I love both my cats. I really do. But sometimes Dante (aka Fattycakes) is enough to drive a person over the edge.

When I first got Dante from a rescue group three years ago, he was quiet, shy, and occasionally picked fights with Chet on my bed in the middle of the night. Oh, how things have changed. From the middle-of-the-night howlfests in the bathroom (translation: "I want water and I have no opposable thumbs to turn on the faucet!") to a nifty trick that started about a year ago - clawing doorframes.

There are a couple furniture items in my house that have been given up to the cat claws - an old wood chair that Chet has always loved to claw. And a useless chaise lounge that is too big for any room its in, is uncomfortable, and cost me 30 bucks. Both are shredded and I don't really mind. But the doorframes is another thing alltogether.

I noticed recently that my lovely new paint job between the living room and kitchen now has claw marks *through the plaster* and so I decided something must be done.

I went out today and bought a "clawing pad". Best. Purchase. Ever.

It's from Fat Cats, and I can only say that if you have cats and you don't have Fat Cat toys, go buy them now. You can find them at your local Petsmart or pretty much any other pet store. They're indestructible goodness and you they come in lovely versions like the George Bush destructo-toy.

But the claw pad? Awesome. I laid it down on the floor in the cat-path between hallway and kitchen and it's been amusing me all day. Neither cat can walk past it without stopping to claw. It is the Irresistable Claw Pad of Amusement. Granted, it has catnip in it, which makes it even more fun to watch the stop, claw, and roll. And a few minutes ago, I caught them both trying to lie on it - which given the size of the cats was pure comedy gold.

So quit reading, go out, and buy one!

Earlier this week, my boyfriend's beloved dog Kirby passed away. He writes about her with touching and happy memories here.

Fair warning: I cried. You may too.

Apparently existential crises can be cured through substantial amounts of toenail polish, lingerie shopping, and a good dose of shoe shopping thrown into the mix.

I've only recently discovered the joys of shoe shopping. Seriously, for the last 15 years or so my shoe choices have been strictly utilitarian. Practical. One pair of black shoes for dressing up, brown loafers for jeans, tennis shoes, one pair boots for winter, etc. Replace as needed, but don't get crazy and branch out.

I could blame my boyfriend for finally buying me that pair of Converse All-Stars I wanted so badly in 1987. I could blame Zappos.com for delivering overnight for free. Or I could admit to finally learning what millions of women already know - not only do you rarely change shoe sizes but, except for rare occasions, shoes will never make your ass look fat.

Mmmm. Shoes.

Small blessing? After 15 years in Birkenstocks and tennis shoes, I'd fall over and crack my skull trying to walk in any sort of serious heels. Which, thankfully, puts the most expensive and vast variety of shoes in the off-limits category...

Glum. Glum. Glum. I've been in a funk all week and I'm not sure why. An existential malaise, if you will.

Nothing is quite snapping me out of it - I've tried peppy music, walks outside, and nada. Can't eat: on diet. Miss boyfriend who I never see because of his work hours. Want to go lie on a beach somewhere in the Carribbean, but that's not an option at the moment.

Glum. Glum. Glum.

Going to get pedicure and go bra shopping with some girlfriends tomorrow. Maybe that'll help!