And for me that means laughing till I can’t breathe, so here’s a little something from our friends at Little White Lion.
MAN, THAT’S NICE.
NICE AND SEASONAL.
JUST REALLY NICE, IN A SEASONAL KIND OF WAY.
I THINK IT’S LOVELY, AND ALSO QUITE WARM.
IS THERE ANYTHING MORE PLEASANT, WARM, LOVELY, AND SEASONAL THAN A NICE ROARING FIRE?
NO, NOT REALLY.
NO. THERE IS NOT.
I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE WE THREW GARY IN THERE, THOUGH.
I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE GARY OWNED, LET ALONE PLAYED, A KENNY CHESNEY CHRISTMAS ALBUM.
HONESTLY. IT’S NOT LIKE WE HAD A CHOICE.
NOPE. HAD TO BE DONE.
IT WAS FOR THE BEST.
ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, IT WAS BOTH MERCIFUL AND FAIR.
WHAT A SEASONAL WAY TO GO.
RIGHT? SUPER SEASONAL.
AND WARM TOO.
WHAT A NICE, WARM, SEASONAL WAY TO GO.
I found this note in Bugsy the Insane’s kitty room:
I have been a
very gud, exellent, luving, kitty this yeer.
for chrissmuss i wanz:
a mouse – a live mouse, not the stoopid catnip-filled ones – they dont fool me
catnip, lots of catnip
tell mommy to let me eet the tinsel, i luv it even if i frow most of it up and sparkly-poop the rest
tell mommy to let me help rap giffs, i’m very gud at it
tell mommy to flush the swirly agin…and agin…and agin…i luv to try to catch the water
tell mommy i only trip her when my fud bowl is emtee, or i’m bored, or it’s toosday, or you know because
bring me the birds in my yard. it’s my yard, so i must eets them. it’s a kitty law
pleez make the little humans go away, i don’t like them. they smell, they are loud, and they touch me with sticky hanz
oh, and i guess i should ask you to bring mommy a live mouse, too. after all, she makes sure i get my treats and that medusin i take beecuz i haz a sick and my shugur gits out of wakk. i reely lub her, but don’t tell her.
i promise to be a
verry gud, exellent, luving, kitty agin next yeer too.
…then maybe just skip this post.
If you are owned by a cat, or room with a cat, or marvel at the mysteries of the cat, then settle down because it’s………..
Starring, none other than Bugsy, the Insane or as I’ve taken to calling him lately, Bugsy, the Inflatable because damned if he doesn’t look like someone shoved an air hose up his…nether region…and then turned it on and walked away.
He’s old, he’s diabetic, he’s lazy, and he’s fat.
I have him on a $28/bag diet food made for old, diabetic, fat, lazy cats.
The bag’s instructions stipulate that only *this* much is to be given to the cat daily.
*This* much roughly translates to thimbleful if you are Bugsy.
It’s actually closer to capful, if you are Bugsy’s roommate and slave…a/k/a me.
So, months go by and Bugsy dutifully bitches about the amount of food he’s given. He follows me around, after I’ve filled his bowl, often loudly protesting the lack of volume in the food bowl. Other times, he follows me around actively attempting to trip me with his paws by grabbing at my ankles.
If he ever develops opposable thumbs I fear for my life.
He hasn’t lost an ounce, and then one day I figured out why.
My bathroom rugs have developed a bald spot.
Granted, they are old but I didn’t think they’d lose their covering here…and here..oh, and here. Mostly on the edges.
I discovered the reason for the loss recently as I passed by the bathroom door and noticed the cat hunkered down over the corner of one of my rugs.
Bugsy is eating the bathroom rugs. He diligently and carefully works on one strand at a time, pulling it out and eating it.
Insanity, thy name is ‘Bugsy’.
I closed the bathroom door, after shooing him out amidst loud protestations. Since that day, no more rug damage and I have noticed a general increase in Bugsy’s grumpiness – if such a thing is possible.
It all came to a head Sunday when out of his morning food’s rations – roughly 30 seconds after I put it in the bowl – he came into the front room where I was sitting on the couch, reading, and proceeded to repeatedly place his front paws on the couch, leaving the back ones on the floor for leverage no doubt, and smack me on the legs, hands, arms, whatever he could reach.
He never used the claws, but he just kept coming back and coming back.
A pretty-good writer once said that Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, but I submit it’s only because he hadn’t met my hungry cat yet.
And, since the Bard is well-dead, I’d like to revise that quote a little to read “Hell hath no fury like a pissed off cat named Bugsy”.
I’m sure Sir William would approve.
UPDATED – Dateline – 2 seconds ago….
From the Spam Comments, comes the comment of the day for this post:
“Fantastic beat !”
Thank you, lucille, for that spot-on commentary.
Back to you, Bob.
A test of my tenacity and patience, that is.
Bugsy, the Insane is my cat. Here’s a picture of him having a moment with my shoes. This evidence of his fetish will, I trust, explain his name.
Bugsy regards me as his personal responsibility, and he never lets me out of his sight.
Frankly, I don’t know how I performed a variety of tasks before I had him around to offer his own brand of help and running commentary.
Normally I am able to wrap Christmas gifts when Bugsy has sufficiently exhausted himself supervising my every move, and has settled somewhere for a long nap.
The easiest method, for me to wrap gifts, is on the floor. Standing and bending over a table would keep Bugsy from helping, but the pain it causes my back is just not worth it.
Which brings me to my point.
Someone had written a humorous article the other day about how to wrap a present with a cat. I laughed, long and loudly, at it as I could really relate.
Yeah, when you’re living it…….not so funny…..
I have my wrapping paper, ribbon, bows, tags, tape, scissors, pen, and gifts all spread out in the den.
I sit on the floor amidst the colorful piles and start the job.
Bugsy enters and promptly flattens his big, fat, carcass on top of the wrapping paper I’ve just unrolled and spread on the floor.
I sigh…and shoo him off.
He moves, but only until he sees the ribbon – an aside, and in all fairness..it’s just not right to dangle ribbon in front of a cat and not let him/her play with it.
I take the ribbon, and shoo him out of the room.
He exits, complaining the entire time. Stopping at the door’s threshold, he lies down to watch.
I proceed to wrap a gift, and after getting all taped up I go to pick up the pen and write on the gift tag.
I can’t find the pen, anywhere! I spend about three minutes looking under, around, and through, everything before I notice Bugsy has it perched between his paws. He’s not chewing on it or doing anything. He’s just holding it.
I take the pen from Bugsy, fill out the tag and affix it to the package.
Then, I reach into the bow bag and discover I’m not alone. There’s a distinctly furry paw already in there.
I pull the paw out, amidst much protest, and once again shoo him out of the room.
He takes up his post, at the door’s threshold, and gives me one of his patented “huffs”. Yes, he does a “harumph” kinda sound when he’s truly perturbed with me. I’m telling you he’s an alien in a cat suit.
Lather, rinse, repeat….at least a dozen times. Sometimes he makes off with the ribbon, and I have to follow the trail to find him…usually under the Christmas tree.
So, a once-pleasant experience has now become an incessant battle of wills and the sum total of my actual wrapped presents? About half of what it should be for the time and energy expended.
Wait for it…it’ll come to you, unless you get it right away which I did NOT..but when I did it made me giggle uncontrollably.
I walk into the semi-darkened room to find this..and sorry for the blurry pic, but he had just raised his head from inside the shoe. I think he has a problem.
And it’s not the first time I’ve found Bugsy, the Insane in a compromising position with someone’s shoes.
His attraction to my husband’s shoes is so bad that none of hubby’s shoes ever hit the floor. I find them on barstools, the raised hearth, in boxes…of course, putting them in the closet never occurs to him.
Still he does his part to help Bugsy avoid temptation, while I just leave my shoes anywhere. I think I’m enabling him.
We both need help.
Then it must mean I remembered a Monday post aaaaaaaannnnd….promptly forgot there were other days in the week.
Or, a giant conspiracy exists to hide the days of the week from my brain, thereby making me think it’s perpetually Monday.
Definitely one of those, but I’m really hoping it’s not the latter.
Either way, I don’t have a post for today and I’m blaming…umm…someone else.
So, here enjoy a kitty while I ponder this.
….Bugsy, the Insane…the cat who rooms with us.
Oh hai! I had a fluffy pillow, but I eated it
I have a double ear and sinus infection.
I don’t feel funny.
I feel drunk, only drunk’s more fun.
I apologize for my unfunny-ness.
Here, have some kittens. And, I don’t mean like kitten-stew, I mean here look at kittens while I go try to remove the ice-pick wielding ninja from my ears/sinuses.