A Purrfect Fit, Who's Furrier, and Snoozing Upright

In That order

 No words, just pictures

Good morning, all. Smudge's dad here. This wordless post was previously scheduled for publishing, so I figured I'd send it. Smudge and I are going to be absent for a couple of weeks. We've suffered a devastating family loss, and I'm just not feeling it. One of my children passed away unexpectedly, and I need to focus on other, more important things right now. Hug your kids til the end of time, and never stop saying "I love you".

Chilling and Lounging

Well, thank heavens the heat and humidity have subsided a bit.  I'm thankful for air conditioning, sure, but I was really starting to miss the fresh air. Here, I fell asleep waiting for the front door to be opened.

And in this next one, dad made some stupid remark about my butt being a door stop. My expression matches a snappy retort I can't print here.

 
Now that the temps are a tad more tolerable, I get to feel the breeze, smell the smells, and watch over the neighborhood again.

So, dad just told me, while deciding which pictures to post here, that he realized the majority of my photos show me lying down. "And your point is-" I said. He just stared at me dumbly like he often does, as I selected the next few. "It's what I do. I'm a cat." 

Box, Tool, Cat, Pool, Mouse

No, this isn't some cognitive test only a stable genius could ace. So, the box:

Though dad generally despises the questionable quality of much of what's available via the frequently necessary evil that is amazon.com, it has become, as I said, a necessary evil. Oh, sure, there are brick and mortar options within traveling distance, but even such trips have become quite the nuisance, to hear dad bitch through gritted teeth. So-

The box, my new temporary "shelter", was dropped outside our front door recently and contained a particular plumbing tool that was barely- and I emphasize the word barely- as long.

Said tool, however, was nowhere near the width or depth of the box, and dad laughed like a madman as he sliced through the packing tape and pulled open the flaps and thinking of the many packages he receives at work with things printed on them touting such bullpoop as "made with less packaging", or "uses less material", blah, blah, blah.

So, other than a box that Dad cut an opening into way back when we lived in Asheville that I occasionally lounged, I've never really been one for boxes.

Well, after dad removed the tool from the box and left the coffin-sized thing on its side on the living room floor (mom actually fit inside it), I apparently surprised them both by stepping into it and settling into a corner.

This was a week or more ago now, and that box still sits in the corner, my safe space when the mood strikes. Anyhoo, onto the mouse:

Dad walked into the boss's backyard the other day and noticed something perched on the floating tube connected to the robotic cleaner that roams the bottom of the pool.

On closer inspection, he realized it was this delicious little morsel, likely clinging with death grips to one of the floats on the tube.

Dad grabbed a net and extended the handle in order to reach the poor little creature, and when the mesh approached, it jumped into the water, fleeing for its life toward the pool's edge.

It wasn't able to get out on its own, so dad brought the net up from beneath and scooped it up, gently placing the net on the ground, allowing the frightened critter to hop out and scurry off to safety into the shrubs. 

And they all lived happily ever after.

 The end.

R.I.P. Ozzy

And Now for Mom

 Being an equal opportunity love sponge, it's only fair that I share some mom loves. Mom and dad give me different voices, have various ways & methods of showering me with attention, and snuggle with me in their own unique ways, but in the end, it's all the same. They just damn adore me. Period. Here, I'm getting scritches while chilling in a big empty box (funny story on that in the next post). 

This last one pretty much sums it up. 

 Three... two... one... "Awwwwwwww".

Routines- Part Something or Other

 So, routines are a thing with us felines, and I’ve certainly developed enough of my own. I know we’ve posted about this topic more than once already, so bear with me here. Dad said, “We’ve done this already, Smudge”. Like he has any say. “You don’t want to bore them to death.” 

I said, “Listen, mister, this is my blog, and I’ll post whatever I want.” I turned away from him as I often do with him and mom. 

“But you couldn’t do this without me,” dad whined. “You need my help even logging into Blogger.” 

“Fair point, I guess, but you’d be surprised to discover what we cats can learn.” I turned and headed for my food dish to let him know this conversation was over.

Dad snorted at this, dribbling his coffee onto his bare chest (unnecessary detail, sure, but it’s been hot lately and, well, anyway) and began snickering like a lunatic. “Yeah, right. You know you can’t do this by yourself, Miss Snotty Pants. Cats aren’t that smart.”

Ooooh, the gloves are off now.

“Don’t even get me going on who’s got more brains here, father!” He knows I mean business when that one comes out. “Who’s the one who can’t keep a checkbook? Who’s the idiot who forgets things all the time? Who needs mom to write everything down for him? Hmm? Checkmate.” 

Where was I? Oh yeah, my routines. So every morning, before he even pours his first coffee, before he has his first pee (I know, I know, more unnecessary details), I get what mom and dad call giving me loves. I guess simply “petting the cat” is no longer fashionable.

 

I’m bored now. And the big guy has to get ready for work. So, yeah, routines. I’ll let my expression in this last one say it all. Smudge out. 

Summertime, Summertime, Sum Sum Summertime

Well, the Jamies' 1958 single may celebrate the end of the school year and swimming, dancing, and, ugghh, romancing, but this is MY idea of what summertime means. 

Can I get a Woop Woo- ZZZzzzzzzz...

A Dang Whirlwind

 Smudge here. Yeah, I'm back, and things are starting to calm down some. Dad's been helping the boss's family move across town in preparation for a large renovation project, and dad's kinda sorta maybe a little confident hopeful that his phone won't be ringing off the hook (any of you young 'uns know the origin of that one?) this weekend. So Dad's Day was relaxing in spite of the above. As always, we keep things simple and low-key. Mom and I found the absolutely most perfect card for me to give dad, and he and mom say it's me to a tee, whatever that means. 

They also managed to make it to Princeton, NJ, again for a No Kings protest. They said the crowd was HUGE and peaceful, and they were proud to have participated in it. 

So, what's everyone been up to?

As Always, It's What I Do

 Dad's brain has been kidnapped by his work for a while now, and he barely has the mental capacity to pay attention to me and mom these days. I've had to take the reigns here for now, so you get what you get. At least until things settle down at work. We typically only work on posts in the early AM hours, and that precious time's been sucked up by his boss's needs. I'm fine taking over for a bit, but I can only do so much and my paws aren't all that great with a keyboard. Okay, bye. 

Stationary Play

 Playing's not my thing, and that's okay.

I'm a mature gal, as you know, and not all seniors like to play the way we might've when we were tots.

Of course, every now and then, the mood might strike, and I'll have a go at a shoe lace.

Sure, I've been known to chase a string around in a circle or maybe move a step or two to swat at it or grab it in my chompers.

But I must admit, my preferred method, when I do get a rare burst of playfulness these days, is a little more stationary.

And of course, if it involves the footrest, all the better.

As often happens, even a little bit of play wears me out, and there's nothing better after expending a bit of energy than a nice snooze. Wouldn't you agree?