Dr. Chang. A Nice Lady with an Unfortunate Profession

Dear Readers,
It has been some time since I last graced the blogosphere with my pearls of wisdom. I wish I could say it was because I've been busy in the recording studio or on the road with a spectacular show coming to an arena or opera house near you. I wish I could say it was because I've been busy in the kitchens of Figaro International, developing a new blend of Figaro's Famous Waffle Mix. But I know my readers expect the truth, no matter how difficult. Well, faithful readers, the truth is I heard from the Pope again. He is very insistent. In fact, I am thinking of taking out a restraining order. It seems he has gotten it into his head that I should be the first feline Saint. Now don't get me wrong. I am honored at the prospect. But let's face it. The Pope is not someone I would like to be associated with. And being in the company of some crazy lady who heard voices and got burned at the stake has never been something I've aspired to. Not to mention the teensy-weensy little fact that I think the Pope is a jerk and I'm frankly a little tired of listening to him blow smoke up my ass. It's humiliating enough when Dr. Chang takes my temperature and I do have my limits. How can anyone take the Pope seriously, anyway. If his words are not idiotic enough, the silly costume should give away the fact that the man is completely off his rocking chair, two tacos short of a full deck and not playing with both tamales in the water. On top of that, I'm Jewish. So Mr. Pope, if you're reading this - please stop bothering me. I do not want your sainthood. Perhaps you can find some nice Saint Bernard.

Now that that's out of the way, the other news I have to tell is that I frankly haven't been feeling too hot. My nosey is running. All the time. A lot of gooey gunk is stuffing up my nosey and sometimes it is difficult to get my breath. I sneeze all the time and I'm losing weight. This is not good for me because I need my strength to keep up with all the things I still haven't done. I have had to put my entire orchestra on paid leave and I had to cancel my shows in Las Vegas. Audiences were very understanding, but I feel I owe them a spectacular performance and sometimes I can hardly get through the demanding vocal challenges and choreography for my spectacular opening number - "When the Saints Come Marching In."

A few months ago, Daddy decided it was time to visit the beterinarian. She has poked and prodded me and stuck me with needles, no matter how much I plead and protest. I think she is a very nice lady with a very funny way of showing it. Once, she even called me a crabby old guy. That was the last straw. I was going to bite her, but instead I took the high road and only screamed my lungs out until the police came and hauled her away to the klinker. I was kind enough to post bail for her and drop all charges, because I know she means well. But again, she has a funny way of showing it.

So now I am home, getting as much sleep as I can. I am trying hard to recover, so that I may soon resume casting for the new show I plan to bring to Broadway next season. The recovery is not easy. The beterinarian doesn't know if I will ever get better. She thinks there is probably some kind of ting growing inside my nosey and that I may get lost on my way to life #10. Daddy is giving me pills every day. I am making that task as difficult as possible for him, because I know how much he loves me and he expects me to be a difficult patient. Also, it is only fair. For a long long time when Daddy was not feeling well I took care of him and made sure he took his pills every day. To say he was a difficult patient would be an understatement of epic proportions. I worked tirelessly to take care of him and love him, no matter how much he complained. He was very sick and extremely depressed all the time and I stayed by him every minute of every day and night, even though I had better things to do. Now he is taking care of me and it makes him sad when I don't feel good. He is doing everything he can to be sure I know no cat has ever been more loved. It is really rather sweet. He feels obligated. He should.

As soon as I feel better, I will begin the difficult task of casting for my Broadway show. It's a big production entitled MASSACHUSETTS THE MUSICAL. This will be one of the biggest undertakings of my entire career, launching a new pinnacle in theatrical entertainment, unlike anything seen before on any stage. Andrew Lloyd Webber will be crying in his ovaltine when he sees what real talent is. (Did you see CATS? Don't get me started.) And you can help me uncover new talent. Feel free to submit your pictures and resumes, care of Figaro International. I am currently seeking dancers who can sing and singers who can spell. Even if you have no talent, I'm sure we can find some special way for you to be a part of this bold new movement in entertainment.

Please also send me your thoughts and prayers, if you do that kind of thing. Just in case the beterinarian is right.

Love,
Figaro