Miss Kitty.

When I was 19, I went with my friend Jessy for a weekend visit to her dad's house. He lived about 3 hours south-east in an area of southern California I'd never been to. When we got to Paul and Jan's house, we were greeted by a cat with a fluffy grey mane. She didn't have a name because nobody knew who she belonged to. The story was that one day, the cat came in through the doggy door and none of the dogs did anything about her. Jan was a little nutty and said that the cat would talk to her and tell her stories. The whole thing was pretty comical. And seeing how I've always loved cats, and this cat had no home, it was like we were destined for each other.

Over the span of the two days that we were there, I fell in love with the cat and decided I would keep her. Jessy and I went to a local pet store, we bought a carrier, and the three of us headed home. At the time, I was kind of like a live-in nanny and I'm sure the woman I lied with was probably like "Wtf" when I brought a cat home. Thankfully, she was totally okay with my impromptu plan and the cat stayed.

About a year or so later, during the summer, I moved out of the of family house and into a fraternity house at UCLA. I took the cat, Miss Kitty, with me. Not too long after our move, Miss Kitty went missing. I remember sitting on the disgusting couch in my dorm room, crying on the phone to my mom about how Miss Kitty probably got lost and how she didn't know the area, etc. I felt awful. I walked all around Westwood, looking under cars, calling her name like a crazy person. I ended up finding that damn cat sitting in some girl's apartment window, nice and cozy as I was sopping wet from the rain.

You better believe I knocked on their door and got my cat back.

As time went on, my life took me here and there. When I went back to college, I moved into a dorm where there were no pets allowed. I went backpacking across Europe. I got married. All the while, Miss Kitty stayed with my mom. Mom was always home and they kept each other company. And every time I'd visit, I'd get my Kitty fix. She was always game for dressing up. And she loved talking. Like, nonstop back-and-forth meow sessions. Always full of zest, she was one of those cats that would come barreling down the stairs meowing left and right as soon as she heard someone enter the front door. And her thing as of the last few years was to rub her face on the phone whenever mom was on it. Being on the other end of many of these phone conversations, it sounded like phone was being massaged by a jackhammer. Miss Kitty was always purring. And always trying to get into some unsuspecting person's lap so she could inconspicuously make herself at home.

Look at those magnificent fluffs in motion

Recently, Miss Kitty starting getting sick. Mom had been mentioning the idea of "taking her in." Neither one of us wanted to do it, but we both knew the time was coming. She tried to prolong the inevitable as much as she could. Like when Miss Kitty stopped eating and mom kept her nibbling on baby food. Even though her body was shutting down, we didn't want to let her go.

Today, Miss Kitty passed away.

It's a hard thing to accept when a family pet is no longer there. All evening, there's been a lump in my throat the size of a golf ball. And my face keeps crumpling into a mess of snots and tears. I didn't think I would be so upset considering we hadn't been very close lately. But I think that's actually why I feel so bad. Miss Kitty had turned into a garage-cat over the past several months and I hardly spent any time with her. The last few times I was at mom's house, I didn't even make an effort to see her.

I feel guilty and wish I could go back in time. It's hard knowing I didn't get to say goodbye. And I didn't appreciate my last visit with her. And I didn't get to tell her how sweet she was.

In the end, she passed while being held in mom's arms. I can't think of a better way to go.

I love you Miss Kitty.

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A Funny Story About My Dog.

I know what you're saying.

YES, it's another post about Biscuit. And YES, this blog is supposed to be about food. And YES, I am looking great today.

I'm still a little burnt out from the Thanksgiving fiesta, so I don't really have much to share on the food front.

Which means you get another story about my dog.

And before you get too involved, BE FORWARNED: This story has to do with poop.


On the December 24, 2008 (two weeks after we'd adopted Biscuit), my boss called an in-office meeting even though we all had the day off. It was going to be a short meeting and my coworker Grant and I were both allowed to bring our newly adopted pups.



During the meeting, Biscuit was full of energy. She was only a 2.5 month old puppy, so it wasn't surprising that she spent the hour pulling and tugging and yelping and just being an overall nuisance. I had to put her on a leash because otherwise she would take off running throughout the office or chew up naughty things like the Play Station cords. (I'd like to add- Grant's dog Stella was a total DREAMBOAT and just slept in his lap the whole time. Some dogs should take note (Biscuit, I'm talking to you.).)

My boss, who thought he was a fucking dog whisperer extraordinaire, offered to take the leash so he could demonstrate how to get a dog "under control".

Not long after, Biscuit wandered outside the conference room. Still inside the office suite, but outside of view.

I noticed the slack on her leash wasn't moving. Like all of a sudden she wasn't curious about anything and everything in sight.

Something seemed wrong.

I quietly got up from my seat and walked towards the door to see what she was doing.

That was when I saw it.

She was squatting to take a pee.

After a quick "Oh fuck", I ran to the kitchen to grab the roll of paper towels. I ran straight back and unrolled what I can only guess was about 500 paper towels to soak it up.

As I pressed them onto the floor, making sure to BLOT, not WIPE, I realized something was wrong again. In the split second between realizing "Uh-oh" to when I lifted my head and looked over at Biscuit, I saw the last thing any employee (who actually LIKES their job) wants to see...

Biscuit was positioning up for a shit.

INSIDE.MY.BOSS'S.OFFICE.

I quickly leapt (like an actual leapfrog) from the lesser-important pee spot over to Biscuit.

Somehow in my horrible realization of what was about to go down, I forgot to bring the paper towels with me.

And it was too late to turn back for them.

Because the shit was coming.

Literally. She was shitting.

It was just like in the movies where the main character is looking left and right for something and then at the last second they do something real crazy-like.

Which is exactly what happened.

Because I reached my hands out...

And caught Biscuit's poop.

In my hands.

Hot, steamy, soft-served poop. In my hands. While I'm kneeling in my boss's office.

This was seriously the biggest poop I could have imagined coming out of that little body, because not only was there enough to fill my hands, some turdage also landed on the carpet.

Thankfully, I managed to be hidden behind walls during this whole disaster. And lucky for me, nobody has the image of me sitting on the ground holding hot dog turds on Christmas Eve burned into their memory (like the way it is in mine).

From here, the action wraps up pretty quickly.

I throw the shit out in a trash liner, tie it up tight, and toss it in the main trash. I soak the carpet through with 409. And I burn my hands off in an incinerator.


A few months later, I was laid off due to company cut backs.

I didn't feel so bad about the shit anymore.

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