Mr. Figgs always looks whiskery. Because he is just a whiskery cat. He is also my Super Special Cat™.
I’m not finding any words this morning. My brain would like to do the sleeping thing a bit more, and my eyes are on it’s side. I am losing this battle. Sinking deeper in my chair. Breathing slowing. Eyelids are so heavy. Thumbs won’t do what they’re told…
I’ll probably wake up for second breakfast. Or at the very latest, in time for elevensies.
Sweet dreams (are made of cheese…)
Ever had to give a cat a pill? It’s ever so much fun. And if the cat in question is on the clever end of the cat personality spectrum, they learn pretty quick when pill time is and they become extraordinarily elusive. Finding them isn’t even the hard part. Once you locate the cat, you have to collect them in your arms, physically open their mouth, administer the medication, and then hold their mouth closed until they swallow it. This requires a minimum of four arms, which is more than most humans are typically equipped.
If you aren’t well versed in cat anatomy, allow me to educate you on the subject. In the mouth you are trying to hold open, cats have approximately seven hundred forty-six teeth. Each tooth is at least an inch long, serrated, and pointed like a hypodermic needle. At the end of each leg, is a paw containing retractable razor blades. While cats typically only display four or five of these lethal scalpels, hidden between the soft fur of their feet and the tiny toe-beans are no less than two dozen miniature scimitars. When cornered, cats will also reveal up to four additional legs you’ve never been aware of, each similarly adorned with pointy bits. All of these legs can be moved in every conceivable directions, and quite a few inconceivable ones that defy all known laws of physics. These automated defenses are deployed nanoseconds after medication of any type is detected, and the cat will engage all human flesh within range. Regardless of any physical violence incurred, any pilling operation has a mere 26.3% chance of success.
Once the mission concludes, in failure or success, a cat owner immediately regrets the action and must make amends. This may be difficult as you will now be bleeding profusely. Between applying pressure bandages and covering rended flesh with QuikClot®, you will need to provide the cat with seething piles of adoration and snacks. Before you can begin stitching up your lacerated forearms or reattaching severed fingers, you must shower your little fur-ball buddy with love and compassion. This will be difficult, because the cat is now hiding.
The good news is, this medicating must only be repeated once a day for a week. So there is a chance you will survive.
Hey! It’s Thursday! Take the garbage out and water the plants.
Chai always looks upset when she wakes up. Which is totally reasonable. Waking up is just the worst. I would very much like to be still asleep at this very moment, but I was forced from slumber by an overpowering urge to pee. And as those two conditions will yield undesirable outcomes should they persist together for too long, I guess I’m glad I woke up.
Now that I am awake, I am able to provide top-shelf Haikuage to you, my friends and family. So we should all be glad that I woke up.
Sorry for the short blurble. I hope to have more words soon, but for now this is all I could rattle out of my head. Until we meet again.
Hellllloooooo Tuesday! I hope all of you faired well enough throughout our weather excitement yesterday. Tornado sirens and power outages are always good for a bit dramatic flare on Monday. I know some folks are still without electricity, and while I cannot provide any actual relief for that, I thought a derpy cat might at least give cause for a smile, however brief it may be. If you need more than a smile, feel free to drop us a line or just stop by for some AC or a phone charge while you wait for infrastructure repairs and the eventually restoration of services.
For all the friends and family who do not share our immediate locale, there is no need to worry. We and our cat cluster are ok.
While the storms were disruptive, and in some spots, moderately destructive, I can’t help but default to my suburbanite core settings and think to myself; “Well, the yard really needed the rain.” That also means I will need to mow again sooner than I hoped. But as misfortunes go, I really can’t complain.
Anywho. I wish you all a happy Peruvian Independence Day. Have some anticuchos and ceviche for lunch!
I’m not sure how I feel about this adjustment to my usual formatting. I think I’ll need to combine them into one picture, if I try this again.
Today is a very important day. Today is Gary Gygax’s Birthday!! If you aren’t aware of who Gary Gygax was, you should totally spend the rest of today swimming through the wiki-wormholes to learn everything you can about him.
And if that’s not something that sounds like a good time, I’m not sure how you’ve come to be reading this. I would assume the ven diagram of Cat Haiku fans and people who can lose themselves in mindless interwebz research of the Great Gary Gygax would be a singular circle. But, hey! Have no fear. If table top games aren’t your thing, today is also Bagpipes Appreciation Day! So you can just listen to some Boghall and Bathgate instead.
Happy Monday, everyone.
Good morning my friends and family. I hope all is well with you and yours.
Today’s Haiku took a bit of time, I don’t have much left for a blurble. That being said, I really like today’s Haiku. Mostly because I really like this picture of Floof. The words are good too, but honestly, I totally understand if you didn’t even notice there were words. Floof is just a really pretty cat. Kinda steals the show.
I asked her once if she’d be interested in show business. Maybe do a bit of acting. Nothing serious, probably just a few commercials to start with. Maybe a character roll on a sitcom. But she wasn’t interested. She said she didn’t want to share her awesomeness with whole world, just with me. Which was really sweet of her. I think she was actually scared of fame and the whole public image thing. She doesn’t care for most people, and throngs of crazed fans would be torture. And I totally understand that. The paparazzi would just destroy her.
But she has agreed that a Haiku once in a while would be fine. She knows and tolerates some of you, and she’s happy to share her unbridled beauty with you. So enjoy! But no autographs, please. She has a very low threshold, and it won’t take much to force her to hide in the basement where I’ll never get a decent picture of her and I’ll probably have to Haiku one of those other cats. Seriously. Don’t fuck this up for me.
If you can’t remember the last time you had a banana split, you should totally have one today. And if you can remember, have another one anyway.
Bye. See ya tomorrow.
Ok. No more lazy days. I am going to be productive. Stuff to do. Places to go. Pants to wear. Let’s move!
….right after this nap.
I mean, seriously. Why is there always stuff that needs to be done?!? Why go places when I have a whole bed, with pillows and blankets and cats and stuff. And it’s true, I’d have to actually exert effort to go back to bed. I’d have to climb the stairs, all of them, all the way to the top. And then I’d have to lie down, and that’s more than just falling down. I’d have to lift my legs into the bed and then probably roll over and move a pillow and maybe even some blankets. It’s more work than you’d think. But I’m willing to suffer that. I’m willing to make that sacrifice in the name of sleep. Historians will remember this moment, poets will compose great epics in its memory, artists of all disciplines will sketch, sculpt, and sing of my selfless nap. Future generations will debate the proper translations while they interpret my underlying motivations. Dogmatic ceremony will evolve, idolic praise will enwrap human civilization, empires will fall and rise again united with all of humanity beneath a banner of ambivalence. World peace. Harmony through napping.
You don’t have to thank me.
I feel like a stoned cat. Over indulged on the nip. Completely churururerated. But instead of rolling around on the rug absorbing mind altering substances, I did yard work. Yesterday. I am going to nap so hard today.
Oh well. It’s Friday. Don’t work too hard. Save some energy for the weekend.
I was told her name is “Lizzie”. But I’m the one with my thumbs on the keyboard, so i get to decide what the names are. And this young lady is most definitely Duchess Sproofleton McFloofypants. Don’t like it? Too bad. You’re not the one writing Cat Haikus. I have only this iota of power in the universe, and I will abuse it as I see fit.
Duchess Sproofleton McFloofypants is a Sagittarius, and likes long naps pretty much anywhere. She believes in the tooth fairy, would like to study geological anthropology or interstellar cartography, and hopes to some day be an interior decorator. Her perfect date would include a nap in a warm window, eating snacks, and yarffing up a hairball on someone’s pillow.
I hope you all have a pleasant Thursday. Find something to laugh at, drink water, and don’t forget to take the garbage out.
I keep getting days confused. All day yesterday, I thought today was going to be Thursday. But I knew it was Tuesday, so today would be Wednesday. So I simultaneously felt as though I’d be waking up to a Thursday and a Wednesday. The only explanation is cosmic cat fur embedded in the fabric of space and time. Quantum dust bunnies, as it were.
That actually makes a lot of sense….
The universe is just a cat toy. Back when it was new, the cats would play with it frequently. Batting it back and forth across an interdimensional floor, rubbing their faces against its interstellar crinkly bits, absorbing the cosmos’ intoxicating nip. But eventually, they grow bored with it. One final swat, and the the universe tumbles under the couch, sweeping up bits of dust and hair that bind to it. And as it sits, amassing detrital regolith, creation begins. Beyond subatomic in spacial comparison to the cats who have all but forgotten it, our universe leaps through a cosmic evolution. A millennium passes in a matter of days, the cats are occupied by a hair tie or one of those plastic rings from the cap of a milk jug, no memory of the sparkly bit of felt and stuffing now gathering fluff beneath the furniture. Entire epochs pass by the end of the next week. A hundred billion specks of dust cluster about the forgotten toy, each a mass of even smaller particles. And within just one of those smaller particles, millions of points of light, so tiny, the ecosystem beneath the sofa cannot perceive it. And floating around one of those inconceivable sparks, nine smaller pieces of matter float. Each a different size, different material, spinning and encircling the light and warmth of their central hub. On just one of those infinitesimal tidbits, moisture roils across the surface. And within that moisture, Life.
Outside the wedge of emptiness under the couch, a another day passes. The cats nap, their bellies full of snacks. On that diminutive morsel of mud, the new life rockets through change. Organisms grow, mutate, specialize to the climate of one area of the speck or another. Countless species; entire taxonomic families, rise and fall through catastrophic extinctions before the cats wake up for breakfast the next morning. By noon, mammals dominate. Within the hour, primates develop tools, language, social structure. Twenty three minutes later, Egypt unites and the Great Pyramids are built. Seven minutes later, Ying Zheng brings all of China under his singular rule to start the Qin Dynasty. It ends before you can finish reading that sentence. The Roman Empire flares into existence and within a minute they occupy all of north Africa and Europe. It sputters out another minute later. Over the next half hour, thousands of cultures form across six of the recognized continents, each with hundreds of subcultures and languages. They go to war with each other immediately. And it hasn’t stopped yet.
Our little moist rock, just one of nine motes of dust hugging a few disintegrating hydrogen atoms. That ball of burning gas is just one among the billions that swirl around an unknown gravitronic point. One swirling mass among a billion others, nestled in a shell of dust and fur wrapped around a cat toy, forgotten and out of paws reach beneath the couch. Until someone cleans.
Someday in the future, could be later this week, could be a hundred billion years from now. A device will appear, scattering the cats, and create an immense vacuum outside our universe. And once the force of that instrument is directed beneath the chairs and bookshelves, it will find our little corner of darkness, seemingly safe from the currents that stir the fuzz and lint outside our universe. It will shred and tear each part of that universe away from every other part, leaving just a cat toy. A toy that will be casually tossed into a basket of other toys. Dustless. Lifeless.
Until a curious feline rediscovers it anew. And it becomes an article of attention. Played with. Tossed about the house. Battered across the floor. A favorite amidst the carnival of catnip stuffed chattels. Until it’s not. Until the moment it disappears beyond reach, beneath the couch. And begins, again, to collect a universe worth of dust.
And that’s why I haven’t vacuumed.
Anycrap. I need to make a lunch and go to work. Have a day, everyone.
Have. A. Day.
