That darn cat

going on a milk carton

Stan is missing.

You know that sad and sullen voodoo doll I bought in New Orleans during Spring Break? Well, he's gone, baby, gone and I'm oh so sad. He'd already looked as though he'd seen enough.

Of course, you know who I am blaming: our cat, Cinnamon. He's got a record. Remember when he attacked my Thor? I'd found Thor's hammer behind the couch -- surrounded by cat fur, no less. And now Cinnamon's getting bolder. Look at this:

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It's a feather from Stan. I didn't find it behind the couch but IN PLAIN VIEW on the carpet right next to my desk. It's like Cinnamon isn't even trying to appear innocent. I fear what he might do next.

My other voodoo dolls are worried, too -- at least the ones with feathers. To be safe, I put them in my desk drawer. Just to make them comfy, I covered them with an old cleansing cloth for glasses. I think they appreciated that.

Still, I can't work miracles. You know Cinnamon's bear -- the one he thought was his baby a while back? Well, he's Cinnamon's enemy now. At least that's what I'm assuming. I fear the bear is too far gone to do anything now.

Man, that looks like it hurts.

Seriously, what am I going to do with that cat? He's turning into such vicious troublemaker. You'd never guess he was the same cat who pees in fright whenever he's by the front door and the doorbell rings. He even runs away when anyone other than family enters the house! Well, I'm not buying the "scaredy cat" act anymore.

I'm on to you, Cinnamon. Watch out.