How to Give a Cat a Pill

How to Give a Cat a Pill

1. Pick up cat and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby.

Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat’s mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth, pop pill into mouth.
Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.

2. Retrieve pill from floor and cat from behind sofa.
Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.

3. Retrieve cat from bedroom, and throw soggy pill away.

4. Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm, holding rear paws tightly with left hand.

Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of ten.

5. Retrieve pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe.

Call spouse in from the garden.


6. Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees, hold front and rear paws.

Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.

7. Retrieve cat from curtain rail.
Get another pill from foil wrap. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figurines and vases from hearth and set to one side for gluing later.

8. Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to lie on cat with head just visible from below armpit.
Put pill in end of drinking straw, force mouth open with pencil and blow down drinking straw

9. Check label to make sure pill not harmful to humans and drink one beer to take taste away. Apply band-aid to spouse's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.

10. Retrieve cat from neighbor's shed.
Get another pill. Open another beer. Place cat in cupboard, and close door onto neck, to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with elastic band.

11.  Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges. Drink beer. Fetch bottle of scotch. Pour shot, drink.
Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus shot. Apply whiskey compress to cheek to disinfect. Toss back another shot. Throw tee-shirt away and fetch new one from bedroom.

12. Call fire department to retrieve the damn cat from the top of the tree across the road. Apologize to neighbor who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat.

Take last pill from foil wrap.

13. Using heavy-duty pruning gloves from shed, tie the little *&#%^'s front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining table. Push pill into mouth followed by large piece of filet steak. Be rough about it. Hold head vertically and pour two pints of water down throat to wash pill down.

14. Consume remainder of scotch. Get spouse to drive you to the emergency room. Sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearm and removes pill remnants from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home to order new table.

15. Arrange for RSPCA to collect mutant cat from hell and call local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters. (not really)



How to Give A Dog A Pill



1. Wrap it in bacon.
2. Toss it in the air.

The swimsuit Issue: Reprint

I got this from Linda K... I know more than a few women who can identify!


The Bathing Suit

When I was a child, the bathing suit for the mature figure was boned, trussed and reinforced, not so much sewn as engineered. They were built to hold back and uplift; they did a good job. Today's stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure carved from a potato chip.



The mature woman has a choice - she can either go up front to the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus who escaped from Disney's Fantasia, or she can wander around every run of the mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of florescent rubber bands.



What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room. The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material. The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which give the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you are protected from shark attacks as any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whip lash.



I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place, I gasped in horror - my boobs had disappeared! Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took a while to find the other. At last I located it, flattened beside my seventh rib.



The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment.



The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fit those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom, and sides. I looked like a lump of play dough wearing undersized cling wrap.



As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, 'Oh, there you are,' she said, admiring the bathing suit.



I replied that I wasn't so sure and asked what else she had to show me.



I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking tape, and a floral two piece which gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving ring.



I struggled into a pair of leopard skin bathers with ragged frills and came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a rough day.



I tried on a black number with a mesh midriff and looked like a jellyfish in mourning.



I tried on a bright pink suit with such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear it.



Finally, I found a suit that fit - a two-piece affair with a shorts style bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured.



When I got home, I found a label which read 'Material might become transparent in water.'



So, if you happen to be on the beach, or near any other body of water this year, and I'm there too, I'll be the one in cut-off jeans and a t-shirt!

Pee your Pants Funny Email Info-------------

I just want to thank all of you for your educational e-mails over the past year.
I am totally screwed up now and have little chance of recovery.

I no longer open a public bathroom door without using a paper towel.

I no longer have lemon slices in my ice water at a restaurant without worrying
about the bacteria on the lemon peel.

I can't use the remote in a hotel room because I don't know what the last person
was doing while flipping through the adult movie channels.

I can't sit down on the hotel bedspread because I can only imagine what has
happened on it since it was last washed.

I have trouble shaking hands with someone who has been driving because the
number one pastime while driving alone is picking one's nose (although cell
phone usage may be overtaking the number one spot).

Eating a little snack sends me on a guilt trip because I can only imagine how
many gallons of trans fats I have consumed over the years.


I can't touch any woman's purse for fear she has placed it on a public bathroom
floor.

SPECIAL THANKS to whoever sent me the one about poop in the glue on envelopes
because I now have to use a wet sponge with every envelope that needs sealing.


ALSO, I have to scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason.

I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl Penny Brown who is
about to die in the hospital for the 1,387,258th time.

I no longer have any money at all, but that will change once I receive the
$15,000 that Bill Gates/Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in
their e-mail program.

I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking out for
me..

I no longer eat KFC because their chickens are actually horrible mutant freaks
with no eyes or feathers.

I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water
buffalo on a hot day.

THANKS TO ALL OF YOU I have learned that my prayers only get answered if I
forward an e-mail to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes.

I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet stains.

I no longer can buy gasoline without taking someone along to watch the car so a
serial killer won't crawl in my back seat when I'm pumping gas.

I no longer drink Pepsi or Dr. Pepper since the people who make these products
are atheists who refuse to put 'Under God' on their cans.

I no longer use Saran Wrap in the microwave because it causes cancer.

THANKS FOR LETTING ME KNOW I can't boil a cup of water in the microwave anymore
because it will blow up in my face... disfiguring me for life.

I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked with
a needle infected with AIDS.

I no longer go to shopping malls because someone will drug me with a perfume
sample and rob me.

I no longer receive packages from UPS or Fed Ex since they are actually Al Qaeda
in disguise.

I no longer shop at Target since they are French and don't support our American
troops or the Salvation Army.

I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a number for
which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda , Singapore , and
Uzbekistan .

I no longer buy expensive cookies from Neiman Marcus since I now have their
recipe.

THANKS TO YOU I can't use anyone's toilet but mine because a big brown African
spider is lurking under the seat to cause me instant death when it bites my
butt.

AND THANKS TO YOUR GREAT ADVICE I can't ever pick up $5.00 dropped in the
parking lot because it probably was placed there by a sex molester waiting
underneath my car to grab my leg.

I can no longer drive my car because I can't buy gas from certain gas companies!


I can't do any gardening because I'm afraid I'll get bitten by the brown recluse
spider and my hand will fall off.


If you don't send this e-mail to at least 144,000 people

in the next 70 minutes, a large dove with diarrhea will land

on your head at 5:00 p.m. tomorrow afternoon and the fleas

from 12 camels will infest your backside, causing you to grow

a hairy hump. I know this will occur because it actually

happened to a friend of my next door neighbor's ex-mother-

in-law's second husband's cousin's beautician ....

Oh, by the way....A scientist from Argentina, after a lengthy study, has
discovered that people with insufficient brain activity read their e-mail with
their hand on the mouse.
Don't bother taking it off now, it's too late.


___________________________________
Special thanks to my lovely friend Elizabeth... I had to share this with all of yall!

Fabulous Women and Their wisdom

"I call everyone 'Darling' because I can't remember their names."
Zsa Zsa Gabor

"If men can run the world, why can't they stop wearing neckties? How intelligent is it to start the day by tying a little noose around your neck?"
Linda Ellerbee

"In politics, if you want anything said, ask a man; if you want anything done, ask a woman."
Margaret Thatcher

"Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then."
Katharine Hepburn

"When women are depressed they either eat or go shopping. Men invade another country."
Elaine Boosler

"I never married because there was no need. I have three pets at home which answer the same purpose as a husband. I have a dog which growls every morning, a parrot which swears all afternoon and a cat that comes home late at night."
Marie Corelli

"I base most of my fashion taste on what doesn't itch."
Gilda Radner

"Any girl can be glamorous. All you have to do is stand still and look stupid."
Hedy Lamarr

"Behind every successful man is a surprised woman."
Marion Pearson

"I am a marvelous housekeeper. Every time I leave a man I keep his house."
Zsa Zsa Gabor

It is Good to Be a Woman

It is good to be a woman:

1. We got off the Titanic first.
2. We can scare male bosses with mysterious disorder excuses.
3. Taxis stop for us.
4. We don't look like a frog in a blender when dancing.
5. No fashion faux pas we make, could ever rival the Speedo.
6. We don't have to pass gas to amuse ourselves.
7. If we forget to shave, no one has to know.
8. We can congratulate our teammate without ever touching her rear end.
9. We never have to reach down every so often to make sure our privates are still there.
10. We have the ability to dress ourselves.
11. We can talk to the opposite sex without having to picture them naked.
12. If we marry someone 20 years younger, we are aware that we will look like an idiot.
13. We will never regret piercing our ears.
14. There are times when chocolate really can solve all your problems.
15. We can make comments about how silly men are in their presence because they aren't listening anyway.

Warnings to MenFolk

Emails Subject: A Women's Study

A study in Wisconsin showed that the kind of male face a woman finds attractive can differ depending on where she is in her menstrual cycle.

For instance, if she is ovulating she is attracted to men with rugged and masculine features.

And if she is menstruating, she is more prone to be attracted to a man with scissors shoved in his temple and a bat jammed up his rear, while he is on fire.

Further studies are expected.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------


9 WORDS WOMEN USE:

(1) Fine: This is the word women use to end an argument when they are right and you need to shut up.



(2) Five Minutes: If she is getting dressed, this means a half an hour. Five minutes is only five minutes if you have just been given five more minutes to watch the game before helping around the house.



(3) Nothing: This is the calm before the storm. This means something, and you should be on your toes. Arguments that begin with nothing usually end in fine.



(4) Go Ahead: This is a dare, not permission. Don't Do It!



(5) Loud Sigh: This is actually a word, but is a non-verbal statement often misunderstood by men. A loud sigh means she thinks you are an idiot and wonders why she is wasting her time standing here and arguing with you about nothing. (Refer back to # 3 for the meaning of nothing.)



(6) That's Okay: This is one of the most dangerous statements a woman can make to a man. 'That's okay' means she wants to think long and hard before deciding how and when you will pay for your mistake.



(7) Thanks: A woman is thanking you, do not question, or Faint. Just say you're welcome. (I want to add in a clause here - This is true, unless she says 'Thanks a lot' - that is PURE sarcasm and she is not thanking you at all. DO NOT say 'you're welcome'. that will bring on a 'whatever').



(8) Whatever: Is a women's way of saying a really bad word.

(9) Don't worry about it, I got it: Another dangerous statement, meaning this is something that a woman has told a man to do several times, but is now doing it herself. This will later result in a man asking 'What's wrong?' For the woman's response refer to # 3.

The Bathing Suit

I got this from Linda K... I know more than a few women who can identify!
The Bathing Suit
When I was a child, the bathing suit for the mature figure was boned, trussed and reinforced, not so much sewn as engineered. They were built to hold back and uplift; they did a good job. Today's stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure carved from a potato chip.

The mature woman has a choice - she can either go up front to the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus who escaped from Disney's Fantasia, or she can wander around every run of the mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of florescent rubber bands.

What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room. The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material. The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which give the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you are protected from shark attacks as any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whip lash.

I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place, I gasped in horror - my boobs had disappeared! Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took a while to find the other. At last I located it, flattened beside my seventh rib.

The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment.

The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fit those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom, and sides. I looked like a lump of play dough wearing undersized cling wrap.

As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, 'Oh, there you are,' she said, admiring the bathing suit.

I replied that I wasn't so sure and asked what else she had to show me.

I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking tape, and a floral two piece which gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving ring.

I struggled into a pair of leopard skin bathers with ragged frills and came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a rough day.

I tried on a black number with a mesh midriff and looked like a jellyfish in mourning.

I tried on a bright pink suit with such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear it.

Finally, I found a suit that fit - a two-piece affair with a shorts style bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured.

When I got home, I found a label which read 'Material might become transparent in water.'

So, if you happen to be on the beach, or near any other body of water this year, and I'm there too, I'll be the one in cut-off jeans and a t-shirt!