A: She's busy. Can't you leave her alone for two seconds? She has a new kitty, she's working hard on stuff, fall is arriving and she has yet to get any firewood, and now poor Rosie has officially become Ugly Lumpy-Nose, due to a histiocytoma that suddenly erupted on her nose. Vet says it will go away on its own in a month or two, but in the meantime, on top of her many other concerns and responsibilites, Mojo is further burdened with One Ugly Dog!

One might think, given her trenchant wit and shrewd commentary, that Mojo is a particularly observant and discerning individual. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Take, for example, the dog, Rosie. Okay, so Mojo DID observe various behaviors and indicators that something was not quite right. Enough that Mojo initiated a trip to the vet to have things checked out. A battery of expensive tests revealed that she had Lyme disease and a previously undiagnosed heart murmur. Cardiac malformations are apparently common in some Goldens, I am somewhat saddened to learn.  MORE Mojo! »

Okay, so maybe Mojo is particularly snarky since she's just completed a marathon book-buying spree for the library. Which some people would think is fun, and in some ways it is, but it also involves a great deal of reading and research and, quite frankly, most of the books on the bestseller lists are genre mysteries and crime novels that Mojo really couldn't give two hangs about. Mojo's mostly a nonfiction babe, which is probably why she's not invited to more parties. That, and her tendency to verbally abuse others over imagined slights. But I digress.  MORE Mojo! »

Yes, the flooding was something. When I blogged yesterday I had yet to look outside, and when I did it was because my Favorite Husband, who had just left for work, called me to tell me I had to go out and try to clean out the ditches and redirect the flood before we lost the bottom of our driveway.  MORE Mojo! »

Oh, dear. I like cats. Really, I like just about anything that walks, flies or crawls, so long as it doesn't attempt to draw blood from me. But I recognize the intellectual limitations of a critter whose brain is about the size of a walnut.

Like Ratty, my cat. He's a good cat. A little yowly, but I don't think I've ever owned a nicer, kinder cat (so long as you are not a small rodent). I have no idea how long Ratty lasted as a stray before he wound up in my sister's barn, and then a year or so before he was tame enough to be handled and shipped up to our place. But Ratty's pretty street-smart--or, I guess, woods-smart--and I've always thought he was smart enough to fend for himself.  MORE Mojo! »