You can call me Jester.  Some months ago - never mind how long precisely - having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me in the 'hood, I thought I would fall into a basement window well and see who might come "rescue" me.  It is a way I have of exercising my curiosity while generously sharing my sweet face with strangers who might otherwise live their entire lives in lonely ugliness.  And it gives me a break from piddling in the flowerbeds of old ladies just to hear 'em cackle.
     Anyway, I was rescued by Weird Guy, though it took him 12 hours and the encouragement of 5 neighbors before he overcame his fear of stray mammals and actually touched me.  What a wuss!  After a few days of observation, it was clear he was an idiot as well, but by then...  well, by then he had shamelessly reawakened my old weakness for the white stuff.  I've been too hooked on my morning fix of uncut bovine nectar to leave ever since - but that doesn't mean I have to be grateful.  Ha!  Expressing my constant disbelief at the goings-on in this household is the only thing which keeps me sane.  And who knows?  Maybe it'll get me a book contract someday.  I've already got me a title, after all: "This Is Not Your Father's Puss 'N Boots."
 

     Can I be frank?  I like you.  Don't let it go to your head or anything foolish like that, but I really do.  If you're reading this you've obviously made it this far, and that shows real class and intelligence.  I like that in a person.  In fact, just the thought of you right now is making my whiskers all tingly with the desire to rub up against your naked legs.  So, how about tuning in WMEW for me, hmmm?  You know, the station with "All Your Favorite Caterwauling From The '60s, '70s, and '80s!"  I'd do it myself, but - well...  It would mean so much more coming from you. 
     If I like the way you handle that tuner knob, who knows?  Maybe I'll let you pet me someday....

     Where was I?  Oh, Weird Guy. 
     Last week he accidentally dropped his toothbrush in the toilet, so he rushed right out and bought a new one.  A new toilet, I mean.  His wife insisted.
     While at the store, he kept asking the clerks where they kept the hard cloths.  Said he was tired of always having to wipe things with a soft cloth, wanted to see for himself if anything bad would really happen if he used a hard one.  It was one of the stupidest things I've heard yet through the wire I secretly installed in the hem of his blue suede jumper.  I can't imagine how stupid he must have sounded in person.
     He spent much of the weekend trying to put a peephole on his calendar so he can tell if the day that's been coming to his house every night at midnight really is the tomorrow it claims to be before he lets it in.
     And the thing of it is, I'm under contract to sleep 14 hours a day.  Who knows what foolishness he's involved with while I'm hard at work in Dreamland??

     Which reminds me -
     Be right back - gotta nap.

     Back.
     And now that I am back and obviously still in charge, time to start making a few more changes to this poor excuse for an online journal.
     Let's see - I've already added prettier pictures. 
     I've put in better graphics.
     Time for the first installment of a little feature I'm inspired to call "Jester's Fables."

     A tortoise and a hare got into an argument one day as to which one was the fastest.  Before separating to go watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer in the privacy of their own homes, they agreed to meet again at such and such a time at a certain well-known race track to settle their argument once and for all.  On the day of the big race the hare had such confidence in his speediness that he did not double-check his power steering fluid before peeling out, and consequently went out of control, smashing his body against a side wall and showering hundreds of innocent spectators with deadly flaming fur.  The tortoise, on the other hand, dedicated little plodder that he was, kept making steady progress around the track until smashed to pieces by the emergency vehicles racing to get to the site of the hare's crash.

Moral of the Story: Never do anything physically demanding when you could be inside curled up on freshly-laundered dish towels.
 

     Ok, that's enough for today.  I think my 17 pounds of purr and fur might be just what Weird Guy's upset tummy needs dropped on it at this point in his recovery.  And besides, wouldn't want to spoil you with too much fabulous feline writing my first day here.  It would only make you sad and angry about all the human mind droppings you had to wade through to get to this oasis of wit.

     So meow for now, baby. 
     And don't let your fingers be strangers to the back of my ears.