iFeline Cat Robot with Dog Death Ray

iFeline Cat Robot with Dog Death Ray

iFeline Cat Robot with Dog Death Ray

The iFeline cat robot is so authentic looking you’ll swear it’s real!

After fourteen years (seven human years), our software experts at iFeline Laboratories have perfected the first responsive cat robot on the market, produced to replicate cat like indifference and stealth maneuverability.

Like an ordinary cat, the iFeline will sit on your lap when it’s in the mood and suddenly appear underfoot while you’re climbing stairs or running to answer the phone.

The rechargeable iFeline cat robot, with dog death ray, comes with portable charger, GPS system, durable plastic exterior, programmable purr and meow voice control, adjustable volume and vibration device and carrying case.

Its advanced spring-loaded hindquarter technology enables the iFeline to jump up to fifty feet and then land on all fours every time.

iFeline’s specially formulated natural fur coat is waterproof and can handle the most severe weather conditions. The iFeline’s durable handcrafted fur coat will not shed and is guaranteed to last through nine lives.

Every iFeline is fitted with retractable synthetic claws that never require clipping and is designed with turbo digging and scratching functionality. The iFeline can climb trees, as well as your furniture and drapes, can last up to 360 days outdoors, while hanging from a branch, and comes with a Wi-Fi activated parachute. iFeline tech experts are available 24/7 to handle any iFeline glitches or emergencies.

The iFeline is available in adult cat and kitten sizes and a variety of colors, including calico, primary colors, as well as shiny metallic pink, green and blue.

Batteries not included.

Relevant article:

Mother’s Day Rap

I’m a mother with a son, two dogs and cat

I try to cook and clean but fail at that

After work, I want time to clear my head

But have to feed the dogs and cat instead

If they don’t get dinner, they get under my feet

When you fall on your face, it’s harder to scream


I’m just a gal with a job, a hubby and kid

Got no time for a facial or sweet spot to fill

Want a safe-room to hide from my family and pets

Sitting alone in the dark is as good as it gets


After the dogs and cat got food in their gut

Got to make an ingestible for my husband and son

If I don’t feed them, they get cranky and gruff

Don’t want a coup on my hands while juggling stuff

Cook is a four-letter word and meal is, too.

Can’t my family get their own damn food?


I’m just a gal with a job, a hubby and kid

Got no time for a facial or sweet spot to fill

Want a safe-room to hide from my family and pets

Sitting alone in the dark is as good as it gets


Gotta put food in the fridge or on the counter it sits

The stack in the sink needs a dishwasher rinse

I stick them on the shelf, as if a piece of puzzle to fit

If I put them in wrong, there’s no place for a dish

Want to push all the buttons and begin the soak

Before I stumble into hubby in the comatose zone


My son’s M.I.A., stuck in the World Wide Web

Outside, the dogs avoid the shock of the electric fence

Suddenly, the cat wants to be my friend

She shows it be scratching the counter’s edge

“Stop it!” I scream, then she hits the catnip

Hubby wakes up barking with the dogs, who want to come in


Oh, God, I don’t wanna open that door

I’ll never get a moment of quiet time du jour

Just want one day to clear my head of crap

That’s why I wrote this half-baked Mother’s Day Rap


I’m just a gal with a job, plus a hubby and kid

Got no time for a facial or sweet spot to fill

Want a safe-room to hide from my family and pets

Sitting alone in the dark is as good as it gets

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Houdini Mutt and the Vanishing String.

When a mutt has a bum knee, it goes to a mutt orthopedist. Such was the case with my dog Jenny, who after undergoing knee surgery – yes, dogs have knees – is now in doggy rehab, which entails brisk walks on a lead while I snow plane behind.

During rehab, Jenny wears a surgical collar to, in theory, prevent her from picking at her scab, a theory reality has disproved.


So far, Jenny has been able to …

  • Remove the collar three times.
  • Use the collar as a plow to bulldoze her way past human objects and …
  • Punish said human objects for making her wear said collar by following humans around and plowing into the back of their legs, which as you can imagine, hurts!
  • Outside, Jenny scrapes the collar against the hard cold crust that covers the snow, thus ripping the cheap plastic collar and creating a portal to the other side which …
  • Allows Jenny to pick at the scab and inflict further pain upon the backs of indigenous humans legs by wielding the jagged plastic edge like a weapon.

To date …

  • I continue to repair the rips in the collar with clear tape that loses its adhesive abilities after each subsequent exposure to the outside elements.
  • The last time Jenny removed the string from the collar that wraps around her neck, we could not locate the string and suspect that …
    • Jenny ate the string or hid it in a really good place, possibly the same place she hid two missing snowshoes from different wedded pairs.
  • Since the string is still MIA, we now use Jenny’s leather collar to keep the surgical collar in place.
    • She still hasn’t broken the leather collar code, but I’m running out of tape to repair the rips in the plastic shell, which is the shell of what it once was.
  • After numerous attempts to remove the collar with a tubular pick, Jenny still hasn’t been able to break free.
  • She displays her frustration by engaging in her favorite activities: trash can diving and tissue pillaging.
    • Today she removed a box of Kleenex from the end table in the family room and placed it on the floor next to a pile of gutted tissues.
    • Some tissue parts are MIA like the string.

I fear that one day soon, while taking Jenny for a walk, I will find the missing string, which will then be dead to me. But, at least I’ll be able to remove this poster I nailed to my neighbor’s trees.

Odd Facts and Observations about Dogs


Jake is from West Virginia and enjoys hunting and air sex.

Jenny is from Puerto Rico and enjoys opening latches on fences and is also an illegal immigrant. I wonder if there is a connection.

Jake is not a rocket scientist. Please refer to the above photo and the exceptionally wide grin on his face, as well as the George W. Bush look in his eyes.  If Jake could speak anything other than “woof,” this is what he would say:

“There’s an old saying in Tennessee West Virginia — I know it’s in Texas, probably in Tennessee West Virginia — that says, fool me once, shame on — shame on you. Fool me — you can’t get fooled again.” – George W. Bush.

Jake enjoys chewing on small rocks and dining on dirt, as does Jenny, who is a dirt connoissewer. I just learned this fact yesterday when I was walking Jenny in the yard. Jenny also has bad knees and sees an orthopedist. She just had knee surgery and wears this hat sometimes, which reminds me of a vacuum cleaner.

Jenny Eating Lunch

Why do dogs eat dirt? Is it the texture, the aroma, or the nutritional value? It’s got lots of minerals. Maybe it tastes like chicken. I have no idea. It remains a mystery to me, as does a dog‘s preference in hors devours, when sampling crepe, uh, er, crap from the cat tray.

Dogs love to eat cat poop, a delicacy, as well as anything they find on the floor, which brings me to the next point.

A dog is as intelligent as a two year oldProbably not Jake. That’s what I read in an article, aptly entitled, Dogs’ Intelligence On Par With Two-Year-Old Human, Canine Researcher Says.

“Although you wouldn’t want one to balance your checkbook, dogs can count.”

I can’t balance a checkbook or count.

If you’re a parent of a two-year old or a twenty-one year old, who once was two, then you know that a two-year old will put anything in his/her mouth. They also crawl on all fours, like a dog, and poop in the house, unlike a dog. Most dogs poop outside unless you forget to take him/her for a walk after a second cup of coffee. Then the dog will poop in the house in a highly-trafficked area.

Dogs don’t really drink coffee. But they like to emulate humans, as indicated below.

Another interesting fact about dogs. They have elbows and knees. I discovered this the first time Jake sat on my lap and stuck his pointy elbow into my ribs. He also weighs 45 pounds – could lose a pound or two – and is clearly not a lap dog. But he doesn’t understand the concept of weight and its relationship to pain. Remember the smile.

I didn’t know that dogs even had knees until Jenny busted hers. Jenny is also ADD and very active. I think she might have busted her knee while body slamming Jake against a wall. Maybe that’s why Jake isn’t intelligent. Too many head slams against the wall.

Do you know any interesting facts about dogs? Do you even like dogs?

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My Lawn is a Toilet.

Ode to doggie extrement


My mutts pee on the lawn killing the grass, er, weeds that proliferate amid all things green, now a paler shade of yellow-green, slipping between the cracks on the brick pathway and inner circles, er, holes of the garden.

Walking the lawn is dangerous to shoe-sole survivors of Doghau concentration camp that was anything but a camp.

Now the poor souls must negotiate their way around poop land mines. Hidden in the grass, they explode upon impact.

Ka-poo! Smushed crap covers my shoe.

I look for a rock between a hard place along the driveway. I find one that has tumbled out of line halfway onto cracked asphalt already infiltrated by weeds. They get into everything. Those weeds of mine — Weeds do the darnedest things!

But at least weeds don’t stick to your shoe like poo.

I scrape the sole against a rock then admire my work — a piece of crap art, a poo Picasso perhaps. Something to admire on a day when I’m feeling down in the dumps.

The odor upsets my nauseous nostrils, sensitive to acrid aromas of pungent poop. My nostrils gag and then spew a sneeze. Relief!

My shoe soles sigh. They live to survive another day in Poo Land.

Is your lawn green or a paler shade of yellow-green?

Canine Wrecking Crew: Gutting Homes One Room at a Time.

We’ll Take a Bite Out of Your Couch, Not Your Budget.
 The Brains

If you need a chair or sofa stripped clean, my dog Jenny, a mutt and alpha dog in a pack of two, will do it for free. She has an eye for interior design, or so she would like you think if you’re a minimalist and prefer sparse decor.

We discovered her flair for decorating when she and Jake, her business partner and number two, destroyed two couches while my husband and I were at work earning money to pay for things, such as reupholstering couches.

 The Brawn

When we first adopted the dogs, we kept them downstairs in the basement, which has a doggie-door to an outside pen that opens into a yard – a canine utopia, or so we had thought. But the dogs saw it as more of a maximum-security prison. They protested their inability to gain upstairs access by decimating the two sofas in the basement.

Every day, my husband and I would return home to a couch in a new stage of disrepair.

First, the dogs attacked the cushions – ripping apart the material, removing the foam, and scattering it across the floor and outside yard. My husband and I walked the yard, in a search and rescue mission, looking for wads of foam that were M.I.A.

At the time, we had hoped to retrieve the foam, stuff it back into the cushions, and eventually have them repaired. Unfortunately, the dogs ripped apart the cushions faster than we could find the foam. Our yard soon looked like an ancient foam burial ground.

But that was the least of our problems. Jenny and Jake had started gnawing through the armrests.

So, we left the cushions for dead and concentrated on saving the sofas. We had a brilliant plan, or so we had thought. We would spray the sofas with dog repellent. It worked while we were at home when we could reapply the spray, but as soon as we left for the day, the odor disappeared. And the dogs went back to the business of restoring the sofas, in their minimalist bare-bone vision, without the unnecessary excesses of upholstery or foam.

After a month, the couches had been stripped down to the frame, which left Jenny with no place to sleep other than the floor.

That showed her!

Do you have doggie demolition crew at your house?
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My dog ate my snow shoe and other digestible thoughts.

Dogs, you can’t live with them; you can’t live without them.

Oh, that’s men, but my husband has never eaten or attempted to eat my snow shoes.

Wrong picture. That’s a deer, a doe, a female deer.

My dogs, however, (I have two of them) love to chomp on leather, or cotton/polyester products with a foam center, kind of like an Oreo. I’m talking about pillows of any breed.


The main suspect and perpetrator is Jenny, a Sato dog, who once lived on the streets of Puerto Rico eating garbage and anything else that helped her to survive. Now garbage is just an hors’devour.

Jenny stares at an open food compactor, as if it were a buffet table. Garbage cans are snack trays. She gives a whole new meaning to the expression “dumpster diving.”

I once caught her lying on a bed eating tissues from the Kleenex box she grabbed from the nightstand. Maybe tissues taste like cotton candy or chicken.

Anything of questionable taste, other than clothing, is immediately put into the chicken column, although no one has ever accused chicken of tasting like anything questionable unless it involves my cooking. And my husband has used some choice words to describe my culinary expertise, before consumption (BC), while still in the baking dish set on the counter in a Good Housekeeping photo op moment. I wish! And after digestion (AD), when said chicken carcass and husband carcass end up in the can.

But I’ve wandered off topic again and find myself slowly edging back to the point . . . that my dog ate my snow shoe, which is now in a flip-flop state, meaning that when lifting the shoe, most of the heel remains on the floor. Not good for icy conditions or walking in general.

In the case of another pair of snow shoes I own, one of the shoes is now a widow since her better half has bitten the dust, or more aptly, been bitten. We have lots of widow and widower shoes in the hall closet. They lie in mourning, saddened by the untimely deaths of their shoe spouses. One day I will discard the widowed shoes, but right now I honor the memory of the poor departed soles. They mate for life, you know.

Do you have any widowed shoes?
If so, what caused their untimely demise?

Dog Park Tales: A Day in Poo Land.

Attention Dog Guardians / DogsImage by dullhunk via Flickr

Warning:  Humans suffering from highbrow humor disorder, irritable wit syndrome, or sensitivity to john jokes (not hookers or brother-in-laws) should not read past this line.

Just remember. You were warned!


A trip to the local dog park, where free-range canines run in 6-packs, 12-packs, 18-packs or more, brings a flush of pride to a dog owner’s cheek and a smush of poo beneath the shoe.

I really stepped in that one! Scraping bottom of shoe against large rock.

For the dog owner, finding a canine dropping often becomes a game of “which crap is mine?” as there is a variety to choose from — the same challenge we face everyday at the grocery store, although with processed food, not food already processed.

Unless a dog owner has an intimate knowledge of what descends from his dog’s behind, it can be a daunting task to find the remains of fido’s breakfast. What is a dog owner to do? Put the poo bag on his hand and turn it into a poo puppet? No! Just approach Area Number 2 with caution and pick up any stool. During the winter, any poo will do. Those are the hard-facts on frozen feces. To learn more, visit www.crapogenics.org.

While the dog days of summer produces countless hurls, uh, er hurtles, as a hot steaming pile of shit is a slick wily creature that can change appearances at any given moment in order to give the poo hunter the slip. When conducting summer stool reconnaissance, it is best to choose the mutt muffin from the dog with a hi-fiber diet, unless you happened to arrive at the park on Taco day, then it is highly recommended that you put pebbles in your poo bag when no one is looking.

Do you pick up any poo or put pebbles in your poo bag?
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