The Daily Bailey

Meowry Christmas from The Resort. Santa skipped my house apparently, I will be taking this up with the North Pole. Although SHE did remind me that I've been quite naughty this year... better luck next year.

The Daily Bailey

Another day, another punishment. I thought girls were supposed to like bad boys? SHE is apparently the exception to that rule and basically hates me lately. I suppose I deserve it... I broke into the treat cabinet again and devoured a bunch that were housed in some weird Chinese takeout container (meow-goo-gai treats?). But in my defense, I was merely practicing in order to audition for “The Treat-Off”—this reality show HE told me about in which the cat who breaks into the cabinet and eats the most treats first wins! I’m not really sure what I’d win, maybe a lifetime supply of treats... But I partake of those now pretty much anytime I please. I’m only in it for the glory, to hear my name announced as the rightful Treat-Off Champion. Meanwhile she should be cheering me on and getting me trainers to help in my quest, but instead she pointed her finger right in my face and branded me “Worstest cat.” Sticks and stones, Harlot...

Look, I am SO getting on this reality show. Double sided sticky tape, magnets... These are no match for me. I can get in that cabinet anytime I want. And I did again once she went to sleep. I creeped over in the dark, jumped up on the counter, pawed open the cabinet, stuck my nose in to sniff out the treats... But didn’t smell anything. Hold up, where are my treats? I was just in here a couple hours ago, I know they are here. What is this garbage? She moved treatsville? There is nothing in this cabinet except claw clippers and my special cat brush... Neither of which are remotely tasty. I’ve been foiled!! How am I supposed to get on The Treat-Off now?!?! Arrrghhhhhh I’ll get you next time Gadget, nexxxxttttt time...

The Daily Bailey

Holla! It’s my birthday! Or so SHE says, and at least this year she’s told me straight out instead of asking “who’s birthday is it Bailey?? Who’s?” I am 3 years old. As usual, I have received nothing from the birthday grinch, besides a not even overly enthusiastic “happy birthday buddy” when I pawed at her face at 3am to commence celebration. I did however clean up during that other recent holiday and now have tripled my toy stash. So I suppose the only thing I’d really like for my birthday is some respect. In fact, I think I’ll break into song about it... Go Bad Bailey, it’s your birfday...

This palace is mine
You know that’s right
Doin what I want
All day and night

Uh

Well you say stop behave,
And I say screw you
But my friends you have seen nothing
Shut up and clean my poo

Because I’m bad, not Brad
Come on
(really, really bad)
You know I’m bad, not Brad
Meowmore
(really, really bad)
And the whole world has to feed me right now
Cuz I’m hungry once again
Who’s Brad?....

The Daily Bailey

I’ve been grounded now for 2 whole days stemming from TREATGATE. I’m not really sure what the repercussions of this are supposed to be, besides the fact that she keeps inviting HER friends over to rub in my face the fact that I am supposedly not allowed to have any over. Which might seem like a tragic punishment, if I had any friends who ever came over... Or any friends at all. I seem to still be allowed to watch television and stay up as late as I want, so I’m thinking I’ve gotten off pretty easy. Besides the whole vet office sodomy thing.

Unless my punishment is being put on a strict low-treat diet and judged against some stupid drawings of feline body types. I did this to myself really. These increased trips to health care professionals only serve to highlight my love of food and my need to use it as a coping mechanism to deal with being forced to live with her. And I suppose I was the one who opened the cabinet in the exam room, allowing HIM to discover this satanic diagram pictured above that alludes to the fact that I am overweight. Way to make a guy feel bad about himself. I don’t claw out pages from the Victoria’s Secret CATalogues or Men's Health magazine and put them up around the Palace. Next time you’re so sure you’re not going to share your food with me... You might want to glance at those photos and reconsider... Just sayin...

The Daily Bailey

It wasn’t my fault. I just wanted to feel no pain. Specifically hunger pain. I wanted to feel the golden warmth of a full belly... To be in a food coma, not an actual coma. Look, I swear that I did not try to off myself again... I swear. I know that life is precious. Life is like a box of treats.

Although apparently my breaking into a cabinet above my head, getting a hold of a bag of Pet Naturals of Vermont Hairball treats (see above) and eating 40-43 of them was of some slight concern to her. At first I simply got a serious scolding while HE went to buy contraptions to lock the cabinets so I can no longer have access. However while Bob Vila was gone, she examined what was left of the treat bag and started to freak out. From what I gathered, it said something about an accidental overdose. My full stomach was making me really tired, and she kept yelling at me to “WAKE UP... Don’t close your eyes.” And then the treats hit the fan.

Next thing I know I’m at an animal hospital being sodomized by a vet tech who thought she was serious when she said my name was Bailey, Bad Bailey. He actually scribbled that down on my intake sheet. The emergency doctor was confused and thought my name was Brad, but after we straightened that out, he agreed that Bad Bailey would be a totally bad ass name. So a bad ass I decided to be. While awaiting my diagnosis from a consult with poison control, I tried to open all of the cabinets in the exam room to see if any stray treats were left laying around.

$261 and some fluids injected underneath my skin later, I’m on my way home to jump up on the counter and see what other treats are in the cabinet. Wait, what did she say? I’m grounded and being enrolled at the Huntington Learning Center for degenerate felines? But, punishment doesn't work and I said I’d do better. Ugh FINE saying it and doing it are indeed two different things. If I do it, can I get a treat?... Too soon?

The Daily Bailey

As I was pacing around in the dark tonight dreaming of being free and waiting for HER to bother coming home to feed me, the greatest thing in the entire world happened. HE arrived instead, without her. The door opened, I stuck my face right there and almost got crushed by the opening door as usual, and like out of a dream, I looked up and there he was boasting "HI BUDDY!" DAD! Is it really you? Where’s the wicked witch of the west side? Did you finally pour water on her? Oh Dad! What should we do? Well first let’s eat. Please be sure to give me a man’s portion... A manly man’s portion. Not those girly ass portions she always gives me that I devour in one bite. I want to seriously eat until I feel sick, then for you to rub my fat belly like a buddha.

What else is on our MANgenda? I would very much like to misbehave. And I think you would condone and/or encourage that. Can I do some catnip? Drive a car? What’s this you are offering me, alcohol!? Did you just say we could call some “alley cats” to come over and party with us!? You are the cat’s meow! Bros over hos! Scooters over hooters. Bail over tail. Kitties over titties. Pussies over... Wait nevermind.