Category Archives: Catblogging

Friday Catblogging: On The Job

Private eye Paul Drake turns psychic investigator. Not really: the specter you see is Dr. A taking this picture.

Friday Throwback Catblogging: Cat Hat

Let’s set the dial on the Wayback Machine to 1999. Here’s a picture of your humble blogger with our 6-pound torti, Window, on my head.  It beats the hell outta being an Insult Comedian with a dead nutria pelt atop one’s head.

Holy stupid human trick, Batman.

Don’t try this at home. It’s not for amateurs.

The last word goes to Lyle Lovett:

Friday Catblogging: Hoser

We borrowed a wet-vac from a friend. Paul Drake has gotten attached to it.

Friday Catblogging: The Two Paul Drakes

First came The Two Mrs. Carrolls. Then, The Two Jakes. Now it’s time for The Two Paul Drakes:

Friday Catblogging: Well Groomed

Dr. A and I are still blue after losing Della Street. She recently texted me some pictures of the krewe of cats named for Perry Mason characters that I had not seen. This snapshot was taken last January:

Tuesday Catblogging

Slade is such a ham (figuratively, as well as in actual proportion) that sometimes I forget to take pictures of Ada, who sleeps in this kind of mollusk position, feet daintily pointed and back perfectly curled:

[photo: Calico cat curled up asleep on a blue couch]

Friday Catblogging: Missing Miss Street

It’s been a month since we lost Della Street. I miss her dirty looks and imperious bearing. The look on her face in this box picture says it all:


I Come To Bury Barry, Not Praise Him 2

Barry was a non-event in New Orleans. We did not have a “big blow” like the storm in Key Largo, which is my favorite hurricane season movie. Hence the featured image.

Barry was such a nothing burger for us that we didn’t even watch Key Largo. When it came time to view a classic film, we went with Sunset Boulevard. Unlike our past cats, PD had never seen it. It was time to correct that oversight.

Speaking of Paul Drake, here’s some bonus catblogging:

What Barry was in New Orleans was boring. There were some major rain bands to our west and east but they bypassed us. We were lucky but anyone who follows the Euro forecasting Model had an inkling of what Barry would be like in the Crescent City. We had much more rain last Wednesday.

The only entertaining thing about Barry was the national media coverage. Any time a storm *may* hit New Orleans, they’re like a dog with a bone and fixate on us. It was the story of a lifetime for many in the MSM and they’re eager to repeat it. We are not.

My friends Kevin Allman and Lamar White Jr. both wrote pieces scolding the MSM. Thanks, y’all. My phone and social media feeds blew up on Friday and Saturday with people thinking we’d die if we didn’t evacuate. I informed them that we were bored instead of scared.

After Friday’s post, my contribution to the online dialogue was this tweet:

As to the second point, WDSU has a weatherperson who is famous for freaking out whenever there’s a storm in the Gulf. She’s obsessed with people having an ax handy just in case they’re stuck in the attic and have to chop their way out. Pondering her past antics led to another Shecky tweet:

It’s back to what passes for normal in New Orleans. I guess it’s time to catch up on the national news, which I skimmed over the weekend. To distract attention from the Jeffrey Epstein scandal, Trump was a racist asshole again. The MSM falls for it every time.

The last word goes to Roxy Music:

Yeah, I know, Neil Young wrote the song:


Friday Catblogging: PD Abides

Paul Drake had a serious flea problem until a vet friend of ours stopped by, gave him a anti-flea egg shot, and slathered his neck with a magic ointment. He’s feeling much better.  As always, PD abides.

Friday Catblogging: Every Day Is Boxing Day For PD

Rumor has it that Paul Drake likes boxes. I’m not stretching the truth in confirming those rumors. The only stretching in this post is by the boy himself.


Sunday Catblogging: Lard Edition

Ada could care less about them but sunbeams are Slade’s one true love and he’ll loll about in them all day long.


Friday Catblogging: Solo Artist

Paul Drake is used to being in a band As a solo artist, he’s alternately needy and aloof. He has a new hobby that we call “knocking shit off” various surfaces. Della Street thought she was a big cat and PD thinks he’s small; hence the inadvertent minor damage.

Here he is after knocking some water bottles off the tower of terror:

Friday Catblogging: Peek-A-Boo PD

Many people have asked how Paul Drake is doing, so here’s an update. In addition to searching for his missing big sister, he’s been somewhat depressed and withdrawn. Last Monday, Dr. A and I were angry at our vet’s support staff and he picked up on it. Empathy thy name is PD.

He was so upset that he sought comfort in his litter box. Cats find the scent of their own urine comforting when they’re stressed. Go figure. We’ve tried harder to mask our feelings since then and he’s bouncing back. We’re spending as much time as possible with him and it’s starting to help. Poor dear.

He’s also sought comfort in boxes. Anyone surprised?

The last word goes to Robert Cray:

Thank You

I’m not sure if I’m going to be up to writing today. We’re going to the vet and making arrangements for Della’s remains this morning as well as dealing with a few loose ends.

I’d like to thank everyone for the kind wishes about Della Street here, on Facebook, and Twitter. I’m a bit overwhelmed but Della would consider it her due. She’d be right.

I’ll be back on Wednesday but until then a few pictures of the late, great Della Street:

Finally, a picture of Della with her beloved big brother, Oscar.

The last word goes to Sly and the Family Stone:

Sunday Catblogging: Throw Your Hands in the Air if You’re a True Player

First of all, condolences to the Adrastos family on the loss of Della. She heartily disapproved of me when I was last in NOLA for a visit, as well she should have, and I was honored to receive her royal disdain. Hopefully all our ferrets have found her beyond the bridge and are now also basking in her contempt as they so deserve.

Rest in peace, sweet girl.

Speaking of contempt, Kick regularly sings “I love it when you call me Big Poppa” at Slade, because he has become chonk, destroyer of worlds:

Behold, our lard, in all his thicc glory.


Della Street, R.I.P.

Our mouthy, smirking, cranky, and gorgeous internet rock star, Della Street, died today. It was a shocker. She had a chronic thyroid problem that we were dealing with. She took ill at the beginning of the week, then rallied on Thursday night when we watched the NBA finals together. She even went to the door and stared down the pit bull next door.

This morning she took a dramatic turn for the worse. Dr. A is out of town so our good friend Brett went with me to the vet. We dropped her off at around 10 and she was gone a mere 6 hours later. Della was 12. We’ve seen other elder kitties go downhill but not this fast.

I am genuinely shocked and, as you know, I neither shock nor scare easily. Della was Dr. A’s cat so I thought she’d hang on until her human returned home, but she was ready to go out on her own terms, that was our Della.

I know some might find it odd that I’d sit down and write a tribute to Della so soon. I knew that our readers would want to know as soon as possible. That’s what I love about First Draft, we’re a community. And Della has been entertaining you with her antics since she was 2 years old. Ain’t it funny how time slips away?

I don’t cry easily or often but I did upon hearing this stunning news. I rallied because I knew the last thing Della Street would want is for me to be maudlin over her passing. She was a tough and feisty cat who was best known for her smirk and glare. She was the queen of dirty looks and I was the happy recipient of many of those looks as was her pesky kid brother, Paul Drake, who is even more confused than usual by her absence.

She will be missed but never forgotten.

The last word goes to Crowded House:


Friday Guest Catblogging: Porch Cats

Since we’ve lived in New Orleans, our cats have always been indoor models. We’ve lived too close to major streets to let them roam. My friend Stephanie’s cats love the great outdoors. Here are Milo and Whiskers doing what they do best: porch sitting.

Friday Catblogging: Book ‘Em, Paulie

Dr. A and I went to the symphony book sale last weekend. Paul Drake found the boxes containing our purchases. I hope he doesn’t expect us to follow the directions

Tuesday Catblogging

The cats are now adult enough to utterly ignore us when they’re not actively fucking with us, but they both seem to instinctively know when we’re out of sorts. Kick had a minor sleep regression and Slade was ON HER the entire time, headbutting and rubbing and purring and nudging her for pets. I had a minor mental health regression and Ada glued herself to me whenever I sat down on the couch.

They’re sweet beasts.


Friday Catblogging: Muscling In

Here are Della Street and Paul Drake atop the latest iteration of the tower of terror. Della is smirking as always but Paul looks like a bad ass. Trust me, he’s not.