From The New York Times today:
"In a hotly contested deal, the life story of Dewey, a rescued cat who lived for 19 years in a library in a small town in Iowa, has sold for about $1.25 million to Grand Central Publishing.
With an eye toward creating the feline answer to the best-selling “Marley & Me,” John Grogan’s memoir of his misbehaving yellow Labrador retriever, Grand Central bought the book, currently titled “Dewey, a Small Town, a Library and the World’s Most Beloved Cat,” on Monday by making an offer high enough to pre-emptively shut down an auction."

Tuesday

Johnny:
I woke up in the middle of a nightmare. Yeah, it's that weird nightmare again about getting flushed down a toilet. I've been having that one a lot ever since Our Evil, Cheap Loving Owner got rid of the stink bugs in his apartment. Or at least he claims to have flushed it away. I can't see outside of this room so for all I know he eats them. All I know is he better not eat of our Betta Bites.

During meditation I had a break-through moment when I realized the genesis for the nightmare. I went to write the following down but realized once again that I still don't have waterproof pens or paper because our owner is a cheap bastard college student.

Anyway... back in the day when I was growing up at PetSmart, I used to hear horror stories that sometimes evil humans would flush away fish... even if the fish were being good.  That usually led to a theological debate about whether there was something A.F. (After Flushing): A fish heaven and hell or if, as some of the fish who were running out of food pellets lamented, the final resting place is just some ol' stinky sewer.

A few of the brown gills, brown noser, gill up kiss ups in the aquarium would invariably bring up something they called a "Chicken or the egg debate" and puff out their gills as one would suggest the chicken came first and another would say, "No, the egg came first" and that usually led to the blowhard blowfish arguing that "we are all here as part of some intelligent design by Our Creator" (aka The Mysterious Hands From Above.)

There would always be one wise tail ass who would ask the obvious question: "What the hell is a chicken?"  Ol' Gray Gills - who had that old fish smell - would then whine about "Back when I was a betta fish, we didn't have PetSmarts and aquariums and stores.  We all just lived in ponds hoping against hope that nobody would step on us. We knew what chickens were because one ate poor ol' Nemo"Sam" (Not his real name - see footnote 1)