A Day And Night In The Life Of Pussy

Today we're handing over our blog to Pussy, the cat who counts one of our supporting characters in Same Time Tomorrow as her personal servant. Enjoy!

7:40 AM. My servant, otherwise known as Dana, is on her way out the door to a place she calls work for the day. Most disappointing. Why can't she stay home and worship me instead? She bids me goodbye for the day, giving me a scratch behind the ears and saying, "I've got a date tonight, Pussy."

Two things. First, oh, wonderful. She's bringing that idiot Jack home. This will not do at all. Second, why on earth does she persist in calling me the same thing she calls one of her personal favourite body parts? I could tell her my real name if ionly she could understand my language. (For the record, my true name is Isis. Yes, I am a feline goddess.)

Oh, well. I've got the loft to myself today. Too bad I can't open windows, but the servant seems to think a cat wandering New York on her own isn't a good thing. So unfortunately those birds that stop on the balcony will have to remain so close... but oh, so far.

9:00 AM  I love the full-length mirror in my servant's bedroom. I can admire myself for as long as I please...and admiring myself pleases me immensely. I am so very beautiful, as all Siamese cats are. I find myself purring at the sight of my own spendid image....

12:10 PM. Help myself to more of the meal left behind by the servant. Kibbles and canned meat are rather beneath me. This is something I must discuss post haste with the servant, but she'll most certainly be busy with that buffoon instead this evening.

1:15 PM. Ah, the servant left something more appropriate on the kitchen counter. Ah, beluga. I don't see that around here very often...and in such a pitifully small amount. Oh, well. Better than none at all.

2:20 PM. Beginning to engage in lengthy procedure of bath. It would go much quicker if I was just in a tub rather than licking every bit of myself I can get at, but we cats don't like getting wet, and the tub is a place of ultimate drenching. To be avoided at all costs.

2:30 PM. I can see the balcony of the apartment in the next building. The cat who lives there is a truly beautiful creature. Persian. Almost as lovely as myself.

Oh, no...his servant has that not so lovely creature with her. Why do young women fornicate with such homely old men? I suppose it has something to do with that emerald necklace she's wearing.

Oh...that's all she's wearing! She's down on her knees in front of him. He's naked, too. He looks like that Jabba the Hut character from Star Wars.

Is that some form of worship she's giving him?

3:15 PM. Crow lands on balcony outside, staring in at me. I hiss and growl. Oh, for just one moment to charge out there and get my teeth on that bird! What's a cat got to do to get their own way? Crow makes noise, as if it's taunting me. Stupid bird.

3:20 PM That bloody crow is laughing at me!  If I could get this window open, you wouldn't be laughing for long!

5:55 PM. Wondering where the servant is. Will she be back after work, or is she heading out on her date straight off? And if so... what about my dinner? Servant Dana, clearly you have your priorities messed up. This is one of the many things we must discuss.

6:30 PM. Hungry again. Unfortunately, there's none of that wonderful caviar left.

I think I'll go shred my servant's new silk nightie. Let's see how she likes that....

7:45 PM. Pacing back and forth, annoyed. Servant still out on date. Why on earth does the servant need to engage in a social life when she has me to attend to? This will not do.

I wonder if she's going to engage in activities involving fornication. She tends to put on Barry White music to get her in the mood. If I hear The First, The Last, My Everything from the stereo tonight, it's because she wants to get lucky.

8:00PM. The phone is ringing. Doesn't the caller know I'm here alone? Do they expect me to answer it? If I could, I would tell the caller what to do with themselves. The stupid ringing is annoying. I'm trying to take a nap....

8:35 PM. Still no sign of the servant or her boyfriend. Have not been much impressed with this Jack person. Seems rather dimwitted, if you ask me, and I assume you are asking me. And it might just be my impression, but I think he's hiding something. My servant really ought to show better judgment in whom she socializes with.

9:30 PM. Ah, finally...she's home. Unfortunately, she brought him with her. The dimwit. What does she see in him? As humans go, he's one of the more inferior of the species.

And he completely ignores me! How dare he!

Uh oh... she just put Barry on. The bass voice is starting up. Dana's getting that look in her eyes...

10:15 PM. Watching the servant and Jack making out, as the humans put it, on the couch. His hands are all over her, and she seems to like it. Wondering how long it'll take them to get out of their clothing and upstairs.

Estimated time, anywhere from five minutes to twenty. Depends on if she wants foreplay.

10:30 PM. Fifteen minutes and he's still going. I jump up on the desk for a better view and find myself next to Dana's vibrator.

Why does she need this beast when she has a perfectly good vibrator, anyway?

And she just put new batteries in it yesterday....

10:45 PM. Perched on desk in bedroom, watching. Dana is being groped and caressed by Jack. Both of them are moaning as if they find this pleasurable. She straddles him, and he puts his... thingie, inside her. She seems to like it. I don't know why.

Strange, but for some reason, I can't look away.

11:00 PM. Why, oh why, do I keep watching? It must be like humans with a traffic wreck.

They say they're compelled to watch accidents.

Jack could definitely qualify as a wreck....

11:10 PM. Watching the servant and the dimwitted boyfriend lying in bed together. He looks up, seeing me at last sitting on the desk. He asks if I've been watching the whole time. Dana tells him I'm something of a voyeur. Dana, my tendency to watching your mating habits does not make me a voyeur. Even if I'm purring.

11:25 PM. Jack's cellphone is ringing in his pants pocket. The ringtone

sounds like a toilet flushing. It's his...WIFE!

He has a wife? Oh, this ought to be good....

11:30 PM. Much anger and accusation from the servant at Jack. She finds herself outraged at his deception about being single. Well, Dana, you do realize I've felt he was keeping secrets? This is what you get for not listening to your kitty.

Jack tries to explain, claiming it's not that big a deal. Dana looks like she's ready to kill him. She orders him out, and he finally gets dressed and goes. "Men!" Dana says with a snarl of disgust. Yes, I know, Dana. I tried to tell you, but would you listen?

Midnight. Dana gives me something she brought home in a... doggie bag? She's giving me food meant for a lowly dog?

I'm all set to refuse it when I realize it's swordfish.

No way will I ever refuse some well-prepared swordfish.

And since Dana no longer has an appetite....

Without A Word: Wedding Jitters

The first in an occasional series of (mostly) wordless blogs, where we find something suited to our genre that's funny, enlightening, or sexy, and let it speak for itself! Enjoy!

The International Intruder Sits Down With A Rat Bastard

Today, we're going to turn the tables on one of the sleaziest paparazzi to ever stalk a celebrity. Jeremy  Hayward has been in the business of stalking, harassing and embarrassing celebrities for the past ten years.

You make that sound like a bad thing.


Thank you for agreeing to talk with us today, Jeremy. You've become something of a legend in your, uh, profession. How did you get started? What made you decide to become a sleaze--I mean celebrity photographer?

Oh, the pay. I'd like to say I was in it for the responsibility, but come on... there is no responsibility in this line of work.

You realize you can make a whole lot of money getting pics of a star in a compromising position? You can blackmail them if it's really embarassing... or you can sell it to the Enquirer, the Star, or even to that rag you work for. Whoever's paying the most.

 I heard you were unable to make it as a serious photographer....

Define serious.

Look, every once in awhile I've tried the so called respectable route, but let's face it, that's just full of self righteous idiots and jerks who look down their self righteous noses at real talent like me. Who wants that sort of thing?


Is it true you once photographed Jennifer Aniston and Vince Vaughn having sex?

You've heard about that, have you? My reputation preceeds me!


How did you do it?

Well, that was kind of hard to get done. See, the thing is I had to climb up in one of those sequoia trees near the place where they were staying. During a rainstorm, with a telephoto lens. I got into a squabble with one of those environmental activists who thought I was working for the lumber industry when she saw me start climbing.

Long story short, I got up high enough to see their chalet, and that beautiful telephoto lens worked its magic. It's as if I was right outside the window. And I caught everything.  I mean everything. She was on top of him on the bar counter, riding away, throwing her head back when she had her happy moment. By the way, she's got a strange birthmark on her butt, and Vaughn has a really bizarre tattoo on his...

That we don't want to know.

His foot! What did you think I was about to say?

I managed to negotiate a whole lot of money out of those two not to publish the pics.

I've heard you also got nude photos of Paris Hilton and Kim Kardashian. Is that true?

Yeah, but let's face it, every paparazzi worth their salt has managed to photograph those two naked. There's a glut of naked Paris and naked Kardashian pics out there on the market. Well, not the two of them naked at the same time, and engaged in certain activities that might score me a big payday from the adult entertainment industry.


Do you ever get so turned on in such situations that you lose focus? Pun intended....

Well, during that whole photo shoot with Jen and Vince, up in that tree, I nearly slipped at one point while they were going at it a second time. Like I said, it was raining, the tree branches were wet... just caught myself in time... or I wouldn't be here today.

Fortunately there are plenty of pretty young interns at gossip rags who are always eager to help me... work off getting worked up, so to speak. Know what I mean?

Did you really hide in Kristen Stewart's trailer on the Twilight set to get the first photos of her with Robert Pattinson as a real-life couple?

I'd like to take credit for that one, really I would, but I can't. A guy I know was responsible for that fiasco of broken condoms and sparkles all over the trailer. 

I was busy that night trailing Miley Cyrus. She was on a pub crawl. Her boyfriend kept rolling his eyes and trying to convince her to go home. I'm amazed he's still with her, by the way. You'd think her giving him a penis cake on his birthday would have been the last straw. Anyway, long story short, I caught the picture of Miley throwing up on Mickey Rooney.


Is it true that Justin Bieber beat you up?

All he did was shove me. And busted my camera. He hits like a girl, to be honest. I'd have hit him back, but I'd rather sue the little cretin for everything I can get for assault and emotional distress, whatever I can con a judge into buying. All I have to do is find a judge with a teenage daughter. Then I'm home free. Any judge like that would automatically have an inbuilt loathing of Bieber. I'd better do it fast, because word on the street has it that his manager is stealing every cent out of his accounts. Don't tell anyone I said that.


How many times have you been assaulted by your targets?

Let's see, I've had wine thrown in my face, gotten slapped one or two or three hundred times, depending on how you define slap. I've had pictures and dishes thrown at me... incidentally, that's how I got this old scar on my chin. Let's just say that Britney Spears has a mean throwing arm when she's tossing a plate. I've been run down by Mel Gibson once, went flying over his car hood, but that guy's got a temper problem. I've been beaten up by Tom Cruise's hired muscle. Someone that short has to have someone else do that sort of thing.

I once went a bit too far photographing the daughter of this drug kingpin. Next thing I knew I was tied up in this warehouse, they were beating the crap out of me, and they were threatening to cut off the most valuable part of my anatomy. I'll tell you, if it wasn't for the DEA and the Columbian army turning up at the last possible minute, I wouldn't be here today. Certainly not in one piece.

I probably shouldn't have mentioned that one.

Of all possible targets, who among those you haven't yet photographed would you like to catch off guard?

Good question. I've got several on my to-do list.

I'd like to set that Tebow guy up. Make him look less like the sanctimonious momma's boy he passes himself off as. Maybe arrange a Tebow and Kardashian encounter. That'll wipe the self righteousness off his face, wouldn't it?

I'd like to catch Lady Gaga without the makeup and the whole crazy getup thing she does. Even if it's not a Lady Gaga naked shot.

And of course the holy grail of tabloid shots. Hillary walking in on Bill Clinton having sex with Ann Coulter. On top of the original Star Spangled Banner.


One last question: how did you get the nickname Rat Bastard?  

Clearly my reputation, once again, preceeds me.

Let's just say that one of my more... respectable exes coined that term, and had enough contacts in the industry to make it stick. She just couldn't keep up with someone as fast paced as me. Her loss.

Oh well. It's not the worst thing I've had said about me. That Columbian guy, right before the DEA put two rounds in his head, said I'd be maggot food. Now really, what kind of manners is that? Telling that to the guy you've had beaten up and threatened to cut off... the boys, so to speak?

I probably shouldn't have said that.

Thanks for sitting down with us today. It's been.... enlightening.

You're welcome. You want to go out to dinner? I'll tell you more tales from the front lines.

I wouldn't go to dinner with you if you were the last person on Earth.

Was it something I said?