Five. Cats.

A couple of nights ago, TheLady snuck out the back door with a bowl of cat food - incredibly yummy stuff, btw, you should try it - and after a bit she came back in with a fifth cat.

This feline interloper is all white and meows a lot. He also fights with the original cats. I've only seen him once, since he's mostly been hiding in the basement and I don't like to go down there. That's cat territory.

They get to - can you believe this? - potty in a box full of stinky sand. I have to potty outside. In the cold. Which isn't so bad, but have you ever squatted to take a dump in the snow? Let me assure you, cold butts are not fun. And their food dish is filled whenever TheLady or The Bearded One notice that it's empty, day or night. My food dish - thanks to the beagle who can't hold his bladder or bowels more than a few moments after he gets the urge - gets put up every night before The Bearded One goes to work. I can't nosh all night, but that cats sure do.

They get to sleep on the humans' bed. They get full run of the house - us dogs aren't supposed to go upstairs without supervision because the beagle - again, good God, will I always be marginalized and restricted because of him?? - might pee on the carpet. TheLady assures me that she doesn't worry about me tearing things up or peeing in bad places, just Stewie.

The cats get carried around and talked to and their tummies tickled and whenever they flop on the floor and show their bellies they get petted. I show my belly all the freaking time and how often does it get scratched? Maybe twice a day.

Damn cats think they're special. If they're so special, why are they fighting with the new guy instead of just making him part of the kitty klan? Us dogs would figure out who's in charge in mere minutes yet he's been here since Friday.

At least cats are fun to chase. That's their one redeeming quality.