Idaho News Story Frighteningly Confirms the Fears We All Secretly Have about Our Cats

They want to scratch us all up. Take a break. And then scratch us all up again.

Thankfully, my cat Stella would never do this to me unless she was really hungry or bored, bless her.

This Cat Should Be on the Internet

You know what the Internet needs more of? Cats. Specifically, this ginormous cat who holds down the fort at Bleecker Street Records.

And I do mean "holds down."

93 Cats Just Stone Cold Chillin' at Crazy Cat Lady's New Jersey Home for Feral and Breeding Felines

Proving once again that all the best things happen in New Jersey, WCBS-TV is reporting on a "house of filth" in Chester Township, where 93 cats and one dog were found in a mansion in a million dollar neighborhood and, according to one SPCA person, "The conditions were absolutely horrific - there wasn't one inch of the house that wasn't covered in feces or urine."

I don't see the big deal. Jimmy and I share an apartment that could sometimes be described that way. And our cat Stella is the happiest cat you could ever meet who has a giant bulbous but benign cyst hanging from the side of her head.

Jimmy and I want to adopt the one smack in the middle of the above picture. We love a cat that can do a good hen pose.

My Cat Stella Not Sold on My New TROMSÖ IKEA Loft Bed

Like all gay men, I’m really good with cats. I understand and, in fact, greatly admire their need to sit, stretch, eat tuna directly from the can, wash, throw up, and be left alone. (I remember college.) I also understand their need to sleep on or near your face. My cat Stella is no exception, and for 14 years she has happily arranged herself on my upturned palm as I lay on my side sleeping like an angel. If I should turn onto my other side, she simply tiptoes over my face and arranges herself anew on my other palm. We’re both fine with this. Which explains why she’s a bit put out with the arrival of my new TROMSÖ IKEA loft bed, which stretches to the sky on its 6-foot steel legs.

Now, I’ve always felt that I should be sleeping while suspended in mid-air, so in a way, this new bed is my birthright. Sadly, it’s not Stella’s. She is unable to make the giant leap up into the thinner, warmer atmosphere where my new mattress (and upturned palm) resides, and it is tearing her world apart. If I want her up there I have to place her up there, and once she’s up there she immediately moves to the edge to start planning her escape from planet TROMSÖ. This does not make for a good night’s sleep.

We’ve got to figure this out. My upturned palm is cold and lonely and turncoat Stella’s taken to sleeping in the other room with Jimmy (he sleeps there because I snore, and he can't be dealing with that).

And no, that is NOT a yoga balance ball under the bed. It’s my bowling ball, and its name is Sheila.

Cat Chat: Introducing Princess Chunk

My boyfriend Jimmy has always dreamed of having a fat cat to fuck with. He's been trying to fatten my cat Stella up for the past 11 years to no avail (because of all the vomiting). But this cat, this ginormous mound of fur-covered meat called Princess Chunk, featured on the cover of today's New York Post, is 44 pounds of pure unadulterated joy that already has Jimmy walking into walls with excitement.

The Chunk currently resides at a New Jersey animal shelter and is in need of a home. If not for my fears that the Princess would waste no time in devouring my Stella before turning to me to ask about dessert and a good port wine, I'd be on the phone talking adoption right now. Someone needs to act fast, though. Those malevolent shelter volunteers are putting Chunk on a diet (1 percent milk!) that could compromise her very essence.

Save the Chunk!