Several readers have expressed concerns re: Max's whereabouts.
Poor Max. He is fine. And to prove his fineness, we had a little photo session in our bathroom this morning, because that's exactly the sort of classy operation we run here.
He's a liar. Also smooshable and purry.
He's finally at a healthy weight, and it only took eight years of dieting. And a little help from Ceiba, who figured out that Max likes to take two or three bites of food, go poop, then return and eat the rest of his meal. EVERY TIME.
And no matter how many times he returns from the litter box to an empty bowl, he will not alter his poop schedule in the slightest. Then he eats Ceiba's food instead. I vaguely remember a time when I used to give a shit, but at this point it's hard to even care whether it's Noah or Ceiba who actually eats Noah's waffle, and seriously at this point I am ready to throw all of their food into a big trough every morning and let them duke it out.
Puppy made it through the move intact, and I still hear Max singing to it every morning. MRRREOW, REEEOWWW, EEERRROW.
It's not great, cat, but he does his thing and gets points for his beautiful spirit and soul.
Yes. You can has headscritch. But you cannot has cheezburger.
(By the way, does anybody else think that site should be required reading for anybody who is all gung-ho about Web 2.0 and user-generated content, because BEHOLD WHAT THE USERS GENERATE! LOLCAT ARMY! God, I love it.)