Hey yo! It’s Doug E. Fresh! She has been keeping me from my adoring fans and I am so sorry, that just ain’t cool, amiright?

As a reminder, here is my beautiful Chick Magnet being:

Here are some updates for all the interwebs people that love The Doug:

• My belly is broken. I have no idea what that means but i’m guessing it  has something to do with the fact that I used to eat great food (and throw it up) and then I ate food that tasted like cardboard (and did not throw up) and then I moved up to a slightly more favorable food and yeah, throw up. The people at the shiny floor facility said I cannot eat the cardboard long term, and well YEAH, no sh!t, it tastes like butt. No wait, butt tastes good, it taste like cats. Because I hate cats.
• Speaking of cats, I guess she thought Bob #2 was dead but now he is alive and since he started coming back to see her again she is all like ‘oh Bob, I love you so much, here you go, have the best food ever made because you are the greatest…’. Just stop. I live INSIDE the house and eat cardboard and he lives outside WHERE STUPID CATS BELONG and he gets food flown in on a private jet from Fancy Catville. Don’t ask me how I know it’s delicious, I just do. Also, cat food makes me throw up too.
• When I come down the steps in the morning I go top speed, miss a few, ram by beautiful body into the island stools and keep on running, all day long. She calls me Mr. Lunatic. Then, at 7pm when I try to go to bed and I have to take one step at time and go slow-poke-mode, she calls me Grandpa Joe. She is dumb. My name is Doug.
• She is not all terrible. She takes me for rides to nowhere, I am pretty sure she does that just to make me happy. But then sometimes she takes me to the ER shiny floor vet because of all the throw up and those are the moments I find her less desirable as a s’mother. She should only be allowed to take me for rides to Starbucks and to see my soulmate, Grandpa.
• I’m on a die. What? It’s not called die? I think I’d know what it’s called and also because I MAY DIE IF YOU DON’T START FEEDING ME MORE. (Apparently, it’s Diet. I think the ‘t’ might be silent though).
• She was supposed to go a concert in tex’s ass and, huh? That is so how you spell it. Tex’s ass. Texas is not a word, stop. Anyway she was supposed to go to a concert and I got sick so she stayed with me. She is not all bad.
• I take that back, she is horrible. She has forgotten to feed me today. What the frick? She said someone wants to photograph my beautiful belly but what does that have to do with her STARVING ME? What is the hotline number for s’mothers who don’t feed their dogs and then brazenly EAT BREAKFAST IN FRONT OF THEIR EYEBALLS AS EXTRA TORTURE?

I cannot continue this post as I am about to pass out from hunger…

The Doug.

There are a million different ways that love is hard. For me lately, it’s keeping Bob and Doug healthy and safe.

Bob.

Loving a feral cat is complicated. There should be a support group. Hi my name is Tracey and I love my feral cat, but I’m also a control freak so my inability to control Bob’s movements and life’s journey drives me nuts. 

We had a polar vortex. Doug would barely go outside, hell, I barely went outside. But then there is Bob, stuck outside. No matter how much I insulate both condos, or how much food I put out, Bob is on his own out there. I crack the garage door and put food just inside in hopes he is brave enough to come in and realized the garage his heated. The food is always there when I go to check if this worked.

I lay in bed thinking and worrying about Bob. Mostly just due to that lack of control factor. Thankfully, Bob shows up after every thaw, so he must know what he’s doing. Any time I can catch him near the house, I always go put wet food out. He devours it right away. Wet food, is my new form of control. To ensure he always comes back to us.

Doug. 

Doug has started drifting out of my control area as well. When it came to Melvin’s health, we had a list of things to do. That included a list of medications for me to provide for him. And some of it was trial and error but we knew the issue (allergies and colitis) and we responded accordingly. And Jake, he had a shit-ton of issues, but they were all definable challenges that I was able to match with a joyful solution. Control at it’s finest.

The only time I didn’t have control over their health, was at the end. That’s just how the end goes.

Doug is hard to keep weight on. There is currently one food in the universe (that we know about) that doesn’t give him the poops. Once or twice a month he will throw up at night (for 2-3 nights), and then not again for a 2-3 weeks. What he throws up is not normal. From a scent perspective.

Oh excuse me for not throwing up lilies and sunshine.

We recently re-did blood work on him and his liver and cholesterol levels came back very low. Very, very low. So we did x-rays, and ultrasounds. Both came back fairly normal which was great because ‘liver failure’ was being thrown around a lot and if that’s what it was going to be we’d figure it out but also, universe, please just stop. We’d like to decline liver failure if possible.

I’m with (s)mother on this one, no thank you liver failure, take care now

So here we are. Blood work metrics too low to suggest it’s nothing. But we’ve ruled out a lot of somethings. Also, the last liver ultrasound I went through was the day that we found out Melvin had cancer so it was nice to hear the words ‘liver looks good’. Always, whenever possible, balance bad juju with joy. It’s life changing.

So I guess next we consider scoping Doug’s digestive track. Believe it or not, NONE OF MY DOGS HAS EVER HAD SCOPE! We have a found a test that has gone untested in this house. Pure cray.

I predict my insides will look very sexy

We will keep you posted! xoxo

Yo, ya, yeeeeeee! It’s me, Doug! I’m taking over today cause the (s)mother had shoulder surgery and her arm smells funny so she can’t blog. I don’t know if that is true or not cause I love me some fake news so the truth can suck it!

Whoa, I have been very busy. Swamped. I need an assistant. I traveled to a far away land to visit my grandparents (she said they live an hour away in the same state but I age in dog years and this is my story to tell so shut it…). My grandparents wanted me to visit because they love everything about me and it had nothing to do with her having surgery. They came to pick me up and it just happened to be on the same day she needed a ride home from the hospital.  Good grief she’s needy.

Any who, they picked me (us) up and we went to their enchanted castle and they all just kept saying DOUG! OH DOUG! DOUG, YOU HANDSOME DEVIL! DOUG!!! (She will say they were screaming DOUG – NO! but she was loopy so she does not know).

I snuggled with Grammy, I went on walks through majestic forests with Grandpap, Great Grandma Betz snuck me food. I don’t even know if my (s)mother was there the whole time or not because the entire visit was all about me and my family wanting one-on-one Doug time. To be honest, I really just live for moments with Grandpap. Every night they would lock me in the room with her (and her weird arm) and I would do something that I have never done before: cry. I would cry if I heard my grandfathers voice and she would laugh and say ‘grandpap needs a break’ and I would say SHUT UP YOU’RE DUMB!

On the 4th day we were there, I woke up to the most glorious smells. Turkey. Pie. Gravy! I was in a scent coma and assumed that Grandpap had made some delicious feast to celebrate that he had decided to adopt me so we could spend the rest of our lives together. Oddly, I didn’t get a single bite of that dinner. In fact, I had to spend time in a condo because there was a teeny tiny person there and she said I am not approved for children under the age of one. I don’t know what Thanksgiving Day means to you but for me it was scent torture and exclusion.

We are back home now. Boooorrrrrrrrrrrrrrrringggggggg. It’s weird because my dog walker comes everyday but (s)mother is here also. I guess her weird arm doesn’t want to walk me anymore since apparently I was the reason she had to have surgery. Everyone always blames Doug!

What else, what else? I had a birthday! We took some treats and beds and toys to dogs at the county jail. What? That wasn’t a jail? There were cells with concrete floors and the dogs were in the cells no softness. What do you mean that is where they live!??? We need to get them out of there! No, I don’t want them to come here but they need to go to someone’s home to be loved on like I am!

I somehow may have agreed to let her TRY to find a second dog and I somewhat promised to be as nice as possible to those she deems worthy to meet me. I mean, I cannot stand the thought of dogs in that jail situation. Ugh, I’m always having to ‘do the right thing’. It’s exhausting.

Anywho, I’m pretty exhausted from doing all the Christmas decorating so I’m heading to nap. I’m supposed to tell you that my cat brother Bob is doing great but that dude is not my brother and I am not going to give any updates on him during my blog time.

Peas out. Doug

I don’t even know where to start this update.

Bob, the cat that I named before I knew HER gender, is my (well is she really anyones?) feral cat. You’ll recall she was trapped this past spring and I got her fixed at my vet. I put food out for her every night and on occasion we’d run into each other and she’d hiss at me.

I would see Bob around here and there, but never consistently.  Until a month or two ago, when I’d see her every day and the food bowl would be empty each night.

The other day, I got a good look at her and well…now I think there are two Bobs. The new Bob, which I call Bob #2 looks exactly like Bob #1 except that Bob #1 has two eye patches and Bob #2 only has one. Clearly, the numbering of Bob and her eye patches could use some work.

I have heard that good food can change a cat’s coat and coloring but I’m going to go out on a limb and say that it cannot erase an eye patch.

I do not know where my life with Bob #1 ended and my life with Bob #2 began. I also, again, do not know Bob #2’s gender.

I’m more than a little worried about Bob #1.

When we trapped the original Bob, it was suspected that she had more kittens than what we found on my neighbors porch. It was likely (unfortunately) that she got trapped before all her kittens were accounted for. My guess is, this may be one of Bob’s kittens.

I do not have any plans to trap Bob #2. I really hope she is a dude.  And gay. (no babies down this path in case you cannot keep up with my logic).

Regardless.  Bob #2 is eating great food, has a condo in my driveway and Doug hates her/him so they are definitely siblings also.

The universe can stop sending me cats at any time now.