RIP Maggie "Party Wingz" Cat

Think a happy thought for Sistatime!, who has to put down her cat Maggie down today. She's really old and sick (the cat, not Sistatime!) After work we'll be having a champagne toast for Maggie, since, as Sistatime! says, she sure did love her booze  ;)

My sister generally only called for one of two reasons: to plead with me to move back home, or for me to talk to her cat.  The moving back home part was understandable, since, like any Southern lady who prided herself on never having set foot here, she assumed New York City was a degenerate cesspool of violent crime, and was genuinely surprised whenever she’d ask if I’d been mugged (or worse) and the answer was no.  Meanwhile, her car had been stolen three times and her apartment broken into twice – once as she was on the phone telling me I had to get out of New York City because of the crime. 

At least those pleas were based on good intentions; the talking to her cat on the phone thing was just fucking nuts.  The only way to wrap those calls up was to break down and actually talk to the cat, during which I could hear her being coached on what to say by my sister in the background.  To finally end it I’d have to shout “well okay Maggie, could you please put _______ on the phone?” loudly enough for _______ to hear me, at which point she’d come back on the phone bubbling on and on about how great it must be to talk to my “niece.”

“I’ll call her later on, when I get home,” I lied to Chuck.