Final Post of 2017

Double Merrythought

Well, these here wishbones are about all that's left of the holidays.  Okay, these and a couple of containers of turkey stock and a lump of breast meat in the freezer for dad's next batch of soup.  And about a thousand pounds of mixed nuts mom found marked way, way down the day after Christmas.  Okay, and the lights are still up.  Anyway, my point is that Christmas is done. 
     I don't believe in silly human holiday traditions, but apparently mom and dad do.
     The Christmas good luck charm is joined by the Thanksgiving one, and I'm assuming they'll meet their demise tonight, New Year's Eve.
     I'm not sure what mom and dad will wish for, but I know what I'd wish for if I was a believer and had the right digits to grab and pull.
     All this nonsense aside, here's looking forward to a truly wonderful 2018.  And another year filled with more of this...

Nope, nobody spoiled here...

     

Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy Holidays, Happy Everything

     Ever the high tech genius- not, dad toyed with one of my photos for this year's Christmas post.
     With all the technology available at one's fingertips nowadays I figured he'd have been able to come up with something a little more ingenious than painting a freakin' Santa hat on me.

     Yay go dad.  I should point out the subtle nod to the old guy who came before me (note dad's special Orbit coffee mug on the counter right over my head.  Yup, he still uses it).
     Anyway, here's wishing a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all y'all!
     Oh, and by the way, dad, for all you have to say about my girth, width, heft, etc., etc., blah, blah, blah, I'd like to point out to our readers the half-deflated tire around your middle, the loose bit of extra whatever hanging from your neck, and the ever increasing flecks of gray in your chin stubble.  Burn!

     
      

Living the Good Life

Yeah, I've got it made here.  Life is good, my belly's happy (most days), I'm always warm, I'm surrounded by two good people (most days), good books and a nice, soft place to nap.

     I can't really complain (though I do, and often, some days) about anything.  Like I said, life is good. 

Christmas is coming.  Be good.  See ya. 

Help!

I'm not calling "child abuse" quite yet, especially after getting painted in a fun spirited, positive light the way dad's last post did.  However, I want word to get out about a situation we've had here.

     My wardens, aka mom and dad, have taken to forcing me to work for my meals, and I won't stand for it any more.  I hate to expose you for the monsters you are, mom and dad, but people need to see what you put me through just to get my food.  

     Yeah, yeah, I know you've been working hard to get me to shed some pounds, but come on, do you have to be so mean about it?

     No more, I say. As you can see, I'm being forced to exercise before they'll put my food down.  That's right, they make me run around the living room prior to setting my food down instead of being the loving, appreciative parents they should be and just giving me what's due.

     This is bordering on torture, and I demand it stops!

Dad note:  Cleo caught on to us a short while ago and this abusive practice has ceased.  After a while instead of continuing to chase us around the room she'd simply run right to where we put her dishes and sit there and watch us try and try, most likely laughing inside as we whistle and taunt her.  For the record, we only ran around with her chasing us 5 or 6 times before setting her dish down.  Honestly. 

Loony Bird

For a mature old gal, Cleo has been showing a wonderfully silly, playful side lately.  Maybe she's just getting comfortable with us, letting her inner kitten come out more and more.  We've had so many moments when I wish I'd had my camera handy right then and there, or could capture video of her behavior.
     She loves her pieces of string, and now and then we'll hear the jingle of her little fuzzy balls being batted around.  For the most part, though, her strings, balls and catnip mice just lay on her mat unless we initiate play.  Now and then she surprises us with erratic, wild antics that make us laugh like crazy humans.

     Just last night while mom was putting together Christmas gifts and had several pieces of wrapping tissue laid out on the floor Cleo jumped at the tissue, rubbing her face in it, crumpling and gathering it in her paws and almost-but-not-quite eating it.
     Then, as she often does, just stops and walks away.  It's as if she gets a burst of playfulness, then realizes she's mature and sophisticated and making a fool of herself.
     It's the same with these fuzzy little balls with bells inside them.  Lately she's taken to chasing them briefly when we toss them against a wall and they bounce off and away. 
     She scrambles toward the ball, sometimes swatting at it, sometimes batting it away.  She's got a soccer player's talent for scuttling along the floor, patting the ball back and forth between her paws as she goes.  And then she's done.  She'll just sit there, staring at the ball, often looking at us with that "What?" in her big beautiful eyes.

     Many times when she stops, the ball is beneath her, umm, ample girth, an egg being kept warm by this plus-sized Tortie birdmom.  Speaking of ample, Cleo's due for a physical this morning.  We weighed her last night, and she's dropped to 11.6 pounds, down from her 15 or so since she adopted us last February!
     Her occasional erratic outbursts are such a joy to watch, especially when she runs from room to room, by turns looking around as if something's chasing her and searching for something only she can see.  And then there's her spanking fetish briefly mentioned in an early post.  More on that later.

Happy Every Day to Me

This is how Thanksgiving was here.  The food- sure, it was good (well for mom and dad, anyway).  The parade- eh, not my thing.  It's a Wonderful Life- didn't quite catch what was going on, and didn't much care anyway.

 Mom, a Mimosa and Me

     The mimosas- whatever.  Mom's fantastic peanut butter cookies- gone.  The 8 pound turkey breast they roasted was reduced to a couple of leftover meals and a pot of stock.  I was hoping to get a crack at that carcass at some point, but woe is me, it was not to be (damn these 13 year old kidneys).  Homemade turkey vegetable soup's on the menu one of these nights, I hear.  All that mattered to me was that I got to relax.  Pretty much like every other day.  I guess every day is a holiday for me.  I suppose I'm thankful for that.

Me, Me and Me