• Scratching
• Sighing
• Yawning
• Breathing loudly
• Sniffling (repeatedly)
• Clearing throat (repeatedly)
• Chomping on gum 
• Scraping out the verylastbit of yogurt from a container
• Listening to music (YES, I can hear the tinny noises escaping from your headphones)
• Shifting constantly in a squeaky office chair (for the love of GOD, please get some WD40)
• Snickering at a hilarious cat video on YouTube*

*Have you seen the one where the cats play patty cake? It really is funny and I'd snicker right now if I were watching it.



**I just watched it. I kept the volume low but still loud enough so the fellow in the neighboring cube probably could hear it. And I couldn't help it, I snickered. But I will not clip my nails. Promise.

I Am Not Dead (YET)

Colossally lazy, yes. Dead, no. Not yet, anyway. Although I HAVE been feeling a pain in my left calf that *might* be a blood clot that will eventually travel to my brain and explode. For now, though, I live and breathe. Here's why I've been neglecting the blog and not visiting any of yours:

1. Colossally lazy (covered this already)
2. Days may be numbered (see: blood clot, above)
3. Two fellow editors at my workplace selfishly decided to have babies, leaving me with all of the work. So, SO thoughtless of them
4. MS/cancer/blood clot (or all three)-related fatigue

Those of you with MS who are on a disease-modifying drug (DMD) like Copaxone (which is what I'm on) may be familiar with the following phenomenon: you switch insurance annnnnnnnnnd, suddenly, getting your DMD becomes more difficult than that time a monkey was sent into space (or was it a dog?). I mean, really. My insurance has changed recently for lots of boring reasons, but as has happened Every.Single.Time there's a change of insurance, the new company is taking for-f*cking-ever to get me my meds. I've been completely out of Copaxone for almost two weeks now.

Wee Squeaky says I'm getting punished for adopting that damn third cat.

I've called my neurologist's office. I've called the insurance company. I've called Shared Solutions, which is a resource for people on Copaxone. The Shared Solutions people have helped on several occasions as as I've waded through the dozens of calls required to get my meds after a change of insurance. But the combined power of Shared Solutions and me is not enough. The insurance company drags its heels and insists on authorizations and --oops!-- preauthorizations and calls to specialty pharmacies, which need prescriptions, but wait, they're still waiting on the authorization (or was it the preauthorization?), and they haven't heard from the neurologist, so please call to have him fax the prescription to this number -- no, not THAT number, which we gave you two days ago, but THIS one -- and call us back but of course, sure, we'll call you when we've gotten it; oh, who did you talk to last time? Sorry, I don't see any notes in your file, let me put you on hold for 45 minutes....

It's truly one of the more frustrating, infuriating, and exhausting processes I've been through. And it happens without fail. Why, WHY is it so hard to get the meds we are told we need? I know some people eschew DMDs altogether, but I'm not willing to go that route yet, even though I kind of am by default now. One of the nurses at Shared Solutions said my MS symptoms could flare up during this no-drug period, but so far I haven't had a relapse. I've been feeling the fatigue more than usual. Is it coincidence? Is it because I'm temporarily off the meds? Is it that freaking blood clot? I don't know. Do insurance companies make this so hard because it really IS as challenging as putting a monkey (or dog) into space? Or is it because these drugs are so expensive? In a moment of desperation, I asked someone last week about getting a small supply of injections to tide me over. To get 30 injections -- the smallest dose they could parcel out -- I'd have to pony up $5,000 out of pocket. Ummmm, yeah, hang on while I write that check.

So, I wait. And call. And get put on hold. And get told there is another hoop to jump through. And all I can do, as far as I can see, is call back and then call again and wait and wait some more and hope someone will hurry the hell up.

Why a Magnifying Mirror Is a Huge Mistake

When I was a wee lass, I dreamed of being an astronomer. Then I found out astronomers need to be proficient in math. There went that dream. I still loved learning about the planets and stars, though, and my dad even got an acquaintance of his who worked at NASA to send me some beautiful pictures of Saturn, which I have framed and hung in my office. This is one of them:

Pretty cool, right? Thanks, Dad (and NASA).

You know what else is nice? Those closeup shots of the moon, of dreamy-sounding places like the Sea of Tranquility.

I don't know if the Sea of Tranquility is in this shot, but thanks, NASA, nonetheless!

You know what is NOT nice? Magnifying mirrors. Bear with me a second, because this will all make sense shortly.

You're cruising around through life, thinking you look okay. I mean, sure, you can accept that you're not a supermodel, but overall, not too shabby. In fact, a little like this:

Maybe with a *slightly* shorter neck, but yeah, this looks about right. 

One day, you're at the drugstore buying, oh, I don't know, hemorrhoid cream (BECAUSE YOU READ IT REDUCES EYE PUFFINESS, DAMMIT) and you see one of these:

And looky here! It's the BEST CHOICE OF THE YEAR! 

"Magnifying my face by 10 times? How fantastic!" you think. "I can use it to touch up eye makeup, perform eyebrow maintenance, and examine my freakishly long neck for suspicious moles."

You jam it into your basket, pay for your treasures, and race home, eager to use those suction cups to attach it to your larger mirror. You moisten the suction cups, press the magnifying mirror to the larger mirror, and lean in, eager to begin your examination. The mirror pops off. You re-moisten it, press a little harder, and it slides down about 10 inches. You dry off the suction cups, curse loudly, and smash the mirror onto the larger one AGAIN. You wait 20 seconds. Okay, this time it's holding. You lean in. It falls off.

"G*DDAMMIT!" you shout as you snatch up the miraculously unbroken mirror from the bottom of the sink.

By now you're red-faced and perspiring. But you're going to touch up your eye makeup, by gum! So you take a deep breath and bring the little miracle mirror to you.

"This will work just fine," you murmur, as you check your eye makeup.

Okay, a little smudging at the corners. No problem! You do some touching up and step back to see the effect in the larger mirror. Nice! Looking goooooooooooood.

"Hey," you think -- and here's where things go to hell -- "why don't I take a closer look AT MY ENTIRE FACE?"

Foolishly, you begin navigating the contours of your face with the little mirror and disgusting flaws come into immediate and unwelcome focus. Flaws that are magnified *10 times*. Holy CRAP, what is that hair doing THERE? You snatch up the tweezers for an emergency pluck. OMG, is this eyebrow hair...? YES, it's WHITE! YOU HAVE A WHITE EYEBROW HAIR! You clutch the tweezers in trembling fingers for another emergency pluck. It only gets worse. You will notice you have about 4,983 more zits, age spots, and wrinkles than you thought could even FIT on a human face. Glorious 10X magnification! Your face looks a lot like that closeup of the moon, with the occasional one of these moles thrown in for laughs:

On the bright side, and there's only one positive thing that will come out of this purchase: you can re-do your ruined-from-weeping eye makeup quite nicely now. So there's that.

I can't end this post without a word of warning: do not, under ANY circumstances, use this mirror of horrors to look in your ears or your nose. Such reckless actions will bring you only misery. And you already feel bad enough as it is....

The 5 Types of People Who Visit the Bathroom

My mom (!) told me my last two blog posts (revolting bruises and cat farting) were a bit off-putting, so I've decided to switch things up a bit. They say you should write about what you know, and God knows I am intimately familiar with the bathroom. ("Wait! Mom, where are you going?!") Having MS makes me have to pee approximately 716 times per day. Okay, maybe not QUITE that many, but last Saturday morning, after two cups of coffee and one-and-a-half glasses of water, I went five (5) times in an hour. I know it was exactly five times in an hour, because after each visit, I bellowed to my lucky, lucky husband, "That's the SECOND time...that's the FOURTH time..." until he left the house.

At home, the only interesting people I run into in the bathroom are, well, my husband and me. Oh, and Capt. Nap, who for some peculiar and perhaps best-not-examined reason, likes to skulk behind the shower curtain and then leap out and watch the toilet being flushed. Not sure where he gets this fascination with the bathroom...

At work, I run into lots of interesting people (who probably wonder why I am always in there, but at least I'm not lurking behind doors and racing out to watch the toilets being flushed). How many of the following bathroom patrons do you recognize?

1. The Cell Phone Talker: Really, this one is troubling. I mean, okay, probably everyone has taken their phone into the bathroom for a quick check of Facebook or to send a text ("Hey! Guess where I am?"), but the people who chatter away blithely while others tromp in and out, flushing, slamming doors...I don't get it! What must the receiver of the call think? Behavior Assessment: DISTURBING, with a generous side of WTF? 
2. The Fake-Out Hand Washer: Not to be confused with the No Hand Washer (no explanation needed), the Fake-Out Hand Washer thinks people can't see her through the massive gaps in the doors. Yes, madam, I can totally see you turn on the water for the requisite 4.75 seconds and just stand there, gazing at yourself in the mirror, and then noisily snatch up paper towels and leave. Behavior Assessment: GROSS, and please do not ask to borrow my stapler.
3. The Silent Shitter (SS) (sorry about the language, Mom): This one is a sneaky customer! You stroll into the bathroom and it's quiet. You have the place to yourself. Yay! You choose your favorite stall -- and then you see them: feet under the door across the way. No sounds whatsoever, just feet. You know she's in there, and she knows you're in there, and no one is making a peep. I hate SS! I mean, I appreciate that she's waiting for an empty bathroom, truly, but the utter silence renders me powerless to accomplish my business, because I know she's just WAITING for me to wrap it up and get the hell out of there. Gah! Behavior Assessment: ANNOYING, because I'll have to come back in 10 minutes when she's gone (and there's a 99.475% chance it'll smell bad).
4. The "Oh, I'm Just Here to Blow My Nose/Wash My Hands" Trickster: This is one I've employed dozens of times. It's your "get out of the bathroom" card when, for example, you are stuck in the oppressive, bladder-seizing presence of an SS. If you've blundered into a stall before noticing SS, you need to take some kind of action and then scram. Here's where the fake nose-blow comes into play. If you see SS before you go into the stall, a brisk hand-washing works like a charm. These fake-outs backfire only if you return 10 minutes later and SS is still lurking. Behavior Assessment: PERFECTLY UNDERSTANDABLE, although everyone knows you didn't really come in there to just wash your hands or blow your nose.
5. The Excessive Towel User: I kind of like the environment, so this one bugs me. But there's always that person who, after washing, proceeds to rip 37 paper towels from the dispenser to dry her hands. Really? I get that the towels are cheap and crappy, but I have first-hand (hahaha! Get it?) experience and can say with certainty that two towels will indeed dry your hands. Sure, it'll feel like you're drying them with sandpaper, but that's true of 2 -AND- 37. So how about using 2? Please? Behavior Assessment: IRRITATING, if you are a tree hugger; otherwise, this complaint is no doubt irritating. 

And that's my list. I could go on and on (the Overly Friendly Stranger, the Sullen and Beady-Eyed Stranger, the Mom Coaxing Her Kids into Going Potty), but I fear I may be driving off my more respectable readers. The rest of you, thanks for sticking around, and feel free to chime in with your own additions!

Why I Can't Wear Shorts Anymore

Okay, okay, I suppose I CAN wear shorts, but my advanced age aside, I really shouldn't. And, no, it's not because it's winter here and I'd look positively ridiculous. (Incidentally, you know you're ancient when you see young whippersnappers wearing shorts in the winter, or standing at the bus stop in the rain resolutely NOT holding an umbrella, and think how silly they look.)

But I've gotten off track. Back to why I shouldn't wear shorts. I can best illustrate this via a wee story. I was baking a couple of loaves of bread the other day...

Mmmm, just half an hour at 350 degrees...

HOLY SHIT, THOSE AREN'T TWO LOAVES OF RAW DOUGH! THOSE ARE MY THIGHS!!!!!

Have you reared back from your computer, shouting in disgust and rubbing furiously at your eyes? Let me know when you're back and ready to resume reading. I'll wait...

...................

..................

Geez, it wasn't that bad, was it? Yes? Okay, okay, take your time.

..................

How are you feeling now? Oh, still a little ill? Try a little Pepto Bismol or, if you're inclined, 3 - 4 shots of tequila. Go on. I'll wait...

There, there. It's going to be okay. I won't do that again, I promise.

Oops, I forgot! My bad!

Hahaha - yes, of COURSE I was going to do it again. But that's the last one, really.

Ladies and gents, these horrifying images reveal the "But wait! There's MORE!" bonus you get when on an MS disease-modifying drug like Copaxone. I've been on it for a couple of years now, and so far these revolting bruises are the worst side effect. Don't get me wrong, giving the injections can be painful, and the site afterward is often sore and itchy. (NO, sore and itchy is not how my skin is normally. Stop being rude.) But unattractive and unsuitable for shorts? Yes indeedy. This is, in part, why I love the winter: Long pants. Maybe even long-johns for good measure. And tights. Plus snow pants.

But, come summertime, when I might enjoy need to work in the garden or take a walk, it's hard to not want to wear shorts. Rest assured, though, I'll be keeping my bruised-fruit-like gams covered up. Thank God for those mid-calf length pants that I think went out of style in 2010. I have a closet full of them. You know, because:

Sorry!! 

I Have a Farting Cat

First, I must give credit where credit is due: thank you, gentlemen, from A Beer for the Shower (ABftS), for bringing to my attention the need to address cat farting. In their most recent blog post, ABftS mentioned this off-putting (and HILARIOUS) behavior. Anyone who spends a nanosecond reading my frequently off-putting blog can well imagine that I find the idea of cat farting amusing. And amusing it is...until it's your cat doing the farting.

The fellows from ABftS didn't realize cat farting exists. (They thought it was a myth, like women farting...which IS a myth, by the way.) But I'm here to tell you that one of the following felines is a farter:

Captain Nap? He looks a bit embarrassed, doesn't he? 

Or could it be the oft-maligned Squeaky?

"Haha! I'm farting on your laptop!"

Now hold on. Before you go and blame poor Squeaky, let's not forget the newest member of the family:

Not darling Pepper Anne!?!  

This picture is a CLUE. 

Yes, friends, the adorable Pepper Anne is not only missing an eye, she's also missing her manners. Maybe it's the stress and excitement of a new home, or maybe it's the super-expensive special diet all three cats are on (she routinely horns in on the adult cats' food, which is a $$$ hypoallergenic variety that Capt. Nap needs). Whatever the reason, the cats and I will be having a pleasant conversation, such as the following:

Me: "Squeaky, did you gnaw on that plant?"
Squeaky: "NO!"
Me: "Capt. Nap, is Squeaky telling Mommy the truth?"
Capt. Nap: "No! She's totally lying!"
Me: "Squeaky, is there something you want to tell Mommy?"

And then Pepper Anne will stroll past and leave a horrific odor in her wake. I know it's her because:

1. It wasn't me (remember: women don't fart)
2. Squeaky is now in the Punishment Box* (a Plexiglass container where she stays until she admits she was naughty)
3. Capt. Nap is lying on a sofa halfway across the room

*NO, I don't put my cats in a Punishment Box. 

If I were guilty of ever passing gas, I can see where this cat-farting business might come in handy.

["AAAAAH, Pepper Anne JUST FARTED AGAIN!!! GOD, IT'S DISGUSTING!!!!"]

But since I do not, there's no reason for me to not get to the bottom of this problem and nip it in the bud. So, I've taken her to the vet and duly dropped off a stool sample. Please wish us luck. Cat farting is amusing only when it's happening to someone else.