How I A Kitty-Whipped, Part Duh

• My bladder is about to burst.
  
• If I get up, the cats will think it's time to eat, and will start the Yay We Get To Eat! Dance.
  
• When I don't head downstairs, it will break their little hearts.
  
• So, here I sit, miserable, and it's still 40 minutes until Stinky Goodness Time...
  

=sigh=

Dear Lady In The Library...

Um, yeah, it was a bit disconcerting to have you walk up to me and squeal with delight, asking in one breath if I'd ridden my bike in such gloomy weather and then how much fun it was; while you were practically peeing yourself, I was trying to figure out where I knew you from and why I couldn't recall your face or your name. I scrambled to reach the places in my brain that are covered in cobwebs and dust, thinking perhaps we'd known each other somewhere along the way of Life On Military Bases. Did our kids play with each other when they were little? Did we bowl together at some point? Do I have a stalker?

It did give me a bit of relief when you stopped long enough to realize you were confusing/scaring/annoying me, and then explained that you'd seen me riding around town on my little white bike. And that it was totally cool, especially once you'd figured out that wasn't some random guy on a bike, but a middle aged woman riding a =gasp= motorcycle. And now here I was! In the library!

While my brain was further puzzling over how you knew it was my drag-king self under that full faced helmet, you then laughed at yourself and further explained that my red, white, and blue leather jacket was hard to miss (which made me happy, because that means I'm visible enough that car drivers can see I'm there...) and you'd see it zipping down Peabody Road or Nut Tree every once in a while.

When I stopped being confused/scared/annoyed, it was nice to talk to someone else who was excited at the idea of taking up riding in middle age. (But no, I will not teach you how to ride; I'm still far too inexperienced myself. And no, I will not sell you my spiffy red, white, and blue leather jacket. I've never seen another one like it, and wouldn't be able to replace it. And I loves it, I really do. Well, maybe for $5,000...) If and when you decide to take the MSF course and get a bike, I'd love to ride aroudnd town with you. It'd be fun; we can start our own little Old Chick Biker Gang.

"Thumper" Is Latin For "Kitty-Whipped..."

Buddah is not an especially vocal kitty. He reserves speaking to me for those times when he wants or needs something; most often he speaks up when he deeply needs to have a toy mousie tossed down the hall or the stairs so that he can run after it, pick it up, and bring it back so that we can do the whole thing all over again. His fascination with the game of Go Fetch makes us wonder sometimes if he's not Hank the Dog reincarnated.

Hank could never understand the intricasies of fetching; if you threw a ball or a stick, he would run after it, and then sit there, his head tilted, tongue hanging out as he dripped saliva onto the grass. Hank the Dog was more like Hank the Cat; he napped ferociously, lived for food, and if he hadn't weighed 100 pounds he would have spent every available moment in someone's lap.

I think Hank had a species identity problem; if he could have been surgically altered into being a cat, I think he would have happily gone under the knife.

So maybe he wanted a do-over, and came back as Buddah.

Only Buddah seems to be a dog wrapped in cat fur.

Poor thing can't win either way.

Still...Buddah does not talk to me the way Max does; Max carries on long conversations, which are usually complaints about the lack of food on demand, and why am I not providing a lap right this second when he wants one. Buddah is usually off in his own little world; it's a nice place and he's happy there, but it makes him a quiet kitty for the most part.

This morning when I headed into the kitchen to feed them both, Buddah thundered down the stairs, sounding more like 100 pound Hank than 13 pound Buddah. He jumped onto the counter--yes, I feed him up there, just to keep the cats separated--and he butted my hand with his head, impatient for me to open that can of wonderful Stinky Goodness. His tail twittered and he pranced until I plopped all 3 ounces of something that looked as if it had been eaten and regurigtated two or three times already onto his plate.

It was fishy; he loves fishy.

I gave Max his food on the floor (ok, on a plate on the floor, just so you know I'm not that horrible...) and he dove in with as much gusto as Buddah had just seconds before. The kitchen was filled with the sounds of "mmpf, slurp, gobble, snork" and I turned away to get my own breakfast.

The sounds of Stinky Goodness being devoured suddenly cut in half, and I turned around just in time to grab Buddah from jumping down right on top of Max.

I put him back on the coutner and told him in no uncertain terms "This is your food. Let Max eat his own."

Buddah peered over the counter at Max's different-brand-because-he's fat-fishy bounty.

"No," I said to him, "you either eat what I gave you, or you don't eat. I'm not kidding, It's this or nothing."

Max looked up at me like Oh cripes...put him down here and I'll share. Just give me a couple bites of his stuff.

Let Buddah jump down, and he had perhaps two bites of Max's food. He wandered off, seemingly happy, to my admonition that I was throwing the food away. No more until tonight.

Two hours later I was sitting at me desk and felt a thin kitty body rubbing against my leg. I looked down, expecting there to be a tiny gray toy mouse for me to throw, but instead Buddah was alone, and he looked up and let out a tiny Meow, meow.

"I know you're hungry. You should have eaten earlier."

"Meow meow meow." I'm really hungry.

"Didn't I say no more until dinner?"

"Meow? Meow meow meow meow meow..." Please? I'm just a tiny boy...

"It's not fair to Max...if he hears me put out crunchy food he'll want some."

"Meow meow meow. Meow?" Max won't mind. Please?

Oh come on. You know I fed him...

Apparently, it's National Nurse Anesthetist Appreciation Week.

We could not let the week go by without acknowledging the Spouse Thingy and his dedication to his work.

So we took him out to dinner tonight.

And we let him pay.

We're so good to him...

I think they're watching birds in the side yard.

I'm not positive; I didn't want to get any closer, lest we disturb the non-fighting kitties...

They've been pretty good with each other lately; Max has stopped growling, finally (at us as well as Buddah), and he actually initiates play once in a while. I expected some increased snarkiness on his part lately, because we've pushed back their meal times, and Max's #1 priority in life is food when food seems like a good idea, even if it's at 5 a.m.

He adapted pretty easily to not getting fed until 10 a.m., which means I'm not getting cat-slapped when it's still dark outside. Well, not in demands that I get up and feed him. He still likes to body slam all 16-17 pounds of himself onto my face when I'm asleep, just because he can. And I frequently wake to him sitting on the bed by my pillow, staring at me.

Most disturbing, though, is when I wake to him petting me. He curls up next to my head, reaches that little paw out, and pets my face. I haven't figured out if he means "I love you" or "You know, I could shred the skin off your cheeks before you could do anything about it..."

But...today he's being good. He's letting Buddah look out the window with him. It's quiet.

Quiet is good.

And you think you had a bad day...?

This has distracted me enough this week that I've had blog-block.

Well, that and finishing the Dark Tower Series. Holy bajoobers, that was an incredible piece of work.

But the book with the cute kitty on the front cover... (that would be Bones the Cat) ...the kitties of the blogosphere got together and created an anthology of sorts, poems and stories and essay, in order to raise money to help kitties in need.

After some initial headaches, the book is now at the printer and is about to launch.

Pretty cool, eh? Blogging kitties becoming writing kitties. And generous to boot.

You know the new cat food, the one that's supposed to be very good and healthy and wonderful for your kitties, isn't going to go over well when you open the can and the cat sitting on the counter backs up and nearly falls off, the cat on the floor stares at his plate and meows woefully, and someone comes from the other side of the house to ask "What is that smell???"

• I finished Wolves of the Calla and am now almost halfway through Song Of Susannah.
  
• You can surmise that little cleaning has been done around here, hence the kitties are licking the sink because it tastes good, what with the dirty dishes that have sat there off and on all weekend.
  
• If I wait long enough, maybe they'll lick the whole kitchen clean.
  
• The Spouse Thingy and I are now sharing a car; it didn't make sense to have 3 cars around here, when he works nights most of the time and I'm awake during the day
  
• So of course, he had to work today, and I need to run an errand.
  
• I'll do it on the bike, even though it's a bit chilly out there.
  
• We came =this= close to trading in my convertible on another car. A very good price on the car was negotiated, but they wouldn't come close on the trade in--they offered $5000 under blue book.
  
• Since we walked out of the dealership, they have called 3 times, wanting to "reappraise" the trade in.
  
• We decided to bag it; initially we wanted something with better gas mileage because of the Spouse Thingy's commute, but the car we first looked at (Civic, 40 mpg) was uncomfortable to drive, and the one we almost bought (very pretty Camry) only gets 3 mpg on the highway more than the convertible.
  
• It's National De-Lurking Week! If you're a lurker, pop up and say hi!
  

You know you spend too much time with the kitties when you blow you nose and wind up with a lot of cat hair on the Kleenex...

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Why don't more states have ads like these?:

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Conundrun for today: clean the kitchen, clear out the shed, clean the litter boxes, etc. ad nauseum, or finish reading Wolves of the Calla...

What to do, what to do...

It's Friday already?

It's Friday.

Because the week just flew right by me and I have nothing to say, here's a picture of someone else's kitty, who seems to feel like I do that the week is already over.



Happy Weekend!

This thing looks real when you first wake up and don't have your glasses on:



For Christmas, my mom sent me this pillow, which speaks the truth:



However, we had nothing upon which the pillow looked spiffy.
And it's all about looking spiffy.
So I took the monetary gift my mom also sent, and bought something upon which it can be its spiffy self.



Our family room now has enough seating for the family, and it looks tons better.

The living room looks like it threw up, but no one sits in there, so who cares? ;)

EOY Randomnesses

• If you give a kitty a toy mouse that looks an awful lot like a real mouse, at some point you will wake up to said mousie on the bed next to your face, and it will not be a pleasant Good Morning.
  
• 50 mph winds can remove 90% of the Christmas decorations from your front lawn.
  
• They can be shoved in the garage, but eventually someone is going to have to put them away.
  
• I still love French Fries. In fact, I think I want to take myself to lunch somewhere I can have some French Fries.
  
• I am still a milestone kind of person; I think I always will be.
  
• Friday was the 5th anniversary of my friend Moe's death. A big milestone.
  
• I've spent several nights thinking about death; too many people that have touched my life in one way or another have gone.
  
• 4th grade, the music teacher, decapitated in a wreck on the Autobahn in Munich. Our class was too young to be told that much detail, but told we were.
  
• 6th grade, Kyle, leukemia.
  
• 7th grade, Chris, Hodgkin's Disease.
  
• 10th grade, Glen, hit by a car.
  
• 11th grade, Rita, leukemia.
  
• 11th grade, Alan, drunk driver plowed into him. On the sidewalk.
  
• 11th grade, David, a heart attack at age 16
  
• So many others since then...and then Moe 5 years ago.
  
• And my father in law this year.
  
• Grief never really leaves, it just settles for a while and then rises in these little wisps of choked back tears and half finished dreams.
  
• It comes at you in the middle of the night, the sound of a clock chiming.
  
• Or the way your own husband walks, reminding you of his dad.
  
• It just comes at you, sometimes quielty, sometimes a slap in the face, but it's never really gone.
  
• I miss Moe
  
• I miss my father in law
  
• I seriously, seriously miss my father in law.
  

If you braved the mall today....you're insane, and I hope you survived.

We braved Costco, where there was tons of parking and very short lines, even at the gas pump. But, sadly, there were not enough really good free samples, which is always the real reason for going to Costco. On really good free sample days, you can go around two or three times and get a free lunch!

Christmas with the Wabbits was nice, quiet, and fun...We got a late start (Spouse Thingy worked the night shift Christmas Eve, so he kind of needed to sleep a few hours once he got home) so we opened gifts around noon, then putzed around for a bit before heading out for a movie...which turned out to not be playing at the time the newspaper said it was, so we headed for Sharky's and played pool (verrrrrry badly) instead. Later we went to dinner at Denny's--which was packed, unlike last year--and then headed home.

It was nice to just spend some time tgether. Getting presents was a bonus :)

Click for Christmas card...
It was kinda big, and probably hosing up lower resolution monitors.

I woke up at 5:30 this morning to Max sitting by my pillow, petting my cheek. He's been playing the cute card all day, talking to me and sitting in my lap and rubbing his face against mine. Every time I had to get up to do something, he waited in the chair for me, and curled back up on my ap (keeping me warm, as I asked him to) when I sat down.

He's either planning something, or he knows Santa comes tomorrow night.

I hope my cat believes in Santa...

Whoa...soooooo many people out and about today. Sooooo many people crowded into WalMart wearing 32 tons of cheap perfume that I had to hand over my box of benedryl to the Spouse Thingy and go outside to wait in the car.

Peoples...please...when you put on perfume or cologne, think of others who will have to inhale your scent of choice. And those with asthma who will feel like dying right there beside the feminine hygeine products aisle.

Tomorrow is supposed to be the busiest shopping day of the year. Tomorrow I will putz around the house, very grateful that I'm done shopping and that I don't have to throw myself into the center of the masses. The heavily perfumed and cologned masses.

Well, I might have to go gas up the car.*

And I might have to run to the grocery store.**

But other than that...I'm staying home and annoying the kitties, who are now all hopped up on kitty crack, couresty of their Secret Paws.

*Want a convertible? We're thinking about selling it or trading it in to get something we both like, now that we're sharing a car...I figured I'd ask, seeing as how the Mazda went so fast...

**Mebbe I'll get stuff to make cookies. Mmmmmmm...cooooookies...

Now see, you missed your chance.
You could have had this spiffy car, but no.
Someone else beat you to it.
I hope he and BooBooKittyPhk* will be very happy.

Don't ask me, my son named the car...

WooHoo!



Screw getting any work done. I'm shooting for 20 million now...

Here ya go.
Just what you want to buy that special someone in your life.
Go ahead, I know you want to.
It's fun to drive, you'll love it.

Well now, nothing says You'll Sleep So Well than finding out there's a serial rapist terrorizing the part of town you live in...

File This Under 'Oh Holy...'

Cute kid, eh?
And she just got her red belt in karate.
She's two years old.

Two years old.

She got it by proving she could do a front kick, a punch, two turns and four defensive blocks.

Mollie got her passion for martial arts from her parents, both black belts and full-time karate instructors.

Ok. I used to train in a martial art; in the system in which I trained a red belt is just 2 steps away from black belt. It takes a couple of years at least to get to red belt, and you have to show considerably more skill than doing a front kick, a punch, two turns, and four defensive blocks. Those skills won't get anyone from white to gold belt (or yellow or orange, take your pick based on your own school's colors.) In some schools, red is the last belt before black.

Yes, different schools in different martial arts styles and systems use different colored belts. A green belt in Jhoon Rhee TKD is not the same as a green belt in a Goju Ryu school which is not the same as a green belt in, say, Kung Fu, if that Kung Fu school used belt or sash colors at all. So her red belt might not be any different than a beginner in another school.

But.

But but but.

Red is generally recognized as having at least a modicum of proficiency in the styles I am even minutely familiar with. There is no way that a 2 year old has even a basic understanding of martial arts and fighting concepts. A 2 year old shouldn't even be taught fighting concepts.

I'm not one of those people who thinks 10 year old kids shouldn't test for black belt; I don't think a black belt indicates the ability to kick ass, nor is it proof that the student can take on any potential attacker. It simply means the student has shown a grasp of the fundamental concepts of their art and can physically demonstrate those concepts, and is ready to become a Student. Before that, you're really just dabbling in the art.

So I don't have a problem with kids in martial arts. I do have a problem with this. There's no possible way that kid knows enough nor understands enough to have earned a red belt. Or even a white belt.

It should be duly noted that her parents are karate instructors.

Wanna guess who tested her and awarded the belt?

Um, yeah...that was my guess, too.

Why is it, when watching The Biggest Loser I get the worst case of the munchies?

In my blog hopping this morning, I landed at Carmi's blog, as I am wont to do many mornings a week (and often evenings, too, as I check to see if he's posted more than once in a day) and his "About Me" blurb caught my eye. I've looked at it a dozen times, yet this morning something clicked in my brain, a memory that I tend to dig out of the recesses of my mind several times a year.

I believe strongly in random acts of kindness, and know we can all do a better job making our planet a happier place to live.

(Go on. Go over there and peek, read his post for today. I'll be here when you get back.)

So, hey! My brain still works.

This time of year people all over are engaged in random acts of kindness; one person empties his pocket change into a red kettle; one person buys a bag of groceries and places it in the Food Donation bin by the door; someone else buys a cart load of toys and hands it over to the Marines standing next to the Toys For Tots bin outside the WalMart entrance.

It occurs to us to do simple things for others this time of year; sometimes the act occurs without a lot of thought. We see the red kettle, we automatically reach for the change. That it's often a remote act doesn't lessen the impact--those simple gestures add up and make a difference in someone else's life.

Like last year--heck, almost exactly last year, on Dec 11--when I was standing in front of a vending machine, fishing for nonexistent quarters in my pocket, this guy that just bought himself a soda, gave me 2 quarters so I could get one, too. That made a difference to me. It might not be up there with curing cancer or bringing about world peace, but it was a kind gesture that stuck with me.

But when I was at Carmi's blog this morning, reading his blurb, I remembered something that made a huge impact in our lives. A very simple gesture, a random act of kindness that has likely been long forgotten by the person who touched our lives, but provided us with a jaw dropping moment that kept on giving.

The Spouse Thingy and I--very newly married, living on 10 cent boxes of generic mac and cheese and boxes of blueberry muffins sent in care packages put together by my mother in law (ha! Be jealous. She's my MIL and not yours, so nyah nyah nyah, :::sticking out my tongue:::)--were standing in line at a Safeway in Provo, Utah. We normally didn't shop there, because the generic mac and cheese was 12 cents instead of 10, but they had this thing where you got a stamp for every $5 you spent, and if you saved enough of the stickers, you could get a dinner plate for free.

These were nice plates, too. Yes, we owned plates, but only a couple of them, and when you have to choose between food and dinner plates, you buy food. But we really wanted those plates.

So there were were, counting out what was essentially small change to buy a few boxes of mac and cheese, and some vegetables, a woman walked up and asked us if we were collecting those stamps. And when we said yes, she reached into her purse and handed us several sheets of them.

Enough stamps to get an entire set of plates, 8 of them.

She handed us the stamps, saying she wasn't going to use them, and walked away. She essentially gave us an entire set of dinner ware, and walked away with only a suprised thank you.

This woman never knew what that simple random act of kindness meant for us.

Sure, we would have done just fine eating off the same couple of (very cheap) plates for the next few years. We eventually would have collected enough stamps to get one or two plates, and we would have been happy with that. But instead, two almost-starving college students were able to go home with this gift...more than stamps, more than plates.

In the thumbnail version of this picture it's just a couple of sheets of stamps that got us some free plates. But in the full sized image, the progressive JPG scanned at 1200 dpi... That I've never forgotten it says alot. Those extra pennies we were spending to get those stamps added up; when you're living on $2.25 an hour and only working part time because school is the Main Job, pennies matter.

Pennies add up to extra boxes of macaroni and cheese that come in plain white boxes with black lettering. Pennies mean you can actually put the right amount of milk in the mix. Over time, pennies mean you can buy a pound of hamburger, even if it is 25% fat.

When the Boy moved into his own apartment, just before we moved to Ohio, we still had those plates to give to him. Having those meant he didn't have to scrape together anything to buy his own. When he and his roomates parted ways, he passed them on to someone else.

And thusly did that one simple act live on.

One tiny thing...you never know where, or if, it will end.