Archive for November, 2004

tired of telling, I’ll go nap

They can be so stubborn, those simians. Their problem is that they are always “with it”, just not the right “it”. I show my example of slowed down living. I tell them to stay in. Sit a while. I complain a murmered protest, or heavy sighs when they keep shifting those spidery legs of theirs. To no end. A body-mind needs rest and companionship. We’re all built for that from Tuna to Seagulls to you to me.

You know, there are certain parallels between a simian and its loud motor contraption for vet visits. There’s a hairless body, a coating of smells of all it has come into contact with, forward beams of sight but most relevant now the awful immiment crash and squeals made when the fiercely forward hurtling has to come to a sudden stop with body putting on the Brakes. The simians have been out a lot. Now what is out there that can compare to me, I can’t imagine. They have to do something to bring home the duck I suppose but the duck only comes home every couple weeks. That leaves a lot of time unaccounted for by cat treat arrivals. I can sniff no competition of other cats or dogs only secondary odors timeprinted much older from contact from others. Caruthers smothers, if I had my druthers…

The brakes, the stopping. The outting and aboutting seems to have paused. I can clearly diagnose the spine misalignment and can minister heat and pressure but she would use a rubber flacon instead. I am her heating pad. Plus I can massage with paws and purrs far better than an inert radiant sac. Harumph. As they wish.

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can you?

Do you smell that? It certainly seems strong from where I’m sitting. I’ve got my upper lip curled back and pull a drag past my jacobson’s. huh. it’s scentsational but what? Can’t quite place the smell. No matter. It will come to me. I’ll let the dark part of my brain puzzle it out.

Closed rolling doors are no longer an obstacle but that was just a warm up. Excuse me while I redirect my brain cells back towards telekenesis on the food container.

The talls with their thick through endearingly veined ears are really good with the tins. To date you could say I no uncanny ability like this. but live in hope each precious hour.

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Feeding Time

Would you like to hear my voice? Here’s a sound clip including Ms. Zhou and that ever so lovely sound of a tin opening.

Jilly, thanks for that heads up on Turkey. You’re right that I already had mine but perhaps me and Crowie can petition to have an official Thankgiving Day far more frequently? Happy belated to all my Southern neighbours.

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Well, that was all very thrilling. Too bad I don’t have a webcam or you would ahve seen that white streak of my collegue (in the furry buff as usual despite unfunny jokes about making the contrary). She of great girth hopped from window sill to desk adn collapsed it. The whole desk top slid off its legs, toppled the lamp, the monitor, a book, some detritis and the table top with the most phenomenal crash. In a flash she was half way around the abode in her flight knocking over a vase of flowers with a clang that scared her so badly that she started running back from where she came and mid-way took a 90 degree turn and jumped under the bed.

I myself, jumped at the noise but stayed in my skin and on the floor. Saunting through the room I surveyed the mess and cleanup crew reassembling one of my more favorite perches by a window. It doesn’t seem anything was hurt except the pride of she who does not so much glide as gallump. Poor dear. Perhaps I should duck into her hiding spot and give her a grooming over. She’s probably shaking.

Paw-Paw for now!

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shock after shock

Tis the season for low air humidity when nose to nose transmission of static electricity peaks. It makes ones wish momentarily for the muggy, moggy days when summer was everywhere instead of just that smare sqaure moving patch on the floor. I crave a petting but what I’m getting is fur to hairless shocks. I’ll settle in for second best, immobile warm still patch on laps.

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er, er, grunt, puff

Nearly – huff, ah, got it – [stretch] out from under the fridge. I had been having great fun batting this pen until it [swat, swat, swat] got under there. Nope. No go. hairb@lls!


No, not food. nice thought. nice thought. actually we could go with that if you wish —

No, pen, need pen. Can you…. preeeeze?

Oh, he’s such a dear. He’s so good at that. Ole opposable thumb is wonderous sometimes. He can move the whole cold box to fish it out for me.

Oooh. balls, forgot those were back there too! Lovely, lovely. I’ll be off now….

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time to go to bed

I keep telling these folks that they need sleep. If they don’t even nap, they should at least get some squirrel hibernation time. I have insisted on being patted, scooting under their hands as thye try to type, have added my own foot-notes to the middle of their messages as I walk across. I have sat upon their papers, showed alternate uses for oens as scent marking posts, have done a full set of back taps with my paws and even tried my sedative sleep on lap method to lull. *vocal sigh* By my whiskers there’s not putting them to bed. Ok, then, ole Zhou and I will chorus to be fed then. If they must be up, they may as well make themselves useful.

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