Wednesday, December 2, 2009
DG walked up to me and said he needed one of his “silly pretty pixshurs” because he wanted to “hiccup codajoe”.
“Why the sudden decision to hook up Dakota Joe with one of your celebrity pictures?” I asked.
“He sayd I wuz ‘damn’ cute. I am thinkee that is even cuter than Diblet.”
“Yeah, you know, I happen to think you’re the cutest kitteh on the planet.”
“So does codajoe, evindentedly. You gettee teh pixshur for me DG or wut?”
“Sure, but I'm guessing Dakota Joe thinks his own cat is cuter, Deej. And he just goes by DJ now. I don’t even think his name is really Joe.”
“Less talkee, more celery pity pixshur! And also a box to mail it in!”
“I’ll get you an envelope."
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Taking the paper trash out to the recycling bin, a familiar something caught my eye. I didn't need to examine it further; I knew exactly what it was. I went back inside and found DG in the kitchen lounging in a flat of drinking water.
“Say, you ever mail that photo to DJ?”
The Deej blinked. “M-hm.”
“Really? How? You don’t have any stamps. You can’t reach the mailbox.”
“I fond stamps in yur bedroom – dog ones and spacee ones..." He licked his left foreleg for a few moments, then continued, "...then I dressed it and put it with teh rest of teh mails.”
It all came together. “Ha! You put it in the paper recycling, DG! I almost threw it out...”
“Well mail it alreddy wuld you? It wuz sposed to be there a week ago!!!”
*sigh* There’s just no pleasing a cat.
Very sorry for the delay, DJ. It’s on its way now...
Horseradish: Bitter Truths You Can't Avoid is a book of quotes and passages from Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events. I've really come to love this series (even if my young son hasn't) and I enjoyed this book as well.
Something else I'm loving is the goodreads website. I use it both to keep track of the books I've read, but also to seek out new books I might enjoy. I really like reading the reviews of friends and strangers when I'm looking for new books to add to my to-read shelf.
The only thing that would make the website even better is if more of my friends (hint, hint) were more active on the site. And that's why I'm plugging it here. =)
As much as I love the instant gratification and privacy provided by my digital camera, the one thing that continues to irritate me about digital photography technology is the insane amount of time that elapses between when the shutter button is depressed and when the shutter finally decides to work its soul-stealing magic.
I’m sure you’ve all been there. You see something you desperately need to preserve in photograph form, so you whip out your digital camera, quickly frame the shot, and depress the button...
...but by the time your camera finally does its little preparation dance and captures the image, the moment you so badly wished to immortalize has passed and all you’re left with is another useless photo of a dirty restroom stall.
I took Motley in to the vet on Friday.
Motley here demonstrating the motleyness of his fur.
He vamped the vet, as usual... She couldn't get his heartrate because he was purring so hard.
And it wasn't scardycat purring, it was Pretty Lady Patting ME!! purrs.
And she admired his coat, which to me demonstrates that she was smitten, since I think it just looks like a bad die job.
"We'll just take Big Boy back and get his weight and some blood." PURR PURR"
He ends up having a thyroid problem, resolvable with pills.
And he is good about pills.
And good about the vet too.
I think it's that he has had a series of really odd medical problems (liver infection?), and has noticed that going to the vet makes him feel better.
Him's very very smart boy.
Boe continues to be a mystery.
Nothing definite back yet, preliminary results just show some inflammation.
I did ask if nothing definite meant not definitely cancer, but sadly it does not.
So we wait.
Boe, being mysterious.
He is getting impatient about being locked in, but it is his own fault for being creepy about coming when called.
He comes, and sits ten feet off, to see what is up with you.
Too smart for his own good kitty therefore has to stay locked in for a while, so I can get my hands on him.
New kitty, NikitaKit wins Best Kitten Ever prize for breaking into Boe's prison cell to steal his treats, and staying to play with him.
Gently.
Nikita jumps on Sisko hard enough to knock him over.
But plays bat paws around the corner with Boe.
Good kitty.
I have to get new photos of him, cos his kitten ruff is turning into serious plumage.
It's like a lion's mane.
I had no idea that floofy kittens did this, having never had one from a kitten before.
He's a seriously absurd child.
While watching Zach give the cats a good workout by means of a high-power laser pointer, a thought occurred to me:
When used in a particular way, a laser pointer is essentially a virtual tether with which one can literally slam a cat against a wall.
You can also fling a cat down the stairs or even into a hapless victim’s lap as he sits distracted by his game of Super Smash Bros. Fact is, a cat will pretty much go anywhere a glowing red dot goes. They'll even do it in teams!
Whenever all four of us have to be away from the house at the same time, we make sure all the kittehs are closed off downstairs mainly because Dioji is a moody terrier and cannot be trusted. This past Thanksgiving Day was one of those times and Zach was assigned pet segregation detail. He proceeded to do this, believe it or not, by leading them all down in one big group with his laser pointer.
I was hell of impressed.
Alright, I know the title of the post made it sound like some major scientific breakthrough had been discovered. And sure, adding “major” might be too much, but Zachary’s discovery really is quite a breakthrough!
Have you ever tried to herd cats?
This much cute in one place might be dangerous. CimC could implode under the combined weight of DG's good looks and the incredible cuteness in this video. I only got a B in Physics, so don't hate on me if this blog suddenly gets sucked down some black hole of adorableness.
Squeeeee!
There’s a rather steep, winding road I take on the way to work that understandably narrows to a single lane on the downhill side. The speed limit correspondingly drops a little, as well. This all occurs shortly after a traffic light and for the next mile-and-a-half drivers are relegated to whatever position they were able to aggressively acquire during the furious Competition Merging that invariably occurs at this type of juncture.
It is the right lane that merges into the left, so you’ll usually see the BMW and CRX drivers choose it, particularly when they end up (oh-so-egregiously) stopped at the light. Their logic is simple: only the right lane provides the opportunity not to get stuck behind one of the left-lane lame-asses who lacked the foresight to buy a car that stuck to the road like an AFX* slot car. They crane their necks to watch for the cross-traffic light to turn yellow; it’s their cue to take the RPMs up to 1200 and shift their clutch-foot to the very edge of the pedal for instantaneous release.
Me, I’m one of the lame-asses, I guess. I seldom worry about my spot in the bizarre, unwritten hierarchy of competitive commuting. I’m of the opinion that making it to my destination alive, undamaged and sans citations is far more desirable than getting there seven seconds before everyone else. But you already knew I was a bit strange.
Anyway, this morning I did play the game because tooling down the hill was a dirty, fume-belching truck with a giant tank on the back proudly emblazoned with The Shit Bilge: We’ll Pump Out Your Poop! (or something like that; I didn’t have anything to write with at the time). The huge coil of corrugated PVC tubing verified what was inside that tank. I’m not sure if moving so slowly was also directly related to his occupation, but the fact wouldn’t surprise me.
For the record, I wasn’t the only one to pass him. I was behind at least a half dozen drivers making the same sensible move.
Here’s the thing, though. As I changed lanes and sped up to squeeze in front of him just before the guardrail could cave in my passenger door, I felt a little like an impatient teenager for whom driving like an asshole has become a requisite personality trait. But the guy in the sewer truck didn’t speed up to force me back behind him the way so many people do, nor did he tailgate me the rest of the way down the hill. He just took his time transporting his contaminated cargo, seemingly unmoved by the growing distance between himself and the crowd of cars in front of him.
I guess if you make your living sucking putrid body waste out of other peoples’ septic tanks, you’ve pretty much already broken and tamed your ego.
*Yeah, that’s right, I was an AFX kid. Big time. Had to save up just a little more chore money, but it was worth it not to settle for Tyco’s second-rate, schlocky slot cars.
Karin and I have been into this show called It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia since it started in 2005. It's a tad lowbrow sometimes and silly and Amanda absolutely despises it. Her refusal to even be in the room when it's on should probably be some sort of barometer for me, but the thing is, every time I watch an episode of this show I nearly bust a gasket laughing.
To wit...
