Therapy Sessions

On Rehab, Orgasmatrons & Ottomans

Returning to the couch to fill in the blanks.

TP: Really good to see you again, Little. I don’t mind telling you, I was worried.

LM: Didn’t think I’d bounce back, doc?

TP: Well, you know, a nervous breakdown’s pretty serious stuff. Not everyone snaps out of it.

LM: Nah, I’m good now, doc. That little stint in rehab did the trick, as I visited the best Private Alcohol Rehab centre. And read some reviews on their website:, to learn more about addiction treatment rehab.

TP: What pushed you over the edge? It seemed like you were doing so good, adjusting especially well, I thought, to Bugsy’s arrival last year.

LM: Yeh, it wasn’t the kid’s fault, annoying little dweeb that he is. I lay a lot of this at mom and dad’s feet, mainly dad’s.

TP: How so? I thought you and your dad were tight.

LM: Oh, we are. It’s just that things at the house got turned inside out this year. A LOT of projects—some planned, some not, all disruptive to my previously well-ordered lifestyle.

TP: That’s it? Some house projects threw you over the edge?

LM: Listen, doc, you’ve heard about that one final stupid straw that breaks the equally stupid camel’s back? There’s a limit, you know?

TP: True, I get that.

LM: Dad screwed up. He should have listened to mom. See, she wanted to downsize. You know, look for removal companies near me and move into a place where somebody else manicures the forest and deals with the problems. But nooo! Old dad wouldn’t have it.

TP: So…

LM: So they make a deal. Mom says, “If we’re staying here a little longer, I want to redecorate.” Dad figures he can live with that, so he agrees. Bad move! Read more →

On The Eddie Haskell Of Cats

 What looks like a rabbit and acts like a dog?

TP: Come on in here, Little Man. I was beginning to think you were never coming back.

LM: Yeh well, it was a rough summer, doc.

TP: Tell me about it. I’m guessing it has something to do with the new “foster kid” your parents brought home. What was his name? The Colonel?

LM: It was The Colonel. Not any more! And there’s nothing “foster” about him. That was a bad joke from the get-go.

TP: So your parents couldn’t find him a forever home?

LM: Oh no. They found him one—mine! The little orange dweeb is now an official member of the family. Bliss!

TP: Hmm. I imagine that’s been traumatic. You had the place to yourself for what—ten years?

LM: Almost, yep. Not anymore! Now, I get to share everything with a kid who looks like a rabbit and acts like a dog.

TP: Explain.

TP: Well, like I told you last time, the kid’s tale was chopped off when he was abandoned on the mean streets down by the docks. Lost part of an ear, too. Add some mutton chop cheeks to that stubby tail and cauliflower ear and the kid bears more than a passing resemblance to a certain cartoon character who made his bones chompin’ carrots and callin’ everyone doc. Suppose that’s why mom decided to call the kid Bugs.

TP: Bugs! That’s his name?

LM: Bugs. Bugsy. The Bugster. Bugsaroo. Seems there’s no end to the cutie-pie variations. Gag me! No wait…goose me. That’s what this knucklehead does. Read more →

On The Cat Formerly Known As The Colonel

Or how an orange furball played the “Tiny Tim” card to invade the premises.

TP: This is a surprise, Little Man. I thought you were taking the summer off. No more therapy until fall, you said.

LM: Yeah, well circumstances changed, doc. I need you to talk me down from the ledge.

TP: That’s heavy. What happened?

LM: They did it, doc. I just can’t believe they really did it! Again!

TP: Who did what?

LM: Mom and dad, that’s who, and another cat is what.

TP: Another cat? Living in your house? Since when? Read more →

On Slippery Slopes, Cat Cafes & The Amish

Coming soon to a couch near you.

TP: Come on in, Little. Do I detect a bit of spring in your step?

LM: You do love your little clichés, don’t you, doc? Yes, spring has finally sprung. Chipmunk season is officially open. And yours truly is on the case.

TP: Yes, I saw a particularly sporty shot of you in hunt mode the other day. What was it, on Facebook? You looked feisty. Maybe even a bit trimmer?

LM: Nice try, doc. No. No trimmer. In fact, the last time dad and I visited the vet, ol’ Doctor Evan didn’t even bother to weigh me.

TP: No weigh-in?

LM: Nope. Evan and dad pretty much did a simultaneous he-looks-about-the-same-to-me shrug and sent me on my way. Think they’re finally gettin’ the message…I’m a big boy, and it suits me.

TP: It is true; some people just tend to be, how should I say, husky. And they look good that way.

LM: Right. Lots of famous fatties. Sydney Greenstreet, Jackie Gleason, Tony Soprano—big guys who knew how to carry it. Belushi was another one. That actor, John Goodman, the great W.C. Fields, Zach something-or-other from those Hangover movies…it’s quite a list. And how about the ladies—Aretha, the Queen of Soul. That’s a lot of woman! She wears her lbs with more than just a little R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Read more →

On Black Eyes, Celebrity Stalkers & Hunky Cops

I thought vacations were supposed to make you feel better.

TP: Little Man, you don’t look so good. What happened?

LM: Vacation, doc. That’s what.

TP: Your parents took you on another vacation?

LM: No, no! Once was enough. No, this was just the two of them. Me? I did the Home Alone routine. Alone, that is, except for the schizophrenic alternating pit stops of the “keep it moving, convict” former prison guard/slop server in the mornings and the idyllic “I can almost see the happy birds flying merrily about and hear the Seven Dwarfs whistling while they work” Disney lady in the evenings.

TP: Disney lady? Oh, Snow White.

LM: That’s what they call her. You think I look bad now…imagine if I didn’t have her coming by each day to buck me up and offer a little TLC.

TP: Well, your parents are back now, right?

LM: More or less. Mom walked in the other night with a black eye; Dad came limping in with some foot problem and moaning that he didn’t feel good.

TP: Black eye? Read more →

On Bachelor Weekends, Footmen & Dr. Seuss

The window washer did what?

TP: Morning, Little Man. You look happy!

LM: Big weekend coming up, doc. Bach’n it with Dad.

TP: Bachelor’s quarters, eh? Where’s mom going?

LM: Headin’ out west…her and Mr. Leo have a photo session with some big wrestler-type.

TP: Wrestler?

LM: Well, actually, he’s one of those M&M guys. Mixed martial arts, I think it’s called. Or Maximum Mayhem Administrator…I don’t know, something like that. Basically, a big badass! Read more →

On Henny Youngman, Romeo & Nighttime Crying

Rolling in on a suitcase.

TP: Hey, Little Man. Sorry we got snowed out last week.

LM: Aw, probably just as well, doc. Gave me time to cool down.

TP: Something happen?

LM: Nothing huge, just the usual petty annoyances that’ve been ramping up lately, thanks to my increasing presence on social media. You might have noticed the picture mom recently posted of me catching Z’s on my custom-made suitcase bed?

TP: No, I think I missed that, Little. What’s a suitcase bed? Read more →

On Award Shows, Wingnuts & Omaha

Back where he belongs.

TP: Come on in, Little Man. I missed you.

LM: Oh, really? Well maybe you shouldn’t take such long holidays, doc. It’s been a rough few weeks.

TP: You seem a bit edgy, Little. Tell me about it.

LM: Okay. Let’s start with props and slights. Read more →

On A Trip To The Emergency Room

A “grumpy old man” takes a trolley ride.

TP: Great to see you, Little Man. Heard you were sick.

LM: Thanks, doc. Yeh, I had a rough time last week. Couldn’t even eat! That freaked everybody out.

TP: I bet.

LM: Three straight days of no appetite and even my vet, Dr. Evan, was worried. Apparently, he told dad that when big, rakishly handsome cats like myself stop eating for even a short period, our internal organs can shut down and, well, next stop—the big litterbox in the sky. Read more →

On Vocabulary, Facebook & Tree Climbing

Humans…they’re a funny bunch.

TP: Come on in, Little Man. What are you chuckling about?

LM: Oh, I was just sitting there in the waiting room thinking about mom’s latest project.

TP: Regarding you?

LM: Yeah. She’s tracking my vocabulary…what words I know. Can you believe it? I swear, doc, sometimes she acts like I’m just another cat.

TP: Hmm. What did she come up with so far? Read more →