One semester in college, I took a course in advertising. I wanted to learn the basics of why we see (and hear) what we hear (and see) on television. I don't recall why I chose this exact course, perhaps my parents had said something about me watching too much TV. (If they didn't, they should have.)
All these maaaaany years later, I still notice more about advertising because of that course. I notice colors, sooundtracks and actions that subtly (and not-so-subtly) drive home the message we're supposed to get.
So when I see ads that show cartoon bears who don't shit in the woods and have problems using toilet paper, I make a note to never, ever buy that product because I find their line of advertising distasteful and stupid. There were many ways they could've gotten their message across - this wasn't a good choice.
When I hear ads that feature insipidly sweet-voiced singers telling us to drink their magic pink beverage for an energy boost and they'll donate to the Susan G. Komen Foundation, I get irritated at the overall stupidity of the agency who got the account. Having lots of energy (and being pink, for that matter) has - trust me on this - NOTHING to do with cancer.
And while we're at it, showing your sports car skidding sideways across the TV doesn't show me how cool and sleek your car is. It shows me you've designed a product that can go fast and lose control at the same time, even with a professional driver behind the wheel. So thanks, but I'll pass.
Lately there's been advertising for Microsoft Internet Explorer 9. I know it's for IE9 ONLY because I just looked it up. It could have been for a laptop or a video game or an animated series. Anyway, the ad shows all the cool things you can do, create, watch, post, find, and listen to using their product. My issue is the soundtrack. Yes, having thumping, energetic background music was a good call. But did anyone in the agency listen to the lyrics?
"And it feels like I am just too close to love you", warbles the singer. Wait so I'm supposed to LOVE IE9? We're just being introduced. And yet I'm already too close and I can't love it?
"There's nothing I can really say", continues the song. Isn't IE9 supposed to help me communicate better? And now I can't say anything at all because I'm too close? Or don't love it? Wait- what?
"I can't lie no more, I can't hide no more, got to be true to myself". So letsee - pre-IE9, I was lying and hiding and faking myself out with other products? And now, with IE9 (which, again, I'm too close to and can't love) I can be real and honest. That's convoluted, at best.
"And it feels like I am just too close to love you, so I'll be on my way" which very much makes it sound like I don't get to use IE9 and I'm walking away without it. The exact opposite thing the advertiser wants me to do.
While it's not part of the advertising being aired currently, later in the lyrics is "I must leave without you. You know we're headed separate ways." Nice going, Microsoft - way to get your customer base locked down.
Now the old Meow-Mix ads ... THERE was some great advertising. Gosh, those were talented felines ...
Showing posts with label Cats. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cats. Show all posts
Monday, November 12, 2012
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
The Cat Burglar
Well it seems we have a cat burglar in our neighborhood. Not just "in our neighborhood", actually, but in our home. Right now, in fact. I can even identify this cat burglar.
We once called him "White Kitty".
Now we call him "Murphy".
Since the great Summer power outage of 2012, Murphy has called our downstairs his home, his bachelor pad, his very own man ... er ... cat cave. Now that he lives under our roof with us, I've learned a few things about him.
(1) He's strong. When I hold Shiloh, I'm aware she weighs more than a cat should, but it's not "solid" weight - it's fluffy and soft. Holding Murphy feels like you're holding a solid muscle. He's buffed out. If he lived on the beach, he'd be working out every day.
(2) He's inquisitive like cats are, but very timid. He wants to see what is going on, but it also terrifies him. He wants to play with his "fish on a line" toy, but the noise it makes freaks him out. He wants to meet the other kitties in the house, but he doesn't know anything about cats.
(3) He's VERY nocturnal. From the time I leave for work to the time I come home, it appears that he sleeps. He also sleeps from the time I arrive at home until about 9pm. At 9pm, he's as pleasant, as cuddly, as wonderful as any cat can be. It kills me that I can't stay up with him until midnight or so just to hang out with him.
************
A weekend or so ago, the Awesome Fiance and I went to our favorite frame shop to drop off some art and then to the store for a few things. Having just recovered from the power outage, we needed to restock. Shiloh was, as usual for that time of day, sound asleep in her room. Tabby had the run of the upstairs and Murphy had the run of the downstairs. (Caring for three cats that either don't know or don't like or can't be trusted enough to be left together can be a REAL pain.)
We returned a few hours later. Knowing that Murphy could easily be waiting by the door and could maybe dart outside, I went in first. After a brief glance at the bottom and top of the stairs to see if it was "Murphy-free", I pushed open the door at the top of the stairs which leads to our kitchen. I rounded the corner and noticed a bit of Tabby-colored fur. This time of year, it's not unusual to find a tumbleweed of kitty fur, but as I looked further, I noticed another small fluffy clump ... and then a third and fourth. "Uh oh" I muttered. I glanced into the living room, expecting to see Tabby somewhere but, instead was met with a lovely pair of large, bright blue eyes.
Murphy was sitting on the chair, waiting like a character from The Godfather. He was expecting me. A glance at his coat seemed to indicate no obvious injuries. I turned back to the kitchen and was met with a lovely pair of even larger, bright green eyes.
Tabby was sitting under the table. She seemed to have an expression full of questions on her fuzzy face. "What IS that? How did it get in? What the hell IS that???" These were good questions. How DID he get upstairs? By this time, the Awesome Fiance was in the kitchen, too. He was ... un-amused. I escorted Tabby past Murphy (who was still waiting for me while he sat on his chair) and we went to our bedroom. Tabby was completely pissed off as she stomped by Murphy for a brief exchange of words, but she was, at least, uninjured. Just upset. "No seriously - what the hell WAS that thing?" she seemed to continue to ask me as I checked her out and tried to calm her down.
I went back to the living room to Murphy, who had two tiny Tabby-sized claw marks on his nose, and we went downstairs. I pushed the kitchen door to allow us downstairs and, for a brief second, thought "he opened this??? but ... no ... it's a heavy swinging door. He'd have to run fast after opening it or it'd start to close on him." We sat downstairs and, after a moment, Murphy went to a favorite spot to hide away and nap.
************
Since that event, I've envisioned (in almost cartoon fashion) what this must have been like to see: Murphy cautiously darting up the stairs after he is sure we'd left. Tabby sniffing under the door and then walking into the living room for a nap. Murphy hearing Tabby and pushing against the door, not realizing that it'd open and then, when seeing it would, butting his head against it until he flopped through. The door closing behind him - locking him in and sealing his fate. Tabby, alarmed by the commotion, re-enters the kitchen and they exchange looks. Murphy tiptoeing past Tabby, while she yells at him for breaking and entering. Shiloh waking up and demanding to know what's going on. Murphy turning his head in Shiloh's direction and then turning to Tabby, who smacks him in the face and squarely on the nose. Murphy telling Tabby to knock it off, causing Tabby to purposely fluff her fur in an effort to look larger than she is. Murphy scrambling onto the living room chair, not daring to reenter the kitchen where Tabby is still yelling and not able to hide in the hallway where he's hearing Shiloh. He sits, trapped in the chair. Tabby sits in the kitchen, trapped by Murphy's location. Shiloh, having missed the excitement, is bummed out and goes back to bed. We return home to witness the aftermath and wonder about the goings-on.
But today, some of it came true in an even funnier fashion. As I was washing his breakfast bowl out, I noticed a noise behind me. I glanced to my right and saw the kitchen door swinging closed, and then open again as it was being pushed by a strong, muscular, all-white paw.
Oh he IS a smart ninja kitty, he is.
We once called him "White Kitty".
Now we call him "Murphy".
Since the great Summer power outage of 2012, Murphy has called our downstairs his home, his bachelor pad, his very own man ... er ... cat cave. Now that he lives under our roof with us, I've learned a few things about him.
(1) He's strong. When I hold Shiloh, I'm aware she weighs more than a cat should, but it's not "solid" weight - it's fluffy and soft. Holding Murphy feels like you're holding a solid muscle. He's buffed out. If he lived on the beach, he'd be working out every day.
(2) He's inquisitive like cats are, but very timid. He wants to see what is going on, but it also terrifies him. He wants to play with his "fish on a line" toy, but the noise it makes freaks him out. He wants to meet the other kitties in the house, but he doesn't know anything about cats.
(3) He's VERY nocturnal. From the time I leave for work to the time I come home, it appears that he sleeps. He also sleeps from the time I arrive at home until about 9pm. At 9pm, he's as pleasant, as cuddly, as wonderful as any cat can be. It kills me that I can't stay up with him until midnight or so just to hang out with him.
************
A weekend or so ago, the Awesome Fiance and I went to our favorite frame shop to drop off some art and then to the store for a few things. Having just recovered from the power outage, we needed to restock. Shiloh was, as usual for that time of day, sound asleep in her room. Tabby had the run of the upstairs and Murphy had the run of the downstairs. (Caring for three cats that either don't know or don't like or can't be trusted enough to be left together can be a REAL pain.)
We returned a few hours later. Knowing that Murphy could easily be waiting by the door and could maybe dart outside, I went in first. After a brief glance at the bottom and top of the stairs to see if it was "Murphy-free", I pushed open the door at the top of the stairs which leads to our kitchen. I rounded the corner and noticed a bit of Tabby-colored fur. This time of year, it's not unusual to find a tumbleweed of kitty fur, but as I looked further, I noticed another small fluffy clump ... and then a third and fourth. "Uh oh" I muttered. I glanced into the living room, expecting to see Tabby somewhere but, instead was met with a lovely pair of large, bright blue eyes.
Murphy was sitting on the chair, waiting like a character from The Godfather. He was expecting me. A glance at his coat seemed to indicate no obvious injuries. I turned back to the kitchen and was met with a lovely pair of even larger, bright green eyes.
Tabby was sitting under the table. She seemed to have an expression full of questions on her fuzzy face. "What IS that? How did it get in? What the hell IS that???" These were good questions. How DID he get upstairs? By this time, the Awesome Fiance was in the kitchen, too. He was ... un-amused. I escorted Tabby past Murphy (who was still waiting for me while he sat on his chair) and we went to our bedroom. Tabby was completely pissed off as she stomped by Murphy for a brief exchange of words, but she was, at least, uninjured. Just upset. "No seriously - what the hell WAS that thing?" she seemed to continue to ask me as I checked her out and tried to calm her down.
I went back to the living room to Murphy, who had two tiny Tabby-sized claw marks on his nose, and we went downstairs. I pushed the kitchen door to allow us downstairs and, for a brief second, thought "he opened this??? but ... no ... it's a heavy swinging door. He'd have to run fast after opening it or it'd start to close on him." We sat downstairs and, after a moment, Murphy went to a favorite spot to hide away and nap.
************
Since that event, I've envisioned (in almost cartoon fashion) what this must have been like to see: Murphy cautiously darting up the stairs after he is sure we'd left. Tabby sniffing under the door and then walking into the living room for a nap. Murphy hearing Tabby and pushing against the door, not realizing that it'd open and then, when seeing it would, butting his head against it until he flopped through. The door closing behind him - locking him in and sealing his fate. Tabby, alarmed by the commotion, re-enters the kitchen and they exchange looks. Murphy tiptoeing past Tabby, while she yells at him for breaking and entering. Shiloh waking up and demanding to know what's going on. Murphy turning his head in Shiloh's direction and then turning to Tabby, who smacks him in the face and squarely on the nose. Murphy telling Tabby to knock it off, causing Tabby to purposely fluff her fur in an effort to look larger than she is. Murphy scrambling onto the living room chair, not daring to reenter the kitchen where Tabby is still yelling and not able to hide in the hallway where he's hearing Shiloh. He sits, trapped in the chair. Tabby sits in the kitchen, trapped by Murphy's location. Shiloh, having missed the excitement, is bummed out and goes back to bed. We return home to witness the aftermath and wonder about the goings-on.
But today, some of it came true in an even funnier fashion. As I was washing his breakfast bowl out, I noticed a noise behind me. I glanced to my right and saw the kitchen door swinging closed, and then open again as it was being pushed by a strong, muscular, all-white paw.
Oh he IS a smart ninja kitty, he is.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Un Gatto Racconto
Cast of Characters:
The Scene:
It is Summer in a suburb somewhere on the East Coast. Several States are in the grasp of a heatwave that will crush long-standing records. To add insult to injury, more than 1,000,000 homes have been without power for several days following a freakishly strong storm and there is no official word when electricity will be restored. The home where the scene is set is one such residence. Power was lost on Friday at 11:10pm. It is now Monday at 4:45am. With no air conditioning available, Tabby and Murphy were relocated to the relative cool of the basement, which was divided into separate, single feline "rooms" to prevent any arguments.
Action:
Female Human, asleep in bed above the basement, wakens to hear what may be distant sounds of a cat yowling. She slowly trudges through the home and makes her way down the stairs, expecting to see chaos but, instead, is greeted by calm.
Puzzled, female human slowly reviews the room and locks eyes with an innocent-looking Tabby. With no obvious signs of trauma, female human then advances to see into the second "room", where she is greeted with an equally innocent-looking Murphy.
Realizing that there is no problem, female human then turns to trudge back upstairs but, before she's left the area, hears Tabby rather emphatically say "meeeeeowww".
A beat goes by.
Murphy then responds with an equally meaningful "meeeeeowww".
Next from Tabby is "merrrowww".
Murphy counters with his own "merrrowww".
Confused but with no action required, female human makes her way back up the stairs, through the home and back into the bedroom.
Male Human stirs as female human crawls back into the bed. "Everything alright?" he sleepily asks. "Mmmmhmmm" says female human. "They weren't fighting then?" male human continues. "No" she responds.
Silence falls over the room.
Then female human adds "Tabby was just teaching Murphy a bunch of Italian swear words."
 |
| Tabby (also "Tabitha", "Mathilda ", "Meow") |
 |
| Murphy (also "Murph", "White Kitty") |
The Scene:
It is Summer in a suburb somewhere on the East Coast. Several States are in the grasp of a heatwave that will crush long-standing records. To add insult to injury, more than 1,000,000 homes have been without power for several days following a freakishly strong storm and there is no official word when electricity will be restored. The home where the scene is set is one such residence. Power was lost on Friday at 11:10pm. It is now Monday at 4:45am. With no air conditioning available, Tabby and Murphy were relocated to the relative cool of the basement, which was divided into separate, single feline "rooms" to prevent any arguments.
Action:
Female Human, asleep in bed above the basement, wakens to hear what may be distant sounds of a cat yowling. She slowly trudges through the home and makes her way down the stairs, expecting to see chaos but, instead, is greeted by calm.
Puzzled, female human slowly reviews the room and locks eyes with an innocent-looking Tabby. With no obvious signs of trauma, female human then advances to see into the second "room", where she is greeted with an equally innocent-looking Murphy.
Realizing that there is no problem, female human then turns to trudge back upstairs but, before she's left the area, hears Tabby rather emphatically say "meeeeeowww".
A beat goes by.
Murphy then responds with an equally meaningful "meeeeeowww".
Next from Tabby is "merrrowww".
Murphy counters with his own "merrrowww".
Confused but with no action required, female human makes her way back up the stairs, through the home and back into the bedroom.
Male Human stirs as female human crawls back into the bed. "Everything alright?" he sleepily asks. "Mmmmhmmm" says female human. "They weren't fighting then?" male human continues. "No" she responds.
Silence falls over the room.
Then female human adds "Tabby was just teaching Murphy a bunch of Italian swear words."
Monday, July 2, 2012
Go To Hell
It could be worse.
No one is on fire.
No one is shooting at me.
No limbs are at risk.
No lives are at stake.
I embrace that. Really, I do. I am now, and have always been, the glass-size-is fine type. I have found silver linings in the darkest things. (Health issues? Thank heavens for well-informed doctors. Car troubles? Automobiles are a luxury. Airplane delay? Travel is amazing in this century and airports are great for people-watching. Bad hair day? What a cute hat!)
Along with a good portion of the state, The Awesome Fiance and I lost our electricity late Friday evening. It was hoooooooooooooot that day. We scrambled Saturday morning, calling vets to see about boarding the cats (no dice - no power there, either), rearranged the entire house to move the felines into the basement (yay! moving hot, angry cats to strange parts of the home is sweaty work!), picked up dry ice for our home (and two others), adjusted our whole weekend plan (more jam-making) and tried to keep our heads on straight. We skipped dinner (it was too hot to eat) and spent the night in two different homes (notice I didn't say we SLEPT in different homes ... there was very little sleeping where I was due to bouncy kitties and a not-comfortable sleeping surface). Sunday morning started early with setting up a generator to power the bare essentials in three homes (not including air conditioning unfortunately) and lots of sitting in the dark trying too not notice it was 87 degrees inside the house before Noon.
Oh - and our air conditioner was having issues last weekend, too, so this was the second weekend in a row with too-much in-home heat.
And I drank a big gulp of sour milk (accidentally). And got chewed up by mosquitoes. And The Awesome Fiance walked into the corner of a dresser and bruised the heck out of his arm. And we sweated. A lot.
By Sunday mid-day, we were done with it. We went out for lunch and to a bookstore - mostly for the indoor cool air. We reluctantly headed back home and re-rearranged the feline population, recognizing it was too warm inside for them to be too angry at each other. The house properly trashed (boxes everywhere, hastily arranged drapes, cardboard blockades in stairwells), we gave up by 9:30pm and tried to get *some* rest.
So of course the power popped back on at 10pm.
Thus began the un-trashing of the house, the un-hooking of the generator, the re-re-rearrangement of the now totally over it felines. Showers were taken, fans were strategically placed and by Midnight, we were nearly back to normal. I awoke at 4:45am to relocate the final feline (once the air conditioning had done the trick upstairs) and pretty much was up from that point onwards ... just in time for work.
So go ahead and tell me to be grateful that the power is restored (I am) and that the air conditioning is even available (of course). Remind me that there huge wild fires eating up a good portion of Colorado (I'm aware of that) and that we're lucky our water service was never interrupted (I agree).
And I will still tell you to kindly shut the fuck up.
No one is on fire.
No one is shooting at me.
No limbs are at risk.
No lives are at stake.
I embrace that. Really, I do. I am now, and have always been, the glass-size-is fine type. I have found silver linings in the darkest things. (Health issues? Thank heavens for well-informed doctors. Car troubles? Automobiles are a luxury. Airplane delay? Travel is amazing in this century and airports are great for people-watching. Bad hair day? What a cute hat!)
Along with a good portion of the state, The Awesome Fiance and I lost our electricity late Friday evening. It was hoooooooooooooot that day. We scrambled Saturday morning, calling vets to see about boarding the cats (no dice - no power there, either), rearranged the entire house to move the felines into the basement (yay! moving hot, angry cats to strange parts of the home is sweaty work!), picked up dry ice for our home (and two others), adjusted our whole weekend plan (more jam-making) and tried to keep our heads on straight. We skipped dinner (it was too hot to eat) and spent the night in two different homes (notice I didn't say we SLEPT in different homes ... there was very little sleeping where I was due to bouncy kitties and a not-comfortable sleeping surface). Sunday morning started early with setting up a generator to power the bare essentials in three homes (not including air conditioning unfortunately) and lots of sitting in the dark trying too not notice it was 87 degrees inside the house before Noon.
Oh - and our air conditioner was having issues last weekend, too, so this was the second weekend in a row with too-much in-home heat.
And I drank a big gulp of sour milk (accidentally). And got chewed up by mosquitoes. And The Awesome Fiance walked into the corner of a dresser and bruised the heck out of his arm. And we sweated. A lot.
By Sunday mid-day, we were done with it. We went out for lunch and to a bookstore - mostly for the indoor cool air. We reluctantly headed back home and re-rearranged the feline population, recognizing it was too warm inside for them to be too angry at each other. The house properly trashed (boxes everywhere, hastily arranged drapes, cardboard blockades in stairwells), we gave up by 9:30pm and tried to get *some* rest.
So of course the power popped back on at 10pm.
Thus began the un-trashing of the house, the un-hooking of the generator, the re-re-rearrangement of the now totally over it felines. Showers were taken, fans were strategically placed and by Midnight, we were nearly back to normal. I awoke at 4:45am to relocate the final feline (once the air conditioning had done the trick upstairs) and pretty much was up from that point onwards ... just in time for work.
So go ahead and tell me to be grateful that the power is restored (I am) and that the air conditioning is even available (of course). Remind me that there huge wild fires eating up a good portion of Colorado (I'm aware of that) and that we're lucky our water service was never interrupted (I agree).
And I will still tell you to kindly shut the fuck up.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Yay Me!
I done good.
A few years back, for our first birthday(s) "together", I managed to *really* surprise The Awesome Fiance (then known as The Awesome Boyfriend) with a seemingly simple gift ... a lunch box. It wasn't actually all that simple and involved some pretty good Internet search skills, quick fingers, and putting my trust in the seller of said lunchbox that the item was as pictured. (It was.) Anyway, the gift went over well and was greatly appreciated, judging from his reaction and from his writing about his memories with his original lunchbox on his blog. (Anytime I think I write well, I visit his blog and know I'm not all that talented after all. I DO WISH HE'D RETURN TO WRITING *ahem* ....... but that's not my decision to make.)
Since that birthday gift exchange, we've had a few occasions to exchange presents - anniversaries, Christmases, birthdays - and I've wished to be able to come to the same level as that original gift. Which is not to say I've been phoning it in on the gifts I've given, but - for that particular gift anyway - I felt I'd peaked and wasn't measuring up.
I knew what I wanted to do for this birthday for a few months now - upgrade our flights on our Summer vacation. It was gonna take creativity, a little deception, a LOT of luck, and some financial wrangling. I mapped out the order of things I'd need to do so that I didn't miss any steps. One wrong move and I'd wind up with a surplus of airline miles and no way to turn them in ... or, worse, seats but no miles to secure them with.
One random Saturday morning, the airline alerted me via email that the miles were in my account. The email arrived at something like 4:30am and I read the message at 6am. I reeeeeally wanted to sleep in but I knew I'd never forgive myself if I screwed this up (plus I didn't really have a backup plan if this fell through) so I dragged myself carefully from the bed and slowly walked from our bedroom to the living room. Tabby looked at me from her bed as if to scold me for messing up her routine so I quietly sat down and, took a deep breath and crossed my fingers, logged into my airline account to see what, if anything, was available in the way of better seats on our flights.
As it turned out, being awake at that hour worked out quite well. Seats were requested and granted and fingers were uncrossed. Now, how to wrap them. It's not as 'tho anything is done via actual paper anymore. No one has actual airline tickets ... confirmations, yes but even those are likely electronic.
A quick search of words ("travel" and "folder") brought me to a vendor in Texas who had a collection of 1950s travel-focused items, including original airline-created travel folders. If one was traveling in the 1950s, one worked with a travel agent, who would issue actual tickets, luggage tags, a fully-customized itinerary and a pen by the airline they'd be using, all bundled up in a folder specific to the region the flight was headed. It was just dumb luck that the folder was created by the same airline we booked with going to the same area that we'd be venturing to.
From there, I found a few grocery items either associated with or containing the name of our destination, and appropriate wrapping to use to decorate the gifts with. (I used a tablecloth that had decorations of our vacation spot. Hey - sometimes ya' need to be creative.) I swung by a clothing store for a "travel" themed shirt and contacted my local florist to recommend a vendor to provide me with the right flowers.
Well, it all came together. Last night, The Awesome Fiance experienced his virtual vacation-themed birthday. Everything worked out great and it was all appreciated. It may not have been much to open/unwrap, but he mentioned a few times he saw the thoughtfulness I'd put into it and that ... well, that honestly was what I was REALLY hoping for.
We're now 364 days away from his next birthday. I'll give myself a few months before I start thinking about what I'll do for it.
A few years back, for our first birthday(s) "together", I managed to *really* surprise The Awesome Fiance (then known as The Awesome Boyfriend) with a seemingly simple gift ... a lunch box. It wasn't actually all that simple and involved some pretty good Internet search skills, quick fingers, and putting my trust in the seller of said lunchbox that the item was as pictured. (It was.) Anyway, the gift went over well and was greatly appreciated, judging from his reaction and from his writing about his memories with his original lunchbox on his blog. (Anytime I think I write well, I visit his blog and know I'm not all that talented after all. I DO WISH HE'D RETURN TO WRITING *ahem* ....... but that's not my decision to make.)
Since that birthday gift exchange, we've had a few occasions to exchange presents - anniversaries, Christmases, birthdays - and I've wished to be able to come to the same level as that original gift. Which is not to say I've been phoning it in on the gifts I've given, but - for that particular gift anyway - I felt I'd peaked and wasn't measuring up.
I knew what I wanted to do for this birthday for a few months now - upgrade our flights on our Summer vacation. It was gonna take creativity, a little deception, a LOT of luck, and some financial wrangling. I mapped out the order of things I'd need to do so that I didn't miss any steps. One wrong move and I'd wind up with a surplus of airline miles and no way to turn them in ... or, worse, seats but no miles to secure them with.
One random Saturday morning, the airline alerted me via email that the miles were in my account. The email arrived at something like 4:30am and I read the message at 6am. I reeeeeally wanted to sleep in but I knew I'd never forgive myself if I screwed this up (plus I didn't really have a backup plan if this fell through) so I dragged myself carefully from the bed and slowly walked from our bedroom to the living room. Tabby looked at me from her bed as if to scold me for messing up her routine so I quietly sat down and, took a deep breath and crossed my fingers, logged into my airline account to see what, if anything, was available in the way of better seats on our flights.
As it turned out, being awake at that hour worked out quite well. Seats were requested and granted and fingers were uncrossed. Now, how to wrap them. It's not as 'tho anything is done via actual paper anymore. No one has actual airline tickets ... confirmations, yes but even those are likely electronic.
A quick search of words ("travel" and "folder") brought me to a vendor in Texas who had a collection of 1950s travel-focused items, including original airline-created travel folders. If one was traveling in the 1950s, one worked with a travel agent, who would issue actual tickets, luggage tags, a fully-customized itinerary and a pen by the airline they'd be using, all bundled up in a folder specific to the region the flight was headed. It was just dumb luck that the folder was created by the same airline we booked with going to the same area that we'd be venturing to.
From there, I found a few grocery items either associated with or containing the name of our destination, and appropriate wrapping to use to decorate the gifts with. (I used a tablecloth that had decorations of our vacation spot. Hey - sometimes ya' need to be creative.) I swung by a clothing store for a "travel" themed shirt and contacted my local florist to recommend a vendor to provide me with the right flowers.
Well, it all came together. Last night, The Awesome Fiance experienced his virtual vacation-themed birthday. Everything worked out great and it was all appreciated. It may not have been much to open/unwrap, but he mentioned a few times he saw the thoughtfulness I'd put into it and that ... well, that honestly was what I was REALLY hoping for.
We're now 364 days away from his next birthday. I'll give myself a few months before I start thinking about what I'll do for it.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
... And Many Morrrrrrrrrrre!
Happy Birthday to you.
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday Dear Human who caters to my every mewed whim ...
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday to you!
Happy Birthday Dear Human who caters to my every mewed whim ...
Happy Birthday to you!
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
The Lucky One
Oh I am the Lucky One.
You understand my weakness for all-things animal (especially feline). You silently provide support when my strength has withered and you share your confidence with me when mine has fled. You nourish me with your creativity, both in the kitchen and in your point-of-view. You share with me your concerns, worries, and troubles while encouraging me to move beyond my concerns, worries and troubles. You laugh with me and cry with me. When I am at my "Polly Anna" worst, you are the realistic voice I need to hear. You help me stay grounded when I'm about to float away and you help me to fly again when it's appropriate to do so. You remind me to continue forward, no matter the barriers, and reassure me that you will be right beside me.
And you always ... always are.
Which makes me the Lucky One.
You understand my weakness for all-things animal (especially feline). You silently provide support when my strength has withered and you share your confidence with me when mine has fled. You nourish me with your creativity, both in the kitchen and in your point-of-view. You share with me your concerns, worries, and troubles while encouraging me to move beyond my concerns, worries and troubles. You laugh with me and cry with me. When I am at my "Polly Anna" worst, you are the realistic voice I need to hear. You help me stay grounded when I'm about to float away and you help me to fly again when it's appropriate to do so. You remind me to continue forward, no matter the barriers, and reassure me that you will be right beside me.
And you always ... always are.
Which makes me the Lucky One.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Memories of The Candy Lady
When I was a child, my parents’ home was considered to be "in the country". We were not on city water, we were served not by city police and fire but by the county sheriff and the local forestry department, we had dirt roads with no sidewalks, and even pizza places that said they delivered city-wide drew the line at driving "up the hill".
My parents’ home was the only structure on the left side of the road, and only Old Miss Jaton's place and the Harris' homes were on the other side. The Davidson's lived one road over, as did "The Candy Lady". And, except for Mr. Mariani's ranch across the creek, that was the extent of the neighborhood. Not one of those homes had children under the age of forty, and so my sister and I had our animals and a few friends who lived a few blocks away to keep ourselves busy.
I can't speak for how my sister spent her childhood hours, but I spent more than my fair share of time playing with Old Miss Jaton's cats (ignoring my sister's warnings that she was really a witch, which couldn't be true. After all, she had cats!), helping Mr. Harris take care of his rabbits and his chickens (which we'd inherit soon enough), helping Mr. Mariani with his horses and goats, looking at Mr. Davidson's polished rock collection (which was sparkly and some of it was gold! Fool’s gold, sure but still!!) and, most of all, hanging out with "The Candy Lady".
*****************
That wasn't her name, of course, though that was the nickname she'd been given and she more than lived up to it. She was also my Great Aunt from my father's side of the family, and it was because of her that my parents had even known of the house being for sale. "Don't pass this up", she told my dad. "It isn't cheap but it's good land and the house is in good shape."
My parents drove down from the city, walked around the property and checked out the house. I don't know how much they'd saved up by that point, but I've been told the asking price was slightly under $30,000.00. I do know it was farrrrr more than they'd budgeted and that my father was leaning against the purchase - but my mother would not be swayed. Her father had always wanted to own a farm ... and while he wasn't around to see it, I guess my mom wanted to somehow fill that dream for him. My folks borrowed cash from everyone they knew, with a decent chunk coming from my Great Aunt, and moved in. They still live there today.
Growing up "on a farm" was, for an active kid with a wandering imagination, great fun. There were forts to make and animals to play with and insects to discover. And when we'd get tired or bored, we could go visit "The Candy Lady" and know we'd get some "coffee" (heated condensed milk with two sugar cubes and a scant teaspoon of Folger’s Coffee) and, true to her name, be made an offer of having some candy, usually from a bowl of Brach's Pick-A-Mix.
We would sit on her deck with her two mis-matched dogs - Dutchie, the squat gentleman Dachshund, and Buster, the gray shortish hair mutt who constantly smelled of creek water and who was, truth be told, our dog. Buster was lured from being our dog by the constant stream of treats and attention that he knew he could count on at my Great Aunt's home. Buster was no dummy.
On quiet sunny afternoons, even Boots, the tuxedo Tom Cat we'd given my Great Aunt, would slowly sway by. At his largest, I remember weighing Boots on the bathroom scale and that he added 22lbs. to my scrawny kid frame. The dogs knew enough to steer clear of bothering Boots and he paid them no mind. It was a peaceful existence for all concerned.
*****************
The not great part of being an active kid with a wandering imagination was that I spent an extraordinary amount of time with my mother, sister, and Great Aunt in the hospital emergency waiting room. I fell out of trees, off of swing sets, from the backs of horses, you name it. I broke both my arms twice before the age of 18. I actually knew - and recognized - ER hospital staff, especially the two guys in the casting room - when I saw them in grocery stores. And it never failed that my father would be working a long shift when these trips to the ER were required, so we had to "borrow" an extra adult for the ER wait and my Great Aunt would come along for the wait.
My sister would walk over to my Great Aunt's house to tell her we needed to go to the hospital while my mother was wiping my forehead, or my shoulder, or my knees, or my hands clean before we drove to see what I'd broken, sprained, split, shattered, or need stitched up. My father would return home to discover I was now missing my front teeth, had a new cast on my right arm, a split on my ring finger ... I'm sure he came to expect it. And my Great Aunt, God love her, sat for hours in those plastic ER chairs watching my sister sleep while my mother and I explained, once again, what had happened to cause the latest visit.
*****************
The other not great part of being an active kid with a wandering imagination had to be the nightmares. My dreams were filled with scary phone calls from monsters who could reach through the telephone wires, being trapped in a wooden barrel never to be seen again, or creepy things in the attic looking down at me when I wasn't aware of them. Those were the three recurring nightmares I had - on a rotating basis - and while they don't read as "scary", I find my description here doesn't do them justice even today.
I think it was in my early teen years that I had such a frightening dream that I managed to wake up the entire house with my yelling before I was even fully awake. And the memory of having that dream would be triggered by an MRI experience in 2011.
My parents’ home was the only structure on the left side of the road, and only Old Miss Jaton's place and the Harris' homes were on the other side. The Davidson's lived one road over, as did "The Candy Lady". And, except for Mr. Mariani's ranch across the creek, that was the extent of the neighborhood. Not one of those homes had children under the age of forty, and so my sister and I had our animals and a few friends who lived a few blocks away to keep ourselves busy.
I can't speak for how my sister spent her childhood hours, but I spent more than my fair share of time playing with Old Miss Jaton's cats (ignoring my sister's warnings that she was really a witch, which couldn't be true. After all, she had cats!), helping Mr. Harris take care of his rabbits and his chickens (which we'd inherit soon enough), helping Mr. Mariani with his horses and goats, looking at Mr. Davidson's polished rock collection (which was sparkly and some of it was gold! Fool’s gold, sure but still!!) and, most of all, hanging out with "The Candy Lady".
*****************
That wasn't her name, of course, though that was the nickname she'd been given and she more than lived up to it. She was also my Great Aunt from my father's side of the family, and it was because of her that my parents had even known of the house being for sale. "Don't pass this up", she told my dad. "It isn't cheap but it's good land and the house is in good shape."
My parents drove down from the city, walked around the property and checked out the house. I don't know how much they'd saved up by that point, but I've been told the asking price was slightly under $30,000.00. I do know it was farrrrr more than they'd budgeted and that my father was leaning against the purchase - but my mother would not be swayed. Her father had always wanted to own a farm ... and while he wasn't around to see it, I guess my mom wanted to somehow fill that dream for him. My folks borrowed cash from everyone they knew, with a decent chunk coming from my Great Aunt, and moved in. They still live there today.
Growing up "on a farm" was, for an active kid with a wandering imagination, great fun. There were forts to make and animals to play with and insects to discover. And when we'd get tired or bored, we could go visit "The Candy Lady" and know we'd get some "coffee" (heated condensed milk with two sugar cubes and a scant teaspoon of Folger’s Coffee) and, true to her name, be made an offer of having some candy, usually from a bowl of Brach's Pick-A-Mix.
We would sit on her deck with her two mis-matched dogs - Dutchie, the squat gentleman Dachshund, and Buster, the gray shortish hair mutt who constantly smelled of creek water and who was, truth be told, our dog. Buster was lured from being our dog by the constant stream of treats and attention that he knew he could count on at my Great Aunt's home. Buster was no dummy.
On quiet sunny afternoons, even Boots, the tuxedo Tom Cat we'd given my Great Aunt, would slowly sway by. At his largest, I remember weighing Boots on the bathroom scale and that he added 22lbs. to my scrawny kid frame. The dogs knew enough to steer clear of bothering Boots and he paid them no mind. It was a peaceful existence for all concerned.
*****************
The not great part of being an active kid with a wandering imagination was that I spent an extraordinary amount of time with my mother, sister, and Great Aunt in the hospital emergency waiting room. I fell out of trees, off of swing sets, from the backs of horses, you name it. I broke both my arms twice before the age of 18. I actually knew - and recognized - ER hospital staff, especially the two guys in the casting room - when I saw them in grocery stores. And it never failed that my father would be working a long shift when these trips to the ER were required, so we had to "borrow" an extra adult for the ER wait and my Great Aunt would come along for the wait.
My sister would walk over to my Great Aunt's house to tell her we needed to go to the hospital while my mother was wiping my forehead, or my shoulder, or my knees, or my hands clean before we drove to see what I'd broken, sprained, split, shattered, or need stitched up. My father would return home to discover I was now missing my front teeth, had a new cast on my right arm, a split on my ring finger ... I'm sure he came to expect it. And my Great Aunt, God love her, sat for hours in those plastic ER chairs watching my sister sleep while my mother and I explained, once again, what had happened to cause the latest visit.
*****************
The other not great part of being an active kid with a wandering imagination had to be the nightmares. My dreams were filled with scary phone calls from monsters who could reach through the telephone wires, being trapped in a wooden barrel never to be seen again, or creepy things in the attic looking down at me when I wasn't aware of them. Those were the three recurring nightmares I had - on a rotating basis - and while they don't read as "scary", I find my description here doesn't do them justice even today.
I think it was in my early teen years that I had such a frightening dream that I managed to wake up the entire house with my yelling before I was even fully awake. And the memory of having that dream would be triggered by an MRI experience in 2011.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
For This, I Am Very Thankful.
The warm blanket we snuggle under.
The kitty who meows us awake.
The neighbor who looks after us (and who we look after).
The kitty who appreciates our attention.
The coffee shop employees who know my order.
The job that gives me goals and motivation (and health care and a paycheck).
The kitty who finally trusts us.
The family for being who they are.
The meals we share.
The quiet times in the evening hours when it's enough to just sit beside you.
The last words we exchange before we sleep.
For this, and for so much more, I have much to be thankful for.
The kitty who meows us awake.
The neighbor who looks after us (and who we look after).
The kitty who appreciates our attention.
The coffee shop employees who know my order.
The job that gives me goals and motivation (and health care and a paycheck).
The kitty who finally trusts us.
The family for being who they are.
The meals we share.
The quiet times in the evening hours when it's enough to just sit beside you.
The last words we exchange before we sleep.
For this, and for so much more, I have much to be thankful for.
Friday, November 18, 2011
A Totally True Tabby Tale
This
is Tabby. As you can see she'd like to shake your hand. (And yes, she has thumbs.)
Anyway, that's Tabby. Tabby is a gooooooooooood kitty.
It is mouse season here on the East Coast. As it gets colder and wetter, the outside mice get the brilliant idea to move indoors. There's not a lot one can do except to accept it and set traps in obvious "mice" areas. We have VERY cat-safe traps, so that little paws are kept safe. It wouldn't be a problem for Tabby so much ... she's beyond kitten-hood (about 10ish years old) but Shiloh is estimated to be a curious teen ... about 3 years. So yeah, we're careful.
We've known we have mice (plural ... because honestly no one has "mouse") for a couple of weeks. Not because of signs or droppings but because Tabby has been staring at corners and doors and just generally acting weird (even for a cat).
Last week, I moved the kitty toy box from the corner of the living room because Tabby was staring at it ... and she pounced. (She's about 12 lbs but even so - it was a definite pounce.) The mouse she caught had a body length that was smaller than a large paperclip ...... this was a smalllllllllllllllllllllllll mouse. She looked up at me, mouse mouth and all, as if to ask "ok so now what" and I pleaded to her to please please please head into the kitchen (non-carpeted floor and not a lot of super heavy things to run underneath) and she LISTENED to me!!! SUCH a good kitty. By the time she dropped the little creature on the kitchen floor to show me, it was very close to dying so I praised her (a LOT) and disposed of said critter.
Fast forward to a few nights ago. (Well, a few mornings actually ... 3:20am according to the bedroom clock.) Dead quiet throughout the house. Not a creature was stirring, not even a ..... well ... actually ...
So Tabby comes padding quickly into our bedroom (her little feet on the carpet make a small "psshh" sound as she walks) and says, in an urgent-type voice, "Meow! Meow meow meow! Rrrrow merrow!" which was either "Come quickly, Timmy's fallen into the well again" or "Come see the snack I have to share!" The Awesome Boyfriend was awake and standing before I was fully awake but we both followed as Tabby proudly marched into the kitchen to show us her latest hunting victim ... another ridiculously tiny mouse that was, again, nearly dead. "Such a gooooood kitty" we said, while rubbing our eyes and reaching for a paper towel and a plastic zip-top bag.
And of course she is a very good kitty. But consider this ...
She caught this creature somewhere in the house, likely played with it for awhile, left it in the kitchen, walked into our room (when she could have VERY easily brought the mouse with her), told us to come to the kitchen, and went back to the kitchen for her praises and kudos. I've had some smart kitties before ... but ... geez, that's impressive as heck to me! It seems against the nature of a beast to hunt and then LEAVE the hunted to go get the humans to show off the kill. Seriously I can't believe she didn't bring the mouse into our bedroom.
Needless to say, Tabby's getting extra treats for this. And I'd be honored to shake her hand.
Anyway, that's Tabby. Tabby is a gooooooooooood kitty.
It is mouse season here on the East Coast. As it gets colder and wetter, the outside mice get the brilliant idea to move indoors. There's not a lot one can do except to accept it and set traps in obvious "mice" areas. We have VERY cat-safe traps, so that little paws are kept safe. It wouldn't be a problem for Tabby so much ... she's beyond kitten-hood (about 10ish years old) but Shiloh is estimated to be a curious teen ... about 3 years. So yeah, we're careful.
We've known we have mice (plural ... because honestly no one has "mouse") for a couple of weeks. Not because of signs or droppings but because Tabby has been staring at corners and doors and just generally acting weird (even for a cat).
Last week, I moved the kitty toy box from the corner of the living room because Tabby was staring at it ... and she pounced. (She's about 12 lbs but even so - it was a definite pounce.) The mouse she caught had a body length that was smaller than a large paperclip ...... this was a smalllllllllllllllllllllllll mouse. She looked up at me, mouse mouth and all, as if to ask "ok so now what" and I pleaded to her to please please please head into the kitchen (non-carpeted floor and not a lot of super heavy things to run underneath) and she LISTENED to me!!! SUCH a good kitty. By the time she dropped the little creature on the kitchen floor to show me, it was very close to dying so I praised her (a LOT) and disposed of said critter.
Fast forward to a few nights ago. (Well, a few mornings actually ... 3:20am according to the bedroom clock.) Dead quiet throughout the house. Not a creature was stirring, not even a ..... well ... actually ...
So Tabby comes padding quickly into our bedroom (her little feet on the carpet make a small "psshh" sound as she walks) and says, in an urgent-type voice, "Meow! Meow meow meow! Rrrrow merrow!" which was either "Come quickly, Timmy's fallen into the well again" or "Come see the snack I have to share!" The Awesome Boyfriend was awake and standing before I was fully awake but we both followed as Tabby proudly marched into the kitchen to show us her latest hunting victim ... another ridiculously tiny mouse that was, again, nearly dead. "Such a gooooood kitty" we said, while rubbing our eyes and reaching for a paper towel and a plastic zip-top bag.
And of course she is a very good kitty. But consider this ...
She caught this creature somewhere in the house, likely played with it for awhile, left it in the kitchen, walked into our room (when she could have VERY easily brought the mouse with her), told us to come to the kitchen, and went back to the kitchen for her praises and kudos. I've had some smart kitties before ... but ... geez, that's impressive as heck to me! It seems against the nature of a beast to hunt and then LEAVE the hunted to go get the humans to show off the kill. Seriously I can't believe she didn't bring the mouse into our bedroom.
Needless to say, Tabby's getting extra treats for this. And I'd be honored to shake her hand.
Thursday, June 2, 2011
"Might As Well Be Walking On The Sun"
It's been ... a bit warm ... at home lately. The kind of heat where you find yourself sweating just from sitting still. The kind of heat that takes away your appetite and your desire to DO anything. I've found myself saying "nahhhh ... I don't really want to brush my hair right now. I'll wait until it cools down a bit."
"Oh come on", you say as you read this. "You just are not used to the heat is all. You're soft from all that West Coast living. You clearly can't just roll with the temperatures like the rest of the country."
Yeah? Fuck. You.
It was 92 when I stepped out of the shower last night at 9:30pm.
92 ... at 9:30 at NIGHT. Which means it had cooled down to 92.
The felines are fine. They were of primary concern (of course) and honestly they got the best end of this situation. One has been living downstairs in the coolness of the basement and the other has a whole air-conditioned home to herself. The Awesome Boyfriend and I tried to make it work on Tuesday night as we settled into our bedroom but sleep wasn't gonna happen. So we split things up and slept solo, on top of beds, with fans directly on us. I managed to get about 4 hours of sleep and I could only hope that the Awesome Boyfriend did the same or better.
Last night we were smarter ... we took a note from our happy feline friends and slept in their territories. While I was a bit slow in stretching and bending this morning (from sleeping so low to the ground), I woke only because I heard the Awesome Boyfriend coming through the door. And kudos to my feline buddy too - who let me get some much needed sleep (in between licking my elbows and playing with her white mousie a few times during the night).
We'll replay the scene tonight (even 'tho the weather dorks say the heatwave has broken) and sweet relief will arrive tomorrow. How do I know this?
Because when the repairman arrives to fix our central air, I'm taking the keys to his truck and he's won't be going anywhere until the unit is fixed or completely replaced. Period.
And THAT'S how "West Coasters" roll. Word to your mother. Peace out.
"Oh come on", you say as you read this. "You just are not used to the heat is all. You're soft from all that West Coast living. You clearly can't just roll with the temperatures like the rest of the country."
Yeah? Fuck. You.
It was 92 when I stepped out of the shower last night at 9:30pm.
92 ... at 9:30 at NIGHT. Which means it had cooled down to 92.
The felines are fine. They were of primary concern (of course) and honestly they got the best end of this situation. One has been living downstairs in the coolness of the basement and the other has a whole air-conditioned home to herself. The Awesome Boyfriend and I tried to make it work on Tuesday night as we settled into our bedroom but sleep wasn't gonna happen. So we split things up and slept solo, on top of beds, with fans directly on us. I managed to get about 4 hours of sleep and I could only hope that the Awesome Boyfriend did the same or better.
Last night we were smarter ... we took a note from our happy feline friends and slept in their territories. While I was a bit slow in stretching and bending this morning (from sleeping so low to the ground), I woke only because I heard the Awesome Boyfriend coming through the door. And kudos to my feline buddy too - who let me get some much needed sleep (in between licking my elbows and playing with her white mousie a few times during the night).
We'll replay the scene tonight (even 'tho the weather dorks say the heatwave has broken) and sweet relief will arrive tomorrow. How do I know this?
Because when the repairman arrives to fix our central air, I'm taking the keys to his truck and he's won't be going anywhere until the unit is fixed or completely replaced. Period.
And THAT'S how "West Coasters" roll. Word to your mother. Peace out.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Still going with "White Kitty"
Quite awhile ago, I wrote about "white kitty". A quick check here shows my first mention was probably this. A LOT has happened since that time. Shiloh has happened. Tom has happened. But, on the White Kitty front, I'm very pleased with what has and with what has NOT changed.
White Kitty is still an outside cat. She still has her own schedule. She still can be somewhat timid. I now really think, 'tho, that White Kitty already has regular care-givers. Her coat, despite the rain, remains mud-and clump-free. Her ears seem to stay fairly clean. Her paws, even, are pretty tidy. The biggest change has been her giving me her trust. She now connects my arrival with food and attention and responds as 'tho she welcomes my being there. There are scritches behind the ears. There are brushings. There are times when she just needs to climb onto my lap and stare into my face.
She appears to be healthy. She has a working "purr box". She's tolerant of the birds as they gather just outside her reach. She is a good weight and seems to have no difficulty seeing or hearing.
Why would I bring that up?
Well did I mention her striking good looks?
As an animal lover, I find beauty in most creatures. As a cat caregiver, I can recognize the differences in their faces. But seriously this is a GREAT looking cat. And - interestingly enough - she's probably the most panther-faced house cat I've seen ever. When I see her straight-on like this, she reminds me of the Pink Panther cartoon. She's got very angular features. If she were human, she'd probably have supermodel cheekbones.
She's also become quite a talker ... sometimes short gruff meows like Tom used and sometimes I swear she's just muttering to herself.
Anyway, I just figured since I hadn't shared her here since October that it was time.
White Kitty is still an outside cat. She still has her own schedule. She still can be somewhat timid. I now really think, 'tho, that White Kitty already has regular care-givers. Her coat, despite the rain, remains mud-and clump-free. Her ears seem to stay fairly clean. Her paws, even, are pretty tidy. The biggest change has been her giving me her trust. She now connects my arrival with food and attention and responds as 'tho she welcomes my being there. There are scritches behind the ears. There are brushings. There are times when she just needs to climb onto my lap and stare into my face.
She appears to be healthy. She has a working "purr box". She's tolerant of the birds as they gather just outside her reach. She is a good weight and seems to have no difficulty seeing or hearing.
Why would I bring that up?
As an animal lover, I find beauty in most creatures. As a cat caregiver, I can recognize the differences in their faces. But seriously this is a GREAT looking cat. And - interestingly enough - she's probably the most panther-faced house cat I've seen ever. When I see her straight-on like this, she reminds me of the Pink Panther cartoon. She's got very angular features. If she were human, she'd probably have supermodel cheekbones.
She's also become quite a talker ... sometimes short gruff meows like Tom used and sometimes I swear she's just muttering to herself.
Anyway, I just figured since I hadn't shared her here since October that it was time.
Monday, January 24, 2011
I Hate To Go All "Bob Barker" On Your Ass ...
Ghandi has been credited with saying "the greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated."
More recent, Cardinal Roger Mahony (1998) said "any society, any nation, is judged on the basis of how it treats its weakest members; the last, the least, the littlest."
Everyone has their "line in the sand" of tolerance. Things we just WILL NOT PUT UP WITH. Things which, when they occur, we throw a flag on the play and say "no - that is totally unacceptable". Mine is animals in pain.
Are there bigger problems in the world? Of course there are. Starvation still exists, crimes against humanity happen daily, disease runs wild, homelessness, unemployment ... geez, depressed yet? While those things are horrible and scary and awful, we - as a communicating people - can discuss them. We can debate them. We can work through them. In time, sometimes in very small ways, we can even solve them.
Animals, 'tho ... when an animal is in pain, you can not explain to it what is happening. I mean, sure - you CAN ... but you may as well be reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, 'cause they don't really know what you're telling them.
I've written about our "adopted street cat", Shiloh. I don't know how she found us, why the timing worked out like it did, or how much longer she would have lived if we hadn't stepped in. I know that I never saw any "lost cat" signs in our neighborhood. I also know that, for a "free" cat ... *sigh* well, but I can't put a price on an animal. That's the part that a lot of people may not understand. It's my weakness ... it's my line in the sand... animals in pain. If I can help, I will.
"Tom", the un-neutered orange marmalade cat, is injured. Badly. I noticed it last night. Two, maybe three deep puncture wounds in his back right leg. They were fresh, and he was limping. Tom more than likely belongs to someone. The Awesome Boyfriend and I know this - or think this - because when he was in his last fight, someone took him in and got his head stitched up Plus he's very approachable and friendly. Heck, he was nice to us before Shiloh was. (They were buddies before Shiloh had her litter. Tom is probably the kitty-daddy.) So I hoped last night that Tom would go to that kind soul with these latest battle scars and get care.
Today he was not on the stoop when I went to get coffee. I was glad. Clearly he did go home. White kitty, who we believe really is homeless, was there to greet me and showed no signs of a fight. Besides, Tom's wounds were too deep to have been made by another cat. They looked to me to be from a dog or a wild critter of some kind.
When I got back from coffee, Tom was sunning himself on the stoop. Knowing that getting him fixed up would have taken longer than that, I sighed. And yes, as I fed him, there were the untreated punctures. Now he's gone at least 12 hours without medical care.
As you read this, I'm waiting for Shiloh's vet to call me back. I've explained the situation. Tom is not my cat. I've been "retired" for 18 months and have no regular source of income. I've already rescued one cat and she doesn't get along with our resident cat ... I cannot care of any more felines and have no safe place to stash Tom. Plus, even if he does (somehow) recover from this latest fight, then what? He's an un-neutered male cat ... fighting is what he does. What about the next fight? So my plea to the vet was that I'd pay for pain meds if she treats him and adopts him out or, if he's beyond hope, puts him down painlessly.
That's what I'm left with. Making life-and-death deals for a cat that is not mine. Because someone, somewhere, at some point gave up on Tom.
So pet owners - if the ONLY thing you ever do for your animal is get them "fixed" to control the population, please know I thank you from the bottom of my pet-lovin' heart.
More recent, Cardinal Roger Mahony (1998) said "any society, any nation, is judged on the basis of how it treats its weakest members; the last, the least, the littlest."
Everyone has their "line in the sand" of tolerance. Things we just WILL NOT PUT UP WITH. Things which, when they occur, we throw a flag on the play and say "no - that is totally unacceptable". Mine is animals in pain.
Are there bigger problems in the world? Of course there are. Starvation still exists, crimes against humanity happen daily, disease runs wild, homelessness, unemployment ... geez, depressed yet? While those things are horrible and scary and awful, we - as a communicating people - can discuss them. We can debate them. We can work through them. In time, sometimes in very small ways, we can even solve them.
Animals, 'tho ... when an animal is in pain, you can not explain to it what is happening. I mean, sure - you CAN ... but you may as well be reciting the Pledge of Allegiance, 'cause they don't really know what you're telling them.
I've written about our "adopted street cat", Shiloh. I don't know how she found us, why the timing worked out like it did, or how much longer she would have lived if we hadn't stepped in. I know that I never saw any "lost cat" signs in our neighborhood. I also know that, for a "free" cat ... *sigh* well, but I can't put a price on an animal. That's the part that a lot of people may not understand. It's my weakness ... it's my line in the sand... animals in pain. If I can help, I will.
"Tom", the un-neutered orange marmalade cat, is injured. Badly. I noticed it last night. Two, maybe three deep puncture wounds in his back right leg. They were fresh, and he was limping. Tom more than likely belongs to someone. The Awesome Boyfriend and I know this - or think this - because when he was in his last fight, someone took him in and got his head stitched up Plus he's very approachable and friendly. Heck, he was nice to us before Shiloh was. (They were buddies before Shiloh had her litter. Tom is probably the kitty-daddy.) So I hoped last night that Tom would go to that kind soul with these latest battle scars and get care.
Today he was not on the stoop when I went to get coffee. I was glad. Clearly he did go home. White kitty, who we believe really is homeless, was there to greet me and showed no signs of a fight. Besides, Tom's wounds were too deep to have been made by another cat. They looked to me to be from a dog or a wild critter of some kind.
When I got back from coffee, Tom was sunning himself on the stoop. Knowing that getting him fixed up would have taken longer than that, I sighed. And yes, as I fed him, there were the untreated punctures. Now he's gone at least 12 hours without medical care.
As you read this, I'm waiting for Shiloh's vet to call me back. I've explained the situation. Tom is not my cat. I've been "retired" for 18 months and have no regular source of income. I've already rescued one cat and she doesn't get along with our resident cat ... I cannot care of any more felines and have no safe place to stash Tom. Plus, even if he does (somehow) recover from this latest fight, then what? He's an un-neutered male cat ... fighting is what he does. What about the next fight? So my plea to the vet was that I'd pay for pain meds if she treats him and adopts him out or, if he's beyond hope, puts him down painlessly.
That's what I'm left with. Making life-and-death deals for a cat that is not mine. Because someone, somewhere, at some point gave up on Tom.
So pet owners - if the ONLY thing you ever do for your animal is get them "fixed" to control the population, please know I thank you from the bottom of my pet-lovin' heart.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Tuning In and Turning Off
Thus far, 2011 has been rather uneventful on a personal level. Shiloh is still with us (mostly because I'm living under the hope of somehow getting she and Tabby to a place where they can be under one roof) and she's recovering from her recent "getting fixed and chipped" surgery. It finally snowed a decent amount here (last night) and we've been spending our down time taking inventory of "our stuff" for insurance purposes. All in all, though, it's been pretty uneventful.
Sadly, the same cannot be said for things being uneventful for the general population. With all that has happened in Arizona in the past few days, it wasn't shocking that the topic on the NPR show I was listening to on the radio was guns and gun control and the rights the population has in regards to guns and gun control. I won't share all of what I heard, or thought, while I listened but I will share this:
It seems that the handgun ... a Glock ... used in this latest tragedy was, at one point, limited by law to have no more than 10 rounds per magazine - which is to say that one can fire 10 bullets without reloading. But, since the early part of the last decade, that law expired and magazines could be purchased that had 33 rounds. (Keep in mind that this is a very quick-firing gun and that one could easily use all 33 rounds in 90 seconds, as demonstrated in Arizona). The radio show asked the guests to give a non-predatory situation where having a handgun that fired more than 30 bullets in under 90 seconds would be more useful than one that fired 10 shots in the same time and the guests went silent.
And then, as if on cue, the representative from the NRA spoke up and reminded the listeners that real life situations are so frequently NOT like what is shown on television or the movie screens, that it very rarely takes just a single shot to stop a burglar invading your home, that not every bullet finds its intended target ...
I turned off the radio.
Nineteen people were shot, more than a dozen were wounded, and six were killed. The individual responsible was stopped only because he was in the midst of switching from his now-empty magazine to a full one. While it is true that a disturbed person hell-bent on violence will find a way, it's not too much of a leap to wonder if the magazine size law had never changed, would those same people still be involved or injured or dead?
It seems to me that if John Q. Public wants to exercise his right to carry a weapon, he'd better be a good enough shot to stop an intruder in 10 shots, 'cause I dunno if I want him to be shooting at all otherwise.
Sadly, the same cannot be said for things being uneventful for the general population. With all that has happened in Arizona in the past few days, it wasn't shocking that the topic on the NPR show I was listening to on the radio was guns and gun control and the rights the population has in regards to guns and gun control. I won't share all of what I heard, or thought, while I listened but I will share this:
It seems that the handgun ... a Glock ... used in this latest tragedy was, at one point, limited by law to have no more than 10 rounds per magazine - which is to say that one can fire 10 bullets without reloading. But, since the early part of the last decade, that law expired and magazines could be purchased that had 33 rounds. (Keep in mind that this is a very quick-firing gun and that one could easily use all 33 rounds in 90 seconds, as demonstrated in Arizona). The radio show asked the guests to give a non-predatory situation where having a handgun that fired more than 30 bullets in under 90 seconds would be more useful than one that fired 10 shots in the same time and the guests went silent.
And then, as if on cue, the representative from the NRA spoke up and reminded the listeners that real life situations are so frequently NOT like what is shown on television or the movie screens, that it very rarely takes just a single shot to stop a burglar invading your home, that not every bullet finds its intended target ...
I turned off the radio.
Nineteen people were shot, more than a dozen were wounded, and six were killed. The individual responsible was stopped only because he was in the midst of switching from his now-empty magazine to a full one. While it is true that a disturbed person hell-bent on violence will find a way, it's not too much of a leap to wonder if the magazine size law had never changed, would those same people still be involved or injured or dead?
It seems to me that if John Q. Public wants to exercise his right to carry a weapon, he'd better be a good enough shot to stop an intruder in 10 shots, 'cause I dunno if I want him to be shooting at all otherwise.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Are We There Yet?
After a pretty awful false start at introducing Tabby (resident cat) to Shiloh (upstart cat), the Awesome Boyfriend and I decided that the only fair thing to do was to find Shiloh a loving home and it didn't seem like it was gonna be ours.
Things were tense when we first had them meet face to face but they got downright ugly one late Saturday night/Sunday morning when they formed the "little ball of fierce cat hate". So we separated them and decided that each cat deserved a good home. During the week that followed, the Awesome Boyfriend created a "free to a great home" flyer and I took multiple photos of Shiloh and said helpful things like "look friendly" while she vogued for the camera.
I also asked for the advice of various "cat" people, basically just to make sure that we'd done the right thing. The resounding polite response was "no, actually, ya' didn't". It seemed to everyone that we'd rushed it. We saw things were going well and we pushed too hard. Slowly we both agreed that we'd try again.
I had more hope this time that things would go well or, at least, better. For five days, Shiloh lived in the office while Tabby continued to have the run of the house. I kept hoping that Tabby would at least seem somewhat curious as to why the door was staying shut but - honestly - it appeared that she couldn't have cared less. I wasn't sure this was a great thing - I wouldn't have minded seeing a little more interaction under the door - but I wasn't gonna push my luck.
This past Friday, Shiloh had a vet appointment. This would be her final scheduled follow-up visit from when they'd first seen her a month prior - when she weighed just over 7 1/2 lbs, was feverish and trying to recover from having kittens. It was surreal the difference that just a few weeks of food, attention, and care had made. Not only had she outgrown the kitty carrier that was less than a month old, but she managed to gain close to 4 lbs! Her coat, eyes, whiskers and attitude have all just thrived.
Boosted by our success, when the Awesome Boyfriend came home this past Friday, I opened the door to let Shiloh join us. I don't know that I can say we held our breath, but I know that I was far more on edge than last time we'd tried this.
Things were tense when we first had them meet face to face but they got downright ugly one late Saturday night/Sunday morning when they formed the "little ball of fierce cat hate". So we separated them and decided that each cat deserved a good home. During the week that followed, the Awesome Boyfriend created a "free to a great home" flyer and I took multiple photos of Shiloh and said helpful things like "look friendly" while she vogued for the camera.
I also asked for the advice of various "cat" people, basically just to make sure that we'd done the right thing. The resounding polite response was "no, actually, ya' didn't". It seemed to everyone that we'd rushed it. We saw things were going well and we pushed too hard. Slowly we both agreed that we'd try again.
I had more hope this time that things would go well or, at least, better. For five days, Shiloh lived in the office while Tabby continued to have the run of the house. I kept hoping that Tabby would at least seem somewhat curious as to why the door was staying shut but - honestly - it appeared that she couldn't have cared less. I wasn't sure this was a great thing - I wouldn't have minded seeing a little more interaction under the door - but I wasn't gonna push my luck.
This past Friday, Shiloh had a vet appointment. This would be her final scheduled follow-up visit from when they'd first seen her a month prior - when she weighed just over 7 1/2 lbs, was feverish and trying to recover from having kittens. It was surreal the difference that just a few weeks of food, attention, and care had made. Not only had she outgrown the kitty carrier that was less than a month old, but she managed to gain close to 4 lbs! Her coat, eyes, whiskers and attitude have all just thrived.
Boosted by our success, when the Awesome Boyfriend came home this past Friday, I opened the door to let Shiloh join us. I don't know that I can say we held our breath, but I know that I was far more on edge than last time we'd tried this.
Well, we've so far done alright. There is still the occasional hissing and spitting, and Tabby clearly doesn't like how Shiloh follows her every move, but at least Tabby isn't hiding under the bed for hours at a time. We've also learned that Shiloh doesn't understand boundaries (human OR feline) so if you don't want her to follow you into the bathroom or downstairs, you'd best close the door as soon as you can. For the next few weeks, she'll continue to sleep alone in the office at nights, just to give us all a little peace, and we'll make sure that one of us is here when they're both roaming about but maybe, just maybe we DID find her a loving home.
So for Thanksgiving this year, I'm pretty sure that we all need to thank Tabby, for giving us a second chance.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The Wednesday Wimper, Whine and Wallow
Just because I don't tend to write, talk, whine, discuss, whimiper, dwell, or wallow on the "not so great" parts of things going on in my orbit doesn't mean I don't have any such parts. So, in no particular order and to just get everything out in the open, here's just three of my "not so greats"...
Whimper
So yes, I'm a little less social and a lot more bitter than usual. As with most things, I will work through all of this (I always do) but give me a break and let me figure it out. Don't tell me how it'll all be alright. Don't tell me how you can relate. Don't tell me how it'll get easier - because, honestly, this part is NEVER easy.
I just don't wanna hear it right now. I deserve a good wallow and I at least have enough decency to wallow quietly and to myself. I know I'm not in fit shape right now to be good company to anyone so just be thankful I have enough respect to spare the rest of humanity. I will recover when I'm ready to do so. I'm just not ready yet.
Just because I don't share every crappy thing that happens doesn't mean I don't have crappy things. We all do. These are but three of mine.
Whimper
- The 16-year old gray cat (already crying as I write those six words) that I left in good hands is dying. I was care-ape to this feline ... this life-line to my weak grasp on sanity ... for more than 14 years. He got me through *e*v*e*r*y*t*h*i*n*g*. And now I'm a country-width away and am powerless to change anything. (Realizing that I could have him sitting on my lap and I'd still be powerless.) So I'm here waiting for the phone call to tell me that he's passed.
- The "new" cat that the Awesome Boyfriend and I have nursed back to health will need a forever home and it can't be ours. I'm worried that it won't matter how great, fun, good, loving, soft, and beautiful she is that it won't be easy to find. I don't wanna fail her after all this. (See above bullet point for the line of guilt on this.)
- The cousin who was fighting her cancer battle when her mother and I were doing the same is back on the "not recovering" list. I got nothing more to add to this one. I believe the amount of suckage involved here rather goes without saying.
So yes, I'm a little less social and a lot more bitter than usual. As with most things, I will work through all of this (I always do) but give me a break and let me figure it out. Don't tell me how it'll all be alright. Don't tell me how you can relate. Don't tell me how it'll get easier - because, honestly, this part is NEVER easy.
I just don't wanna hear it right now. I deserve a good wallow and I at least have enough decency to wallow quietly and to myself. I know I'm not in fit shape right now to be good company to anyone so just be thankful I have enough respect to spare the rest of humanity. I will recover when I'm ready to do so. I'm just not ready yet.
Just because I don't share every crappy thing that happens doesn't mean I don't have crappy things. We all do. These are but three of mine.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Shiloh's Battle ... The Update
Shiloh, the little kitty who could, is in full-recovery mode. Her coat is soft and clean and she's keeping herself looking beautiful. Her appetite is balanced - she's no longer ravenous but she eats when she's hungry and enjoys treats on a regular basis. She's playful, *loves* her catnip toys, and even her meow has improved. She'll have one more vet appointment (a booster shot) and we have one more bit of medication to give to her but, other than those minor details, she's a very healthy - and clearly a much happier - kitty.
The Awesome Boyfriend and I introduced Shiloh to Tabby this weekend. I can't speak for The Awesome Boyfriend, but I figured it'd be a cold reception and just hoped that Tabby would ignore Shiloh for the most part. Well, long story short, we gave it a try but Tabby made it clear that she enjoys being in a one-kitty home. (It was Shiloh that was doing the ignoring, actually - she was a very gracious "guest" visitor.) But we decided at the onset that Tabby's was the only vote that would really count, so now a different journey begins.
Shiloh's primary job will be to continue to recover and I will do my best to find her her new family. I don't know if it will be difficult or not. She's got so much going for her ... I'd think there's gotta be lots of families just looking for a warm, loving, quiet, well-groomed, healthy, soft bundle of fun to welcome into their homes and I can't think of cat that has earned that more than Shiloh. I'd like to think I've helped her in her recovery thus far so hopefully I can help her just a little bit more to find her a deserving forever home.
The Awesome Boyfriend and I introduced Shiloh to Tabby this weekend. I can't speak for The Awesome Boyfriend, but I figured it'd be a cold reception and just hoped that Tabby would ignore Shiloh for the most part. Well, long story short, we gave it a try but Tabby made it clear that she enjoys being in a one-kitty home. (It was Shiloh that was doing the ignoring, actually - she was a very gracious "guest" visitor.) But we decided at the onset that Tabby's was the only vote that would really count, so now a different journey begins.
Shiloh's primary job will be to continue to recover and I will do my best to find her her new family. I don't know if it will be difficult or not. She's got so much going for her ... I'd think there's gotta be lots of families just looking for a warm, loving, quiet, well-groomed, healthy, soft bundle of fun to welcome into their homes and I can't think of cat that has earned that more than Shiloh. I'd like to think I've helped her in her recovery thus far so hopefully I can help her just a little bit more to find her a deserving forever home.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
The Battle of Shiloh
Sometime early last week, in the midst of feeding "white kitty", I noticed a new patron of our cat cafe. First she was "gray kitty" and then "kinda fluffy gray kitty" and, soon enough, "wonder if she's pregnant gray kitty". She didn't honestly look all that pregnant but, after she decided I was worthy of her trust (and her company), I could feel tiny little kitty bodies in her belly. She was incredibly active and liked to jump to the balcony from the ground (at least 3 times her length) so I figured we had a few weeks to either figure something out for what would happen or that whomever she belonged to would notice she was too far along to keep letting her roam free.
Sure enough, when I went to do my chef duties at the cafe earlier this week, I realized that I wasn't seeing her anymore. The Awesome Boyfriend confirmed that he wasn't seeing her either. Two days went by and no pregnant gray kitty appeared. "Good", I said to myself, "she's being taken care of and soon will be a mother. How sweet. I'm glad I could help out while she was outside."
While I was getting routine errands done around town, I stumbled across a sale of small warm blankets and purchased two of them, figuring that at some point this winter, maybe a make-shift den would be appreciated at the cafe and I'd use these to soften it up and provide a little warmth.
On Friday, I was in the living room and glanced out the side window ... and there, very slowly and pretty unsteadily walking towards our home, was no-longer-pregnant gray kitty.
And so the battle began.
Since Shiloh, as we've decided to call her, found us once again, we've slowly (and very cautiously) started to become a family ... humans and cat. We, of course, already have a terrific feline to attend to and, over time, it will be up to the primary cat if we extend our pet count to two.
What we do know is that Shiloh is horribly under weight, tremendously tolerant of humans, and a little overwhelmed by the amount of change she's experienced in the past 48 hours. We managed to find someone to take care of her surviving kittens (which Shiloh was too malnourished to care for), and she's been to her first vet appointment so that we could get her fever under control and have her tested for any issues, which save for dehydration, seem to be few. In the short time she's been allowing us to care for her, she's already showing dramatic improvement and we hope she continues to let her body recover.
So, to whomever is reading this, allow me the pleasure of introducing Shiloh.
She's still fighting her battle (so she's not looking all that happy here), but we're fighting right along side of her and doing all we can to give her what she needs to not just survive but to really recover.
We hope she does.
Sure enough, when I went to do my chef duties at the cafe earlier this week, I realized that I wasn't seeing her anymore. The Awesome Boyfriend confirmed that he wasn't seeing her either. Two days went by and no pregnant gray kitty appeared. "Good", I said to myself, "she's being taken care of and soon will be a mother. How sweet. I'm glad I could help out while she was outside."
While I was getting routine errands done around town, I stumbled across a sale of small warm blankets and purchased two of them, figuring that at some point this winter, maybe a make-shift den would be appreciated at the cafe and I'd use these to soften it up and provide a little warmth.
On Friday, I was in the living room and glanced out the side window ... and there, very slowly and pretty unsteadily walking towards our home, was no-longer-pregnant gray kitty.
And so the battle began.
Since Shiloh, as we've decided to call her, found us once again, we've slowly (and very cautiously) started to become a family ... humans and cat. We, of course, already have a terrific feline to attend to and, over time, it will be up to the primary cat if we extend our pet count to two.
What we do know is that Shiloh is horribly under weight, tremendously tolerant of humans, and a little overwhelmed by the amount of change she's experienced in the past 48 hours. We managed to find someone to take care of her surviving kittens (which Shiloh was too malnourished to care for), and she's been to her first vet appointment so that we could get her fever under control and have her tested for any issues, which save for dehydration, seem to be few. In the short time she's been allowing us to care for her, she's already showing dramatic improvement and we hope she continues to let her body recover.
So, to whomever is reading this, allow me the pleasure of introducing Shiloh.
She's still fighting her battle (so she's not looking all that happy here), but we're fighting right along side of her and doing all we can to give her what she needs to not just survive but to really recover.
We hope she does.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Whoops!
So I was gonna write about being accident prone. How, as a child, I had a habit of getting myself into situations where I was destined to be injured and that now, as an adult, I have a propensity of cutting corners too sharply, scraping my shins while exiting from vehicles, and conking myself on the head when I know damn well to duck in that part of the basement.
Yes, yes I was gonna write about that.
So we'd had dinner and were relaxing in the living room. We were enjoying a bit of downtime when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the cat had wandered into the space between the sofa and the wall, next to where The Awesome Boyfriend was seated. She has been known to sit there, under the side-table at times, so this wasn't a new maneuver for her. After a few minutes, The Awesome Boyfriend turned to me and said "hey - is the cat behind us?"
Thus began a 20-minute stress-filled, furniture moving exercise whereby we needed to figure out how our feline had climbed up into our couch and, far more importantly, how we were going to assist in her removal from it. It wasn't until we started to urgently call for her, shine flashlights underneath the couch, and move it into the middle of the room that she started to meow rather strongly, probably more reacting to our increasing nervousness than any discomfort she was feeling.
Anyway so yes - I was going to write about my being a klutz but had to set that aside because our couch was trying to eat our cat.
It's nice to know that it runs in the family.
**********
(Follow Up: The feline in question is perfectly fine and is blissfully slumbering in her bed, having chomped down on the large handful of treats she received after FINALLY emerging from our couch. We, on the other hand, are still recovering from the stress, worry, and immediate response needed to ensure her safe extraction from what is clearly a cat-eating sofa.)
Yes, yes I was gonna write about that.
So we'd had dinner and were relaxing in the living room. We were enjoying a bit of downtime when, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the cat had wandered into the space between the sofa and the wall, next to where The Awesome Boyfriend was seated. She has been known to sit there, under the side-table at times, so this wasn't a new maneuver for her. After a few minutes, The Awesome Boyfriend turned to me and said "hey - is the cat behind us?"
Thus began a 20-minute stress-filled, furniture moving exercise whereby we needed to figure out how our feline had climbed up into our couch and, far more importantly, how we were going to assist in her removal from it. It wasn't until we started to urgently call for her, shine flashlights underneath the couch, and move it into the middle of the room that she started to meow rather strongly, probably more reacting to our increasing nervousness than any discomfort she was feeling.
Anyway so yes - I was going to write about my being a klutz but had to set that aside because our couch was trying to eat our cat.
It's nice to know that it runs in the family.
**********
(Follow Up: The feline in question is perfectly fine and is blissfully slumbering in her bed, having chomped down on the large handful of treats she received after FINALLY emerging from our couch. We, on the other hand, are still recovering from the stress, worry, and immediate response needed to ensure her safe extraction from what is clearly a cat-eating sofa.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)