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My First BLOG by Chewie K9

My First Blog . . . Sounds like something I should lick off the floor!

January 25, 200-

Old and crotchety and in my waning years, I've been forced to move to the desert near Phoenix. I used to like chasing other dogs, riding in the car, long walks on the beach - but now I'm so full of arthritis all I have left is giving advice. Well, that's what I call it. All my friends say, Stop telling me what to do!

Sometimes I allow the human I live with to write about human-ee things, as she doesn't feel I'm in tune with how humans act. If you ask me, humans are a real bunch of crybabies. Whiners! Get a job!

Oh Where, Oh Where Has My Little C.A.T. Gone?

January 27, 200-

Today was the final episode of the Mystery of Smokey the C.A.T.

Sailor had gone under the house for a little R & R, (Research and Remove) and brought out what appeared to be a turkey leg with toenails. He deposited it ever so sweetly at the back door for the humans to admire, but you would have thought he crapped all over the place! Hell, they're never appreciative of a good, smelly bone! Well, I found a charcoal briquette and made a crude drawing of it (my choice of medium since they took the Polaroid away from me) - it was a good thing too, 'cause as soon as I drew the last toenail it was whisked away and thrown in the 'forbidden goodies' bin! Humans are such party poopers! Spoilsports! Get a job!

Maybe I should back up here a bit. The Mystery of Smokey the C.A.T. began the day of the BIG STORM. Ever since we moved out into the middle of Armpit Acres, Arizona - where every day's a sunny day - rain is a real treat, especially when it's mixed in with a big dust storm fresh off the Sahara. The morning began by frowning fiercely! A cold, sharp wind had set in motion waves of huge cacti while big, black, ominous rain clouds moved in and targeted the TV reception. My favorite show was on, too! Zap! Poof! Yeah, everyone should have satellite! Well, anyway - soon we were having a storm to rival a Gulf Coast hurricane.

Now Smokey used to be a big, fat, tub of C.A.T. lard, but I think he got cancer, because in the past month he'd dissolved into nothing but skin and bones. He had a foul odor and rheumy eyes and he told me that, as an invalid, he should be able to live in the house - formerly forbidden territory. As decrepit and sick as he was, he would sneak past my human in a flash! The back door had to be open only a fraction of an inch - and zoom! He would be inside and down the

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