Oliver Bartholomeow Tumblecat

Yeah yeah. I know. Retarded name for a cat. Gimme a break.

Oliver: I just really like that name.


Bartholomeow: Come on! It has 'meow' at the end!


Tumblecat: He used to tumble down the stairs when he was a wee widdle kitten.

My Ollie-B

I figured I would introduce you. He's my baby, he's absolutely spoiled, and he's also the reason I'm about to fall out drooling on my keyboard. All he wanted to do last night was play. There would be no sleeping for mom. He was attacking my feet, attacking my hair, burrowing under the covers like a mole on speed, anything to get me to play. I did my best to ignore him. Until about 3am. --CRASH!-- I'M UP! ...I'm up. Damnit. He pushed the alarm clock off the nightstand. I got up, chased him around the room until he hid in the boxspring and I finally gave up. Did I frighten him into quiet? Nope. 5am - bite on the nose. Not a little nibble either. That little joker bit me hard and ran. Wuss. He was gone again though. Good. I start dozing off again and then.... Nascar in my bedroom. He was doing laps around the room, banking the turns! 6:45 the alarm clock goes off. This time I knock it into the floor and get up. What's Ollie doing now you ask? Curled up fast asleep on my - excuse me - his pillow.

Bastard.

I wonder if anyone would notice if I hid under my desk for a quick power nap?