Thanksgiving Greetings

 

Well, I hope everyone has a relaxing and peaceful Thanksgiving Day. I'm thankful for a mom and dad who love me no matter how crotchety I can be (their words, not mine), and I'm thankful for all of you, my bloggy friends, furry and otherwise. 

Be well, live long and prosper, may the force be with you, stay classy, and all that whatever whatever. 

Soakin' it Up

 Dad's increasing bitchin' aside, one other thing that comes with the colder weather is the sleeping bag atop all the other blankets on the bed.

I don't know what it is about the thing, but the combination of that soft, shiny silkiness and the sun is just delicious. Know what I'm saying?

A girl's gotta grab some rays every chance she gets, am I right?

Mocking Dad- Rated G

 

Pretty much sums it up. Me and mom have learned to just tune him out.

Ahh, the Life of a

 Feline  Blogger Extraordinaire, hard at work...

Four Shades of Gray

Gray drapes. Gray carpet. Gray walls. Gray Me. Kinda fitting, considering the weather these past few days.

And how 'bout that wind yesterday! Holy mouse turds, I thought the place was gonna blow away.  

Anyway, that's it. Not much to say today. 

Toilet Paper and Birthdays

We've bought Smudge toys in the past, but their usefulness was always short-lived if she ever even paid them any attention at all.  And don't get me wrong- we'd actively try to get her to play instead of putting them on the floor and expecting her to do all the work. So one recent morning, I went to put an empty toilet paper roll in the recycling tote. On the way past a lounging Smudge, I decided to drop the roll in front of her and, well, she had a field day with the darn thing. The pictures don't do justice or show how aggressively she played, rolling this way and that, biting and bunny-kicking it, and generally frolicking to no end as if it was the greatest thing in the world. Simple things, I guess. 

This coming Tuesday marks Smudge's Sweet 16th birthday. We don't know for sure how old she is, so we're going on what limited records Brother Wolf Animal Rescue provided when we brought her home two and a half years ago. 

The Seasons They are A-Changin'

 Ugghhh, flannel pants, fleece blankets, dusting off the thermostat and replacing the heat & air filter, putting away the shorts and tees and unpacking the long sleeves, heavy socks and jackets- yeah, these are all the bitchings and gripes I have to listen to around here.

As if there aren't enough real problems in the world to dwell on. Summer's moving on, the leaves are turning all sorts of reds, browns and yellows and dad just grew another year, and I swear, it seems I hear the above kind of dribble drabble more and more with each passing one.

Other than not being able to sit at the screen door, whiffing the fresh warm air, that kind of stuff doesn't bother me. I can make myself comfy and cozy pretty much anywhere, no matter the temperature.

I've been scouring the worldwide interweb for some cat-size earmuffs 'cause I know it's only a matter of weeks or days or hours before the plastic comes out for the windows, which brings a whole new round of whining and tantrums. 

Mom and dad went to yesterday's No Kings protest over in Princeton, NJ, their second No Kings rally there since the June one and their third total in Princeton. They estimated the crowd had to have been at least double what it was in June, and other than being flipped off by 4 or 5 non-supporters as the MAGAmobiles drove by, things were pretty peaceful. 

Normal?

Thank you all for your purrs, prayers and hugs and for your kind, comforting words. We're slowly getting back to some kind of normal, though what's normal even mean these days? It's been a bit, hasn't it? Feels like I've been on an extended snoozefest or something.

Don't get me wrong- mom and dad have been busy, and I've been doing my part, lying low, getting in my forty or more winks and resting the ol' bones.

After a few good stretchies, we'll try to get back to it. 

Got a lot of catching up to do.

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.