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Permissible dual-cat configurations

dual cat configurations

My two cats are like matter and anti-matter: they mixeth not, neither do they mingle. They will, however, appear on the same bed — now that I’ve turned the thermostat right down to save money and nurse my boiler through its last Winter. They will share a bed in two and only two configurations, as pictured above.

A single-cat configuration is always to my right, regardless of cat. Since all cats really are gray in the dark, I try to work out which one I’ve got by stroking its fur (his is coarser). Usually, I get the wrong end of whichever animal and find myself whispering sweet nothings to a cat’s bottom. They don’t seem to mind.

Cat blogging: because it doesn’t make my spleen throb like a native tom-tom.

Also: Garfield Minus Garfield as seen on Innocent Bystanders.


Comment from Jessica
Time: February 28, 2008, 10:58 am

This makes me laugh!
I also have two cats, and for some reason Pablo has taken to sleeping in the bed with Foxy and me since Geoff moved out (more room?).
Pablo has taken over Foxy’s spot near my head, and Foxy has moved down near my feet. In the morning, Pablo gets up, and Foxy moves back into his spot for “story time.” Yes, I read to my cat in the morning, cuz I’m insane.
Cats seem to like it when you talk into their butts…

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: February 28, 2008, 11:23 am

If you blew across their butts, would it make a whooing sound like a Coke bottle?

Of course not. But that thought pops into my head every time I find myself cradling Charlotte’s ass at dawn and asking it, “who’s a pretty princess, then?”

Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: February 28, 2008, 12:41 pm

The imagery…

Comment from porknbean
Time: February 28, 2008, 1:12 pm

I’m an empty grocery sack.

Hee hee.

Are those ‘Garfield without Garfield’, for real?

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: February 28, 2008, 1:22 pm

I think so. “For real” in that the blogger took a real Garfield comic and P’shopped Garfield out of it. I don’t know if he’s cherrypicking or he takes whatever today’s Garfield is. I’m guessing he’s cherrypicking.

“There’s something wrong with my pants” is still my favorite.

Comment from porknbean
Time: February 28, 2008, 1:33 pm

Ahhh..photo-shopped. Would have been funnier had J. Davis done it.

Comment from pajama momma
Time: February 28, 2008, 6:33 pm

I wish to God my two oldest children were like your cats. Do you know how much irritation would be avoided if this were the case?

My voice would no longer be hoarse. My finger would no longer be sore from flicking people upside the head. There would be silence….yeah right, ok maybe no silence, but the arguing would be cutdown considerably.

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: February 28, 2008, 6:36 pm

Oh, it’s only when they sleep. When awake, he does an alarmingly brother-like impersonation of the “I’m not touching yoooooooo!” gambit. And she rolls her eyes and goes, “Oh, hisss! I am so sure!” Still, the good part is, if they get on my nerves TOO much, I can legally have them euthanized.

So you’re a head-flicker, eh?

Comment from Christopher Taylor
Time: February 28, 2008, 7:20 pm

You left off the “sitting on your face” and the “both lying next to you so you can’t move” configurations cats seem to prefer.

Comment from Mrs. Peel
Time: February 28, 2008, 8:40 pm

The boy’s cat prefers to sleep next to my legs with her paws extending, touching my legs, so that if I move in my sleep, she can immediately stick her claws right into me.

Comment from pajama momma
Time: February 28, 2008, 9:27 pm

So you’re a head-flicker, eh?

I’ll admit it. I have been known to flick a head a time or two.

Today at the store Graham my oldest son asked me to flick his head.
“Mom flick my head,come on do it. I want to show you how good I can duck. I have flick sensors now.”

I obliged.

Comment from porknbean
Time: February 28, 2008, 10:38 pm

I obliged.

When my friend’s son was real small, he would pitch fits right in middle of stores, church, wherever. One time, when one was coming on, my friend grabbed him by the wrist and started to lead him away before it became raging. He decided to throw himself down and in the process dislocated his arm.
While in the ER, my friend got the third degree as if she was a child abuser. From that time on, everytime he threw a hissy, she would take him by the hair at the base of his skull – where it is most tender – to get him to listen. No marks.

Comment from iamfelix
Time: February 29, 2008, 10:17 am

LOL, PnB! You reminded me of a friend of mine – I was a school bus driver for 5 years before my current job & worked with her. Her favorite quote when people asked how she got the little darlings to mind was “Pull hair – It doesn’t leave marks.”

Head-flicking can work, too. 🙂

Comment from Cuffy Meigs
Time: February 29, 2008, 12:22 pm

dearlord, weaz hearing the ocean in a kitty’s patoot! Myself, I like stroking the ears of my corgi while he’s in bed on his back. And then I realize he’s getting a somnambulant handjob.

Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: February 29, 2008, 12:31 pm

If you blew across their butts, would it make a whooing sound like a Coke bottle?

…hearing the ocean in a kitty’s patoot!

Stop it!

I can’t get these out of my mind. I keep hearing the surf and a “whooing” sound. Dammit.

Comment from Gibby Haynes
Time: February 29, 2008, 1:07 pm

You people are sick. Sick! I don’t let pussies anywhere near my bed…god I’m lonely.

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: February 29, 2008, 1:09 pm

Yeah. I was thinking along the lines of a Cat Organ. I started to draw a diagram, but I couldn’t work out any angle that didn’t look over-the-top obscene.

I think it’s the pucker on the instrumentalist what does it.

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: February 29, 2008, 1:13 pm

For some reason, Blue Danube is the only tune I can imagine playing on the Cat Organ.

Whoo-whoo-whoo. Whoo. Whoo.

Comment from Steamboat McGoo
Time: February 29, 2008, 1:18 pm

God, I love this site! ROFLMAO.

Comment from gnus
Time: February 29, 2008, 1:38 pm

Here I sit, surrounded by boxes, thinking of a cat organ and giggling insanely. What will the new neighbors think? I’m hearing Beethoven’s Fifth, myself.

Whoo, whoo, whoo whoooooo.
Who who who whoooooooo.
Who who who whoooo whooo WHOO…

Moving sucks!

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: February 29, 2008, 1:48 pm

Holy shit — are we ALL moving?!

Comment from Cuffy Meigs
Time: February 29, 2008, 2:31 pm

I would paint XXX on my cat’s belly and play him in a hillbilly band.

Comment from porknbean
Time: February 29, 2008, 3:16 pm

Holy shit — are we ALL moving?!

Nah….but we’re refinancing next week. Getting enough to not only refinance the house, but pay off the little I owe on my car and pay off some acreage. And our payment will still will go down $300. (though we will still overpay on the mortgage) WOO HOO!

Comment from Muslihoon
Time: February 29, 2008, 4:53 pm

I’m not moving. Although I should be.

Comment from gnus
Time: March 1, 2008, 5:07 pm

Moving seems to be working out for me. I was happy in the old place, but I really like the new place. Sort of out in the boonies, which suits me just fine. I am, after all, from EAST Tennessee. 🙂

(If you ask Google Earth to find Santa Rosa Beach, FL, there I be. There just a bit to the East of where HWYs 331 and 98 intersect.)

That’s me waving.

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: March 1, 2008, 5:11 pm

Gnus! Don’t give that sort of information up! Somebody’ll send you a nakedgram or something.

Oh, wow. Up in the panhandle (right wing redneck territory — good for you!). That looks really beautiful. And right by the sea!

I’m looking forward to being back out in the country (Badger House feels WAY back in the sticks, even though it isn’t, really).

Comment from gnus
Time: March 1, 2008, 6:09 pm

Actually I’m one empty lot and a sand street away from the bay. Not on the Gulf side of Hwy 98.

Not to imply that you are now, or ever were, a country bumpkin, but I’ll bet this place would invoke some sense of being “home”. Being from TN and all. Substitute gravel for sand and flatten the hills to flitteriness and there you are. Big pine trees and lots of undergrowth. Driveways that seem to meander off into the woods, and stuff.

And yet 10 minutes away from here which is where I ply my trade every morning.

Oh, and don’t forget warm. I was just out on my humble, rustic deck having a smoke – can’t smoke in the house. It’s around 70 degrees and sunny. Not to gloat, or anything like that.

BTW, Obama was gonna have a fund raiser or something hereabouts, but changed his mind at kinda the last minute. Maybe the rightwing mindset around here put him off.

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: March 1, 2008, 6:13 pm

Yeah, Obama was speaking at Rhode Island College today. I could’ve walked to it. But, you know…there was a skiff of snow and I was happy in my underpants and all like that.

Oh, hey, I spent my formative years WAY out in the boonies. My mama was part of the back-to-the-land hippie movement of the early Seventies (she was a bit old for it, but she was willing to apply herself).

I do *not* envy you the humid heat, though. Ugh. It was like being snuggled up in Satan’s armpit.

Comment from gnus
Time: March 1, 2008, 6:42 pm

Well, there IS that. For maybe two months of the year it’s like being in inside a wet plastic monosuit. Even at 3 AM it’s like a steam bath. Thank the Lord for AC. Amen.

And it does get cold. Snowed on me once. Of course, to me, any thing approaching freezing is like a the great frozen north whatever.

It’s the strangest thing. I go out looking like the Michelin man, all layered and such, and as soon as the sun comes up it starts heating up. I come in every morning looking like I’m carrying the rag man’s daily haul.

If you keep a normal sleep schedule, you’d never know how cold it really was. ‘Ceptin for the weather report. No wonder we get so many snowbirds.

Say, did you ever meet Wavy Gravy, or am I thinking of the wrong farm?

And did I ever send ya a link to this guy? Talented photographer from up around Gatlinburg. His pics take me back to the mountains, in case I ever get homesick.

Comment from S. Weasel
Time: March 1, 2008, 7:54 pm

I didn’t meet Wavy Gravy. I know the name. We met people from the Children of God commune at one point, though. CREEPY. There was a nasty murder case associated with the Middle Tennessee group later.

I’m loving that photographer. Thank you.

I didn’t realize how much the landscape of home was woven right into my bones until the year I decided to drive back to see my folks (because I couldn’t afford the airfare). It’s one thing to get on an airplane in one place and get off someplace else. It’s quite another experience every foot of the journey in realtime. I hit Virginia about dawn, and suddenly it looked like home. I had to pull over.

Comment from Anonymous
Time: March 2, 2008, 1:08 pm

You can take the weasel out of the hills, but you can’t take the hills out of the weasel. Or something like that.

I’ve been outside communing with my apparently domesticated pair of little green lizards. Anoles, maybe. I’ll have to Google them after while.

When moving time comes, if you’re having someone pack up your stuff, make damn sure you know which boxes contain those little necessities that make living worthwhile. Strangers will not know which items are which. You can trust me on this.

To put a positive spin on it, it’ll be a lot like Christmas around here for a while, opening boxes and all.

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