My mom Cathy wrote a funny article about how the cats taught her to be a better copywriter. You can read the article here.

My favorite:

#1: Walk on the edge and take some risks.

These lazy good-for-nothings take no risks. Ophelia’s too fat to jump up on the counter to eat dinner, let alone walk on the edge. Of course my mom wrote this article when she still had Tiger, who was jumping around almost till the day she died.

#3: Expect to be appreciated.

Mom got this one wrong. “Dogs beg for attention,” she wrote. “Cats take it for granted.”

Ex-cuuuse me! Do I beg for anything that doesn’t promise food? I get all the attention I need without asking. And then some.

And #10: Who cares if someone hates you? There’s always another food dish around the corner.

All I can say is, don’t count on it. And the cats can give you all the copywriting tips. I’m the one who keeps you going when your schedule gets crazy and you need a little love…or a LOT of love.

And now I shall return to my nap. We had a beautiful day at the dog park, didn’t we? Who forced you out the door to enjoy this beautiful weather?

Next article, Mom: 10 tips on enjoying life I learned from my Canine Urban Princess – the world’s first CUPPIE.

Apparently some idiot on the staff of the LA Times wrote a nasty article about the WNBA. And superstar Diana Taurasi wrote an informed, intelligent response. Read it here.

My mom was always a Taurasi fan and a WNBA fan. Every year she drags people from her alumni groups to see a game. And every year they go, “Wow — we didn’t expect the basketball to be this good.” My mom the missionary, converting NBA fans to WNBA fans.

And almost every Storm game, there’s at least one Seahawks player. They don’t have to be there, do they? They know a good game when they see one.

Diana’s letter is getting so much great publicity, my mom says.

Diana’s a 2-guard, she tells me. Part of the backcourt. I don’t know what that is but I do love backyaView »rds, so…

Go read it.

Here I am at the Downtown Dog Lounge, greeting my faithful subjects, Summer and Cynthia.

As a CUPPIE, I don’t spend much time in the big play area with the other dogs. I sit on the couch and get the respect I so richly deserve.

My mom says this picture makes me look like a Secret Agent. Well, no one is better at sniffing out food.

But I’m a celebrity. Didn’t Jackie-O have big sunglasses?

My mom refuses to discuss last night’s game. You can read about it here.

After she came home, we ran into our neighbor James. He asked, “How are you?”

Cathy: “Depressed. The Storm Lost.”

James: “Umm…I don’t follow sports. Is this a tragedy? And what about Gracie here? She doesn’t care about winning or losing.”

Actually, I do. You should see me at the dog park. I dive for balls and run with them. If I were a basketball player, I’d grab the ball, don’t let anyone else get it and run like hell. And then I’d pass to someone taller who could shoot.

My mom thinks the Storm fought valiantly. She thinks Sue Bird played brilliantly: Sue turns away from whoever’s guarding her, just like I do when three dogs are trying to steal my favorite stick.

After Sue Bird, Cathy admires Yolanda Griffith. She likes Tanisha Wright’s improbable scores, Camille Little’s solid consistency and Sheryl Swoopes’s smoothness. She loved the last reguar season game, when the coach turned the game over to the bench players (but the Storm still beat Atlanta).

You have to realize my mom didn’t know what a point guard was ten years ago. Now she’s a fan. That’s nice…but that’s about the same time she got the First Dog. And that’s how I ended up here. That’s what’s really important.

My mom Cathy lives on the Internet but she’s shy to the point of being ridiculous when it comes to talking about certain topics. When she got the First Dog, she had to figure out how to tell the vet that Keesha wasn’t um…doing her business…yeah, that kind of business.

Now Mom’s a pro and she knows that we dogs need time to adjust our digestive systems after we get adopted or move to a new city. But back then she was a certified cat fanatic, desperately trying to learn how to be worthy of her splendid new dog.

Mom’s also discovered that dog owners actually look for ways to discuss these solid matters.

When Cathy lived in New Mexico, for instance, she was a volunteer marshal with the Tour of the Gila bike race. She and another volunteer were posted at an intersection to stop cars from running down the bikes. Naturally she took Keesha. And, she tells me, Keesha took the opportunity to make a very large deposit during one of the traffic breaks. The other volunteer (a cute young school teacher) called out, “Feeling better now, Keesha?”

Mom wanted to hide under her own signal flag.

So she wasn’t surprised when a neighbor in New Mexico commented, “Big poop for such a small dog!” (although she really didn’t know how to respond). Or a current neighbor commented on my output with, “Wow, that’s really solid.”

Alas, I have a delicate tummy and I eat everything in sight. On Wednesday we rushed to the vet because I had produced blood along with the usual products. The vet gave me a shot (ouch!) and pills (yuk – I’ve gotten really good at spitting them out). Mom paid just over $100 for all this.

Nothing happened. Cathy emailed the vet with a frantic message and was advised to “observe” me for 24 hours. No problem. I sleep next to her while she works so she observes me all day long.

Then it happened. Perfect. I get to go back to normal food. Mom can take her gaze (and her mind) off my rear end. I still get a few horrible pills but I can deal with them.

Mom calls it the $100 poop. But she doesn’t complain. “At least Gracie didn’t wake me up at 2 AM for an urgent call of nature. We live on the third floor of a city apartment.”

Aargh…yesterday my delicate digestive system created an unsightly mess when we went our walk. My mom dragged me off to the vet. Do you think she was worried about me? Nope…she doesn’t want me to drag pull her out of bed at 3 AM with an urgent need to do my business.

So I got prodded and poked and jabbed. Ouch! That nice Dr Morris said I need antibiotics in case there’s an infection. That nice Malari jabbed me with a needle so I’d get better faster.

Look, just tell my nice owner, my mom Cathy: enough with the walks and the running! I need a rest. She’s tired too but she’d never admit it.

Here I am in my new bed, fit for a princess.

You don’t think my mom bought it for me, do you? She found it downstairs, left by someone who was moving out. “Perfect for the cats,’ she said.

Good luck, cats. It’s mine now.

With the beautiful weather we’re having, my mom decided we should walk to her gym in the evening. Actually, she walks to the gym. I get dropped off at Downtown Dog Lounge to sit on the couch and hang out with my friend Summer and all the other dogs.

We walk about a mile and a half. Yesterday we were running late so my mom insisted we walk fast. No time for sniffing, she said. And besides, she added proudly, walking fast is better exercise.

Well, I sure don’t need to lose weight. I am in great shape. Maybe my mom could stand to drop a few inches here and here, but why do I have to go along with the program?

Cathy is very sensitive about weight, though, so I’m not saying a word. She holds the keys to my treats.

For the last few years, we’ve been pretty calm about food in our household. Mom is an omnivore. I’m famous for eating unmentionable garbage and stealing my mom’s food. The cats chewed on their crunchies.

Then everything changed. Cathy adopted Ophelia, who’s a food fuss. Ophelia insisted on eating canned food, which was supposed to be an occasional treat. My mom doesn’t want to mess with cans. After all, I eat crunchies. Why shouldn’t the cats? Who’s the superior species here?

So my mom finally got firm. At night she put down two plates of yummy Avoderm crunchies, one for each cat. Ophelia ran to her dish. Alas, she seemed to say, “no crunches.”

She gave Mom her best pathetic stare. Mom was unmoved. She had just rinsed out 3 cans for recycling. Enough!

So she ran to the other dish and sniffed. No crunchies.

Ophelia ran back and forth a couple of times before accepting the inevitable. She stalked away, fat plumy tail held high.

My mom was worried. “What if she won’t eat? What if she gets hepatic lipidosis? A big vet bill…”

Later that night we awoke to the sound of crunching. Sure enough, there was Ophelia, caught in the act. Ophelia looked at my mom and dashed away, muttering, “I was not eating. Don’t get any ideas.”

Could a cat be this smart? my mom wondered. She asked a couple of her human friends, by phone.

“Cats can be very manipulative,” said Mom’s friend Pat. “Don’t give in.”

Mom’s pretty stubborn herself. After all, I did serious crate time my first few months, till I convinced everyone I could be trusted to stay on the bed all night. I know the drill.

Anyway, I’ve had slim pickings around here myself. Mom downloaded a diet from the Internet and there’s not much for me to steal. No self-respecting dog would eat a cucumber and tomato salad. Whole grain bread? Not for me.

And that ditzy Creampuff keeps eating my food. I’d like to have a word with that adoption agency…if I knew how to use a phone.

Yesterday Cathy decided she should drop by her gym for a quick workout. She was having withdrawal symptoms after her nearby gym branch closed, along with her killer Sunday workout.

Great idea, mom. But why did you drop me off at the dog lounge? I was ready for a nap.

Fortunately for me, I found some nice dogs whose owners had gone away for the weekend. Some of us are old friends by now. Even more fortunately, Summer brought me up front to hang out with her at the reception desk. So I got a good rest while my mom did her thing.

After she picked me up, Cathy took me across the street to the dog park. I connected with a rowdy French bulldog who let me chase him for a good half hour.

Cathy didn’t budge. She sat in the sun. I could have got away with anything.

Soon my tongue was hanging and even my dim-witted fanatical owner got the message. Time to go home and eat. Crunchies for me, carrots for my Mom.

Hopefully we’ll get a day of rest on Labor Day, but I doubt it.