The Daily Bailey

I was trying to see if I could create a new record for longest span ignoring my blog. I did a pretty good job, no? I've really only come back to promote myself and my brand new Twitter account, that I'll post to religiously until I lose interest in that as well.

check me out @DailyBailey_NY

The Daily Bailey

Now that I've assembled my Pussy Posse, or what I like to call Bailey's 4, it seems that everyone wants in on the action. In order to pull the ultimate con, and escape all of our captors, I suppose it makes sense to assemble a bigger feline field team. Meet the newest members of the now Bailey's 6.

My oldest friend DJ. His mom actually found me on the mean streets and hand picked HER as my caretaker. I harbor no resentment against DJ for that.



And this one is Ruby. She lives with Sam (my wingman), and she definitely has the sinister thing down pat. I will not be messing with either of those two. They will be the muscle of the operation.


I'm currently still accepting applications. Because Bailey's 11 has a nice ring to it....

The Daily Bailey

The winter time is no time to be lonely. It's cold and depressing, and I'm starting to get in a funk. This is usually about the time when tomcats realize the merits of having some sweet pussy to hang around with. The summer is prime prowl time. Now, I could really use some companionship... something a little softer and sweeter to keep me warm than this stupid radiator... or HER. All you men out there are pickin up what I'm puttin down. I gotta get me some lovin...

I need to start socializing, getting myself out there. She keeps telling me about how a ton of her co-workers have recently rescued and adopted cats, like she thinks she started some sort of trend or something... like she's a trendsetter. And joking about how she's going to start a monthly "cat club" where they all get together and tell dumb stories about how cute we are... but we're not even invited. F that. Let me meet these other felines and we'll start our own cat club where we talk about how annoying you humans are. It's perfect... I'll have a wingman...

Sam


and two sweet ladies to romance with my manly charms...

Mia (ME-OW!)

And this one, that has apparently yet to be named, but I'd call her Sweet Lips...

The Daily Bailey

Happy 2011 internet blogosphere friends. 2011 is the year I will finally make my great escape. The Meowshank Redemption. I’ve been planning it for almost 2 years now. I don’t really need to get into my many motivations for this prison break, I believe that you know the injustices that are put upon me day in and day out. The treats that are withheld and replaced with faux love and gay ass nicknames. SHE finally managed to find me a suitable male role model, but then I overheard him talking about having me de-clawed and my little kitten heart broke into a million pieces. F this, I will not be conspired against... In my own house no less. I have rights too... Just ask PETA. The mean streets of NYC aren't as mean as my captors... I am outta here...

I needed a good plan though, especially since I planned to make a break for it while I was staying at The Resort, which may seem free and expansive, but is really more like a kitty prison since I am watched constantly. I decided that I would pull my caper when she least expected it... While she was deep in slumber. I would use a classic move that would be completely undetectable to her. When I arrived at The Resort, I hired a lookalike to pretend he was me. She would look down and think that I was cozy in my cat bed, as I tried to pry the door open and escape. I really thought this could not fail, but alas... while executing my genius plan, she saw the imposter in my bed and started to laugh uncontrollably. Seriously, I get zero respect... that cat looks just like me...

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.

The Daily Bailey

The top three purrfectly wonderful moments from my holiday week at the Resort (in completely random order):

3. Luckily we didn't have to go around the table and say what we were thankful for because I clearly would have said the fresh turkey I was being fed from the table which was in addition to my regularly scheduled calamari dinner feast, or my insanely good looks, deep green eyes, and luscious fur coat. I definitely would not have said HER or the shelter and what passes for love that she provides. At the risk of sounding selfish, the whole thing would have been truly awkward.

2. One of the Resort workers constantly forgets that when I'm visiting, it is not a good idea to leave any kind of food or food-related item unattended. In the span of 5 minutes I taste tested his cereal and a tub of cream cheese. It's always slightly amusing to see his face when he catches me on top of the counter with my nose where it doesn't belong. Hey buddy, you left it out... not my fault.

1. As you can probably gather, I seriously enjoy eating. And when I'm done (begging for more), I like to indulge in some quiet time of licking my chops, fantasizing about more food, and relaxing. I do not like to be tossed in my carry case and put in the car. Isn't there a rule about that? No carry case for a half an hour after you eat? Anyway, not surprisingly I got a little meowtion sick, and vomited all over my carry case. After a couple cheap shots about "ugh this better come out of the Sherpa lining," SHE did seem to look kind of sympathetic (or just pathetic) as she cleaned up the remainder of my entire thrown up dinner. Who's thankful they adopted a cat?

The Daily Bailey

Scene: SHE has a black eye. HE is apologizing profusely. Ice is being frantically pulled from the freezer. I am lounging on the chair looking adorable and not at all at fault.

10 minutes earlier...

He’s really starting to grow on me. Whenever he’s over, there’s a lot better looking food arriving... Not that crap that comes out of the microwave that not even I’d beg for. And we get to watch football instead of dumb girly soap operas. I truly need this male role model in my life and I treasure my testosterone time. It pains me to see him washing her dishes and filling up her water glass. Man up, man, she should wait on you just like she waits on me. In fact, you should demand this treatment father. Are you my father? We are both ruggedly handsome, so I will accept this as plausible. I am willing to share my man of the house status with you if in fact it allows you to be treated with the respect you deserve. Please don’t ever go home, adopt me and stay forever.

Wait... Where are you going?? You are leaving me? Here, with her? I demand that you answer me immediately!! You cannot leave!!! He starts to head for the door and I sprint ahead and plant myself right in front, blocking his way. If I had time, I would have made a sign that said “hell no, please don’t go... Yo,” but alas, the door is opening, as I walk behind it to stare through the slit and make sad cat eyes into the hallway. He acknowledges me and sticks his finger through the slit, which I promptly try to grab with my paw and pull him back inside. He obviously thinks we are playing, but this is not a joke to me... If I could just grab a hold of him... Oooh I think I’ve got you now!!! However he jerks his hand away and it promptly collides with her face as she was bending down to see what was going on. WHACK! She got punched right in the eye!!! Holy Spaghetti and Meowballs, that was amazing. He looks really upset (stop apologizing, she deserved it) as I run away because clearly I’m going to be blamed... And this is not how it went down in my dream of him punching her in the face. However, now he’s coming back inside... So looks like I WIN... As usual. Too bad about that collateral damage... you might wanna consider wearing some dark glasses tomorrow Tina Turner.

The Daily Bailey

Ahhh where does the time go? It’s almost Halloween and I have once again began to research my dress up options. Last year I was a terrorist and as much fun as that was, I’m thinking of going with something a little less inflammatory this year. Something cutesy that everyone loves, because really, last year, I put myself in a situation to receive lots of tricks... And this year, I’m only interested in treats. “And what are you supposed to be little cat??, Oh me? I’m a suicide bomber!!! Give me all of your treats infidel!!!!” You can imagine how well that went over. And since I did have a rough year, in which I unsuccessfully attempted to take my own life, I doubt SHE'd see the humor in that costume. My initial hope was to be a CATerpillar, but I could only find stupid dragon and frog costumes, so instead, I’ve decided to now unveil my 2010 Halloween costume to the waiting masses. I'm going to be a penguin. They are black and white. I am grey and white. They have happy feet. I have four paws. We are both part of the animal kingdom. I mean this thing is precious... Who wouldn’t just melt and hand over all of their treats to an adorable little penguin? This is a foolproof plan. Good luck thinking about anything else the rest of the afternoon.

The Daily Bailey

I’ve never been to church. Really I’ve never been anywhere besides the Palace, Palace 2.0, the vet, and the Resort. I don’t get out much anymore, it’s disappointing. I’m not even sure if church is the place I should be going... If I want to talk to God. I just assumed that my religion was CATholicism... But last year when Christmas rolled around and I desperately searched for a tree to bat ornaments off of, I was told we don’t do that. Confusion set in. I am Jewish? Is this why all of a sudden I’m being called Bailey Avraham, and HE is trying to put some little hat that looks like a frisbee on my head? Look, I don’t care what I am... I just wanted to have a minute with God to confess my sins. I did a bad, bad thing.

A couple of weeks ago when HE was being all babyish laying around with his gimpy ankle, I kinda felt bad. I know it may not have seemed that way from my scathing review of the whole situation, but there was a smidge of pity in my heart. He always gives me craploads of treats, styles me with the most up-to-date and relevant fur-do’s... Like the fauxhawk, and generally doesn’t tell HER all of the bad things I do. So as I sat there making fun of him relentlessly, I thought to myself... Too bad this didn’t happen to her instead. AND THEN IT DID. Ooopsies, did I do that??? The other day was complete deja vu, except the pussy icing an ankle was her instead of him. I really think this is somehow cosmically my fault and I was starting to feel really guilty until he said something about “falling over her own teammate.” God, what a dumbass. Pray for her.

The Daily Bailey

I have received nothing but accolades on my hostile takeover of this blog. It really was a no-brainer and any attempt at pushback would have been met with a swift dismissal. I own you, blog. You belong to me-ow. Not surprisingly it seems that someone in this equation is being a bit of a sore loser and cannot handle the fact the SHE is no longer in demand, and that all the blog fans, the like 2 that she had including HIM, are now screaming my name (but I am not running to them, I don’t do that, I’m not a dog... I ignore them and it only makes them want me more). So recently, blinded by jealousy and rage, she’s decided to belittle me and tear me down through various psychological warfare techniques such as locking me out of my own room (ie, closing the bedroom door in my face) and trying to drive me crazy by magically making a red dot disappear and reappear, all the while laughing and mocking as I chase it relentlessly around the Palace.

When I see that red dot, I become a search and destroy cat killing machine. My mission: triangulate the red dot’s current location, be really stealth, sneak up behind it, POUNCE, and snuff it out. I totally thought this was a foolproof plan at the time of first deployment. There really was no way this could fail. It always works when I jump out of the darkness and attack HER leg... But apparently this red dot is indestructible. I could not capture it even with my feline speed and agility. Must. Kill. Red. Dot.

Get over here dot!

You will not escape me!!!

OOOH I GOT YOU!

Hey, get off my paw!!

This is infuriating!

But I would not give up... Until I was out of breath, needed to rest for a minute, recalculated my attack plan, and struck again. This went on for quite a while. Current status=Red dot:100, Bailey: 0. Sigh, I’m tired now, I would like to catnap in my bed... What is this?! Open this bedroom door immediately woman... Do you hear me??? Meow! MEOW!!!! Me... (sniff sniff) ow?? Cry. I'm sorry I stole your blog...

The Daily Bailey

It seems apparent to me that I have now taken over this blog. It is basically now my blog, since I’m the only one who ever posts. And I should get all of the credit, because I am the man. Isn’t that the way it works in this world? Which is why I am strongly suggesting renaming it. The Daily Bailey. Bailey’s Blog. Meow Memoirs. The New Feline Times. Confessions of a kibble-aholic. Cat Blog. Any of these fine names will do. Anything that is all about me. Everything should really be all about me. I don’t like not being paid attention to. Do you think it’s easy being this cute all of the time? I know I am small, but I should not be overlooked, or ignored, or taken for granted, or pushed aside. Especially not so SHE can take care of HIM. Take care of MEEE! I used to be the man of this house! I don’t care that he “hurt his ankle,” his sad face is not nearly as convincing or utterly adorable as mine. Although that ankle doesn’t look so hot ironman... I hope she doesn’t have to put you to sleep.

HE is getting the king’s treatment. Feet up on the table. Beer. Ice pack. Dinner. Kisses. What happened to you gimpy? Did you trip over one of my cat toys? No? Oh, too bad. Maybe next time. Listen, my paw might not be swollen to 100 times its natural size mr. cankles, but inside... I am in pain. Most likely from witnessing this charade. Hello?! I am over here looking precious on my chair. Where is my compassion? I want dinner (more specifically whatever you are having). I want kisses. I want to go on the table. This is out of control! He wasn’t in the war... He’s just a klutz. I see this game you’re playing male human and I’m onto you. Man up and quit your crying. Stop being a pussy... I am the pussy in this house.

The Daily Bailey

Right now I am lying on my little patch of rug in the direct sunlight, as I make my daily futile attempt at becoming not as white. SHE is so dark lately, and that pool boy she hangs out with looks like mud. Whyyyy am I so white??? I am apparently their child since she always says “Bailey, mommy’s home!!” and when HE comes over he says “Hi Son!” How did I end up with this elderly pallid coloring? So here I lay, taking in some rays. Nothing like sunbathing with the air conditioning on. It’s always pretty cool in the palace that I’ve renamed the Scoogloo. Brrrrisk. She must own stock in the energy company, because she certainly never opens the windows. There’s even a sign that states “Please do not open the windows” for all the strangers who come over and aren’t aware of the mandate. My catsitter thought that was dumb, along with the 400 notes she left him about my likes and dislikes, where my treats are, and how my automatic feeder has to be taped shut because I’m a boy genius. Let’s not tell her he said that.

The window thing is quite a big deal. There are no screens and she’s sure that I’ll end up doing a Superman out of it 10 floors to my impending death. Hence why they are practically bolted closed like a crypt. I think she was slightly offended when HE mentioned that the place was feeling like a tomb, I believe the word was “stale”, and maybe it could use some fresh air. So every night, while I’m relaxing far enough away from the window, she’ll go over and open it while standing in front of it with her arm on the handle. Air pours in, I get curious, start to make my way over to explore, and she immediately shuts it. This is the really dumb game we play all evening. And supposedly I'm the one who has the smaller brain...

The Daily Bailey

Apparently it’s National Take your Cat to the Vet Week. For real. I swear. Who even knew such a thing existed? SHE came home laughing about this the other night, clearly without a card or gift for me in honor of the "holiday"... While she attempted to lure me into my posh carry case... To go to the vet. I could let you believe she’s solely taking me to the vet because it’s the cool thing to do this week, but seeing as I JUST went two months ago, I’ll disclose that I’m being taken because I was having some, uh... Gastro issues. I can’t wait to be held down and told I’m fat and have excessive tooth tartar again.

For this trip she smartened up and had her man friend come help her carry me to the vet’s office. I’ve however smartened up as well, and when I see the case I know there’s a 50/50 chance I’m either going to the vet or the resort, and this time I didn't like my odds. So I ran as far away from the case as possible, only to be grabbed and shoved in there with no compassion for my cute little meows of mercy. The vet said I probably ate something I shouldn’t have (there are such things??), felt up my tummy, claimed I gained half a pound since last time and that my “fat pad” got bigger. Listen bitch, if you keep spewing these lies to my guardian, I will stop partaking of delicious treats. And if you try to stick your finger in my mouth again... watch what happens. What the hell is a “fat pad”? You made that up. Then you charged her $100. Now she’s mad at me and going on about “remember who pays your bills” and “cost as much as this sweater.” Don’t look at me, all I did was have the runs...

The Daily Bailey

I’m still young, even though I’m fast approaching 3 years. I have my whole life ahead of me to follow my calling and find my ultimate destiny. I thought it was going to be feline modeling. I really had my heart set on that. I practiced doing my little turns on the CATwalk, on the catwalk, yea, I shook my little tush. I was too damn sexy for your party with my disco dancing. But it doesn’t seem to be working out, I’m not getting any gigs. My sweet puss face has yet to take over the world. So alas, I must find another avenue to pursue. Like gymnastics. I’ve been sprinting and vaulting around the palace like a 3 foot tall, 65 pound, underdeveloped 14 year old Chinese girl. I was built for this! On the internets it says that gymnastics is “exercises requiring physical strength, flexibility, agility, co-ordination, balance, and grace.” Score! I have all of those things!!!!

I pushed over the garbage can that weighed 6 pounds... Half my body weight.

I can put my hind leg over my head and lick my ass.

I can leap refrigerators in one bound.

I’m a cat.

I’m not so sure about the leotard thing though...

The Daily Bailey

So yes my fine followers, I’ve been a complete slacker for the past 6 weeks. I don’t even really remember what I’ve been up to for all that time, since time really doesn’t register for me. I spend my days chillaxin, eating, and ruining things and really one day becomes another and all of a sudden it’s 6 weeks later and people are mad that I haven’t been sharing the goings on in my 9 lives. Allow me to catch you up.

We got a rug in the palace. I like to scratch it. She yells at me.

I apparently now have this thing called a cat sitter. Some old gentleman who came by to see where my food and box are, identify me as the cat of the house and pick me up and annoy me. He’s kinda lame. He’ll be coming to check on me when SHE’s away... So I’ve been studying some movies called Don’t tell mom the babysitter’s dead, and Home Alone for ideas on how to improve this situation.

I got dragged to the vet. They manhandled me, gave me 2 shots, said I needed to have a “waist” ie, stop feeding me, told HER to try brushing my teeth because I have tartar buildup (I will eat her hand), all the while I pretended to look scared to death and she almost cried.

I was THIS close to devouring a chicken pita she left unattended on the table. Curiously that strange man she hangs out with didn’t seem to care. I think he realized the injustice of me always begging for food and never getting any. Unfortunately mid-bite she spotted me and lost her shit. I got yelled at. Better luck next time.

I found this really cool brown paper bag house. I pretend I live there. Alone. Without her.

The garbage can became really, really heavy and difficult to knock over. Almost like there was a 5 pound weight in the bottom of the can. I actually think there might be. Ever determined, and bored, I decided to do some kitty push-ups and shoot up some FgH (feline growth hormone) and finally succeeded at knocking that puppy over the other day and chowing down on the salmon scraps that were in there. I then promptly threw up all over the entry way... and got yelled at. Are you sensing a theme here?