At last, scientists have mapped out the different regions of the cat brain. Now, I’m no PhD or MD or DVM or RN or NAMBLA, but I suspect that the problem we have with Fuzzy can be isolated to the region just between “Mysterious Adoration of Just One Spot on the Bed” and “Short Circuit that Makes Purring Kitty into Arm-Shredding Maniac in Two Seconds.” Let’s just call that area the “Determination to Pee on Fresh Litter the Second it is Poured,” which, like the “Commitment Spot,” has become enlarged in Fuzzy’s brain by a rapacious tumor that feeds off diet Iams cat food.

Hence the reason he likes to pee on furniture so much.

Hence the reason we no longer have our beloved leather couches.

My sister-in-law Tara was in today’s Journal News, in an article about how there aren’t enough curb cuts on suburban sidewalks — especialy for a mom of three with a double-wide stroller.

“Small curb a big barrier for wheelchairs, strollers,” TJN, April 19

Oh, and believe it or not, there’s video to accompany the story, here!

Ana and I just finished watching season 5 of “Six Feet Under” and, well, despite the beautiful weather today I feel spent. It’s not just because we burned through 12 episodes in two sittings (or six hours at a time), but because — pussy alert — I’ve never cried so damn much for such an extended period of time.

Seriously, I must need my head examined for not being able to cry when my own family members pass away, but then bawling uncontrollably when Nate Fisher dies of a brain hemorrhage we all saw coming a mile away. Maybe it’s that concluding 5-minute sequence, where we see all of the Fishers keeling over, one after another in a series of flash-forwards, that still has me reeling. It’s kind of like watching a surrogate family die. Only, much as I was troubled by the loss of the Keatons when “Family Ties” concluded, nobody ever died there, and no way was I still getting emotional when I thought about the ending a day later.

The only consolation in this whole blubbery, pathetic mess was when I did a search for SFU merchandise. Ana had bought me a Fisher & Sons T-shirt after season 4, but what with my sweaty glands, I went and turned the armpit areas yellow — so I need a new one. If you haven’t seen the last few episodes, you won’t have the foggiest idea why a T-shirt like this one on CafePress would brighten my day so much. But those who watched the show should know exactly what I’m talking about.

Call it a rallying cry, a SFU survivor motto. Like “Sic Transit Gloria,” the words of another great Fisher (Max from Rushmore), it urges us embrace life and to remember that, in the end, you’re getting all worked up over a friggin TV show, you nincompoop.

Say it with me, all together now: Narm!

Three cheers for VH1. After CBS decided to yank “Love Monkey,” a suprisingly likable version of Sex & the City for guys, last February after only three episodes, the dramedy is getting a second life on basic cable. I guess that “Save Love Monkey” petition worked after all. Alas, there were only eight episodes already in the can, and no word on whether VH1 will renew it for another season. But for now we get to see the five previously unaired episodes starting this coming Tuesday, April 18, at 9 p.m.

Some will say that the New York Times’ decision to cease publishing the Westchester weekly section as we know it (along with the NJ, LI, and CT weeklies), is because they’re trying to convert all the suburban coverage into one Styles-esque section. Some will say it’s because ad revenue has dropped off, and they just need to cut corners and lose the freelancers.

But if you’re asking me, I say it’s because they were getting their ass handed to them by InTown magazine (and Scarsdale, Rockland, and Putnam mags). There’s only enough room in this obscenely wealthy suburb for one of us, Gray Lady.

Westchester Mag, you’re next!

Link: ‘Times’ to Styles-ify the Suburbs – Gawker