Awwwww…
You know what the adorable kitten means, don’t you? That’s right — Stoaty let you down today. Between the deadline chasing and the fixer-upping of Casa del Weasel, I’m plumb weaseled out. It’s going to be a tight week.
Oh, adorable? Let me tell you something: Damien was born crazier’n a whole boxcar full of homicidal drifters. I guarantee you what he’s saying here is, “I’m going to CUT you, bitch. I’m going to cut you GOOD. You see these here pig-stickers? When I’m done, your own MOTHER won’t know you. Maybe tomorrow you’ll remember to clean my litterbox BEFORE my morning dump. Now git in that kitchen and pour me some FRISKIES.”
Isn’t he the sweetest?
March 31, 2008 — 6:25 pm
Comments: 12
Whistling up another one
March 7, 2008 — 8:04 am
Comments: 66
It’s a cat’s-asstrophe!
February 29, 2008 — 6:05 pm
Comments: 38
Permissible 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.
February 28, 2008 — 10:05 am
Comments: 31
Wait, I haven’t posted anything tonight? Really?
This isn’t Damien’s X-Ray. It is a cat, though. I Googled it. The image is from the University Hospitals of Cleveland radiology website. The childrens’ department.
It’s pretty much what I imagine Damien’s x-ray looked like, had I remembered to ask for it, though. With a little more “hallelujah!” thrown in. Yeah, I guess the little bastard bumped his elbow. Against a Buick or something. I watched him gimp around the house for three days before I couldn’t stand it and took him to the vet. I just got back.
He’s okay, but there’s one more expense I could live without. And I hate his vet. Vets. Whatever. Different rant for another night.
It’s not a fracture, but a bad bruise. I have to give him anti-inflammatories for a few days and “keep him quiet for a while longer than that.” Huh. Thou doest not keep the Prince of Darkness “quiet for a while.” So I asked for specific instructions.
Vet: “Oh, keep him in a small dark room. Like the bathroom. Even the cat carrier. He’ll just think it’s a very long night.”
Me: “But I’m going away for Christmas.”
Vet: “No problem.”
Me: “I’ll be gone for two weeks.”
Vet: “He’ll be fine.”
In a box. For fourteen days. What is the matter with people? If my cats are shut up in the house for two hours, they get antsy. If you locked Damien in a tiny box for fourteen days, he’d be a howling psychotic. More of a howling psychotic. Seriously, it would be bad news.
December 12, 2007 — 8:07 pm
Comments: 34
My poor pussoes
This is the point of the trip where I start to feel guilty about my cats. I imagine them shuffling around the house going “miaowwwwww…” in forlorn voices. They always have HUGE eyes, like those paintings.
In truth, I left them a way in and out through the basement, so they’ve probably had the time of their lives. And I’ve undoubtedly been feeding their friend, the Big Black Cat Who Is Not At All Intimidated By Me. Dude eats out of their bowl even when I’m IN the house.
Damnedest thing. My two are usually territorial (especially Charlotte), but they don’t seem to mind this guy.
October 29, 2007 — 7:26 am
Comments: 4
Finally, somebody answers the damn question
I figured if anybody was going to know the answer to the question, a cattery that breeds sphinx cats would. So I wrote to a couple of them. I didn’t sound like a nutter or anything. I write enough business email that I can sound reasonably sane when I choose. But nobody wrote me back.
Now, someone has actually written a book called Do Cats Have Bellybuttons? The answer is yes, they do. They aren’t neat round holes, on account of mama cats don’t have scissors, but they have a little scar there.
I feel better.
September 25, 2007 — 1:24 pm
Comments: 36
And now for something cheerful and stupid
Must…lighten up…top…page. Too…depressing. Ah, here we go. Daily Mail to the rescue. Here are some images from the Cloud Appreciation Society. For a nominal fee, you too can join the society like 9,613 of your fellow cloud starer-atters. They have a manifesto and certificates and buttons and everything.
Back to the Mail, here’s my favorite headline of the week: Dingo baby mum says she’ll support McCanns. Thanks, but…ummm…
There’s a cat at Downing Street again: meet Sybil (named after Sybil Fawlty). Her predecessor, Humphrey, was evicted during the Blair years. Rumors Cherie had him offed were so pervasive that she was forced to call a press conference and have herself photographed smiling and holding the beast. That didn’t stem the impression that she had him evicted (or worse), so Humphrey was periodically photographed in his secret London home standing on the day’s newspaper. He died last year, age 18.
Doofuses Wed. The Society for Creative Anachronism doesn’t have a branch in the UK, but chubby people everywhere seem inexorably drawn to period costume. I feel for the horses. Though at least these people had a real live castle to get married in.
Man shoots honkin’ big pig. Sad story, actually. He’s a farmer in Devon and he was raising a herd of wild boar. Animal rights activists destroyed his fence and set a hundred of them free (including many pregnant sows), so hunters are having to track them down and kill them. I fail to see how this is a victory for the animals.
Thank you, Mail. And now let us turn to the BBC, where Mighty Weasel Brings Beeb to its Knees. This article about Muslims fasting during Ramadan began with “Thirty-one-year-old Sumaya Amra is just one of the billions of Muslims who takes part in the holy month of Ramadan by fasting in daylight hours, each day for 30 days.” Oh, I don’t think so, Auntie. I left a comment (which didn’t get published), but it was corrected to “billion or so” not long after. I don’t for a moment think the original was an accident. Reminder: the BBC pulls this shit all the time, and you can track it at BBC-Biased.
September 12, 2007 — 11:09 am
Comments: 25
Is there a Facebook for grownups?
This is a bleg. Jesus, I hate the word “bleg.”
Anyhow, I’m one of those sad, feckless people who dropped out of college and couldn’t think of anything better to do than stay in my college town. It was as good as anywhere, really. Every once in a while, someone from the distant past will give me a call. It always goes like this:
Me: “I’m still in the same old place.”
Them: “I figured you would be.”
Mmm. Thanks. Well, now I won’t be. I’m moving! To someplace else! Ha hah!
I’ve been extraordinarily careful since back in those freewheeling days when everybody posted under real names. Now a Google search of my real name and all reasonable variations thereof turns up nuffink. So I need to file a sort of cyber business card somewhere. I don’t want to update it or network or anything, I just want people who know me to find a contact email when they search my name.
Is there something out there like that? Because the ‘social networking’ sites all seem to be populated with infants.
Meanwhile, have you ever dreamed of teaching your cat to shit in a salad shooter? Sure, we all have. Well, now you can, with the Craptapulator! Yes, one look at this Byzantine torture device, and all kinds of crap will come flying out of your cat!
Gnus found this on Dan’s Blah Blah Blog. Charlotte shares with Dan’s cat the tendency to pee around rather than in the litterbox. In Charlotte’s case, it isn’t malicious. She’s just very, very stupid. I’ve watched her do it. She stands with all four feet planted surely in the litter, hangs her little pink bidness over the side and cuts loose. I don’t think she’d pee in the same zip code as this motorized gumball machine.
August 9, 2007 — 5:34 pm
Comments: 12
This blog needs more death kitties
I find the spready toes irresistable. My cats know this, I think. They never waste an opportunity to drop and spread ’em. Good morning! Yoink! My bowl is empty! Yoink! I hacked up a furball in your underwear drawer! Yoink!
I’ve been holding this picture for several days, waiting an opportunity. You can thank Uncle Badger for this.
July 26, 2007 — 5:16 pm
Comments: 11