Vacuum cleaners: How can you not like them? They're even spelled in a sexy way. Two "u"'s! Why? Who cares? It's just boss that it has two u's in the name: one for you and one for me.

I'll tell you what, I like them even more once I got a cat. Aside from waking me up at 6am in the morning for no good reason (playing with my face)—her second favorite thing to do is litter my floor, furniture, curtains, ceiling (not sure how that works), couch, studio desk, with her hair.

Yes, I brush her. It doesn't help.

I am as excited about this vacuum cleaner, as I was about receiving Optimus Prime for Christmas from my parents when I was seven years old. It's even red like Optimums Prime. Can't you see the resemblance? It's uncanny (use you imagination; the picture is in black and white, people).

For what Optimus Prime lacks in suck, this vacuum cleaner makes up for. It's a Dirt Devil. It's got Reach, and not just by manufacturer name. It could play pro ball, but doesn't want to because it's an inanimate object—that is unless I'm pushing it around, ridding my floor of the bane of my existence: cat hair. It reaches under my couch (sort of).

It has attachments.

It has wheels, just like Optimus. It's fucking cool. That's what I'm trying to say.

Okay, yeah I know. I'm officially old. I am excited about a vacuum cleaner. More to the point, I'm excited that my socks are not riddled with feline reminders of her hard work and effort spreading herself about the house. It's a full-time job for my cat.

My other option was to shave my cat, but that would be ridiculous... or would it?

Stay tuned.

- Mike

Recently, I had the pleasure of settling in with the ever controversial and provocative figure behind such classics as, "I'll Sit Where I Want, Just Not in Your Lap" "Oh Were You Sleeping? I'm Hungry," and her best selling memoir, "The Only Thing That Would Really Make That Warm Laundry Better, is Me on Top of It." While she spent nearly a week evading every effort for me to get comprehensive coverage on her and the intimate details of her life, let alone sweet sweet snuggles, I found that one cup of food every morning, and one cup of food every evening, helped immensely with her opening up to me, a bit. Cleaning her cat box didn't hurt either.

Mike: So, from what I understand, you're an avid fan of my work as a musician, correct?

Peony: [silence and a slight stare to her left]

Mike: [clearing my throat] ...well, I guess I'll be moving on with the first question.

Peony: Meow.

Mike: Would you say that you prefer me to your loving friend's Kurt and Jill.

Peony: I'm not at liberty to say. Who's Kurt and Jill?

Mike: Holy crap, you're speaking english!

Peony: I asked you a question.

Mike: This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real.

Peony: Meow.

Mike: You know, Kurt and Jill: Guy with the beard and the charming voice and songs; girl with one of the finer senses-of-humor since the invention of everyone else. Really sweet people.

Peony: [she exits the room]

Mike: I wasn't quite finished with...

Peony: [slight turn from the doorway] Meow.

[the next several minutes consisted of what can only be described as sounds that strongly resemble romping around the house at maximum velocity. It is pertinent to note that for the past two weeks, this has been standard practice. This is followed by long intervals of silence. I assume she was sleeping.]

Peony: [from the doorway] Meow.

Mike: You're back.

Peony: Meow.

Mike: While I have you here, we should probably move on to more pertinent questions regarding your stance on...

Peony: [leaves the room again]

[At this point in the interview, I'm beginning to realize that this might be more difficult than I had originally anticipated—wait, she's staring at me from the doorway]

Love you Peony. Thanks for letting me watch this character, Kurt and Jill. She's a lot of fun.