Apocalypse Meow....

Well. I've gone and done it--again.

Made a big old mess of things.

And I blame my Uncle. He's the one who found this cat. This cat who just had to have a good home. With another cat. He's sweet, charming, handsome, seven years old, calm demeanor, the second most beautiful green eyes I've ever seen (Jeter's will always be first)--a really great cat. On paper, it seemed perfect.

So I went to the Humane Society and picked up my new cat--Bernie Williams.

(Yes--the Yankee naming tradition continues in my house. Proudly so. If you don't like Bernie Williams--seriously--something is wrong with you. He's probably the smiliest guy to ever play for New York.)

Bernie the cat didn't even make a peep in the car on the way home except to help pick out his new name (they called him Herman at the shelter. Blech--how awful is that?).

He didn't pee, either--which already makes him a winner in my book.

So I get him home.

And that's when all hell breaks loose, even though I did everything those stupid articles, books, pamphlets--you name it--tell you to do.

Separate them? Check.

Mix scents? Check.

Scrub down and fill litter box with clean, fresh litter? Check, check, and check.

I thought I did everything right. But alas--I was SO very wrong.

And not so surprising? Bernie is not the problem in the equation. The problem is....Yogi.

Sweet, not so little, super dense Yogi Berra. That's what I thought, anyway. Now...not so much. Big fat whiny baby is more like it. Yogi is now terrified of his own shadow, blankets, and especially Bernie. So much so that whenever he even smells Bernie--he freaks the frak out. Completely. There is almost manic yowling going on all hours of the day and night. Poor Bernie is living under my bed, sneaking out to use the litter box or to crawl on my lap. I'm even feeding him under there because Yogi is such a damn turd about the whole thing.

Well, I obviously had to go to work today. On less than three hours of sleep--which is awesome. Night time in my house is now more dangerous than any jungle in Vietnam...trust me on this one. I just start to nod off to sleep and it sounds like a village of small children is being massacred under my bed. Not pleasant to say the least.  They lay in wait for each other....(I fear neither one of them is very much on the bright side) and it does not go well. There is a lot of smack being talked--but little action. Kind of like the Kitty version of the UN.

I just hope this little "adjustment" period is over sooner than later.

I seriously need some sleep.

Eye cream can only do so much!