Mr. BC's Cartoon Bubble
I've got some music digitally stored on a hard drive and I queued up onto Winamp the jazz folder last night about six, started it playing and this morning it's on song number 46, out of almost 7000 selections, so I don't know who that is playing right now but safe to say, alphabetically, it could not be anyone much beyond (or even up to) Art Blakey.
I have considered putting a couple of small claymore mines outside my bedroom door, which I keep closed as a preventive measure to waking up with a cat wrapped around my face. All the other doors are open, entry door wide open, screenless, come on in, shop around while I sleep. I leave a light on so you can see everything, sparse though it is.
A man who would even consider blowing up to bits a harmless feline is really no man at all, but I don't need an alarm clock, and this is what I would be conveying to Herman in all his puffy grandeur by blowing him to smithereens. Scratching outside my bedroom door every morning to remind me that he likes his breakfast early is not only not cute but damned annoying. I resist yelling at him because that only feeds the awareness of everyone involved. But eventually, every morning, I do say in conversational tone, shut up Herman, and that makes him so happy he flops down on the hardwood hallway and purrs to vibrate the whole house.
A remote control trap door leading down to sharpened bamboo spikes would be effective as well. Although messy. And who would I afterwards play kung-fu warrior with, assuming I'm not into feline-necrophilia?
Waiting for a little bit of this fog to burn off before I get on that fence this morning. No really Mr. BC, I'm not milking that fence job beyond all reasonable proportion. It's just that, in case you weren't aware, I was promoted to chief-assistant pool boy, and gardener's apprentice first class this year, so my responsibilities out here are many layered. As to that little cartoon bubble above your head with the innuendo-laden caption inside I would only remind you that it was at your moderately insistent prodding that I began to socially re-engage with other humans this year and so whatever little time that is taking from my duties, I can only imagine is much to your satisfaction.
dmt is in danger of becoming a site for furry varmint 5nuff blogs. Am I supposed to trump your kitty pungi stick pit with some form of gopher mayhem?
I don't see any way I could prevent you from doing so.
I'm gonna go the other way. One of D's friends is fostering a tiny abandoned kitten. She brought it along on a short jaunt through the Santa Cruz Mountains. "Kitty" was about 14 days old at the time had three different activities: being catatonic, feeding and scrambling around full speed ahead.
When Kitty was sleeping or eating, she was happy hanging in the oversized fanny pack. But she was spending entirely too much time in a frenzy of kitten scrambling.
Finally I decided to help. I was wearing a loose weave cotton shirt that was easy for Kitty to climb. I let Kitty climb up to my shoulder, and then put her back on my belly for another climb. After a few laps, I put her on her back in the palm of my hand, and rubbed her chest with my finger. In a couple of minutes, she was comatose in my hands.
I put her in my shirt pocket, and we went on about the hike. On a big step, she might wake a bit, pull herself up to take a look, and then slide back into the hammock for some shut eye. As the only non-professional on the hike, I was happy to be able to show an unusual level of skill in kitten wrangling. Not that I would, you know, gloat.
Squirrel of Death
|
I've got some music digitally stored on a hard drive and I queued up onto Winamp the jazz folder last night about six, started it playing and this morning it's on song number 46, out of almost 7000 selections, so I don't know who that is playing right now but safe to say, alphabetically, it could not be anyone much beyond (or even up to) Art Blakey.
I have considered putting a couple of small claymore mines outside my bedroom door, which I keep closed as a preventive measure to waking up with a cat wrapped around my face. All the other doors are open, entry door wide open, screenless, come on in, shop around while I sleep. I leave a light on so you can see everything, sparse though it is.
A man who would even consider blowing up to bits a harmless feline is really no man at all, but I don't need an alarm clock, and this is what I would be conveying to Herman in all his puffy grandeur by blowing him to smithereens. Scratching outside my bedroom door every morning to remind me that he likes his breakfast early is not only not cute but damned annoying. I resist yelling at him because that only feeds the awareness of everyone involved. But eventually, every morning, I do say in conversational tone, shut up Herman, and that makes him so happy he flops down on the hardwood hallway and purrs to vibrate the whole house.
A remote control trap door leading down to sharpened bamboo spikes would be effective as well. Although messy. And who would I afterwards play kung-fu warrior with, assuming I'm not into feline-necrophilia?
Waiting for a little bit of this fog to burn off before I get on that fence this morning. No really Mr. BC, I'm not milking that fence job beyond all reasonable proportion. It's just that, in case you weren't aware, I was promoted to chief-assistant pool boy, and gardener's apprentice first class this year, so my responsibilities out here are many layered. As to that little cartoon bubble above your head with the innuendo-laden caption inside I would only remind you that it was at your moderately insistent prodding that I began to socially re-engage with other humans this year and so whatever little time that is taking from my duties, I can only imagine is much to your satisfaction.
- jimlouis 8-26-2004 5:30 pm
dmt is in danger of becoming a site for furry varmint 5nuff blogs. Am I supposed to trump your kitty pungi stick pit with some form of gopher mayhem?
- mark 8-28-2004 8:47 am [add a comment]
I don't see any way I could prevent you from doing so.
- jimlouis 8-28-2004 10:54 pm [add a comment]
I'm gonna go the other way. One of D's friends is fostering a tiny abandoned kitten. She brought it along on a short jaunt through the Santa Cruz Mountains. "Kitty" was about 14 days old at the time had three different activities: being catatonic, feeding and scrambling around full speed ahead.
When Kitty was sleeping or eating, she was happy hanging in the oversized fanny pack. But she was spending entirely too much time in a frenzy of kitten scrambling.
Finally I decided to help. I was wearing a loose weave cotton shirt that was easy for Kitty to climb. I let Kitty climb up to my shoulder, and then put her back on my belly for another climb. After a few laps, I put her on her back in the palm of my hand, and rubbed her chest with my finger. In a couple of minutes, she was comatose in my hands.
I put her in my shirt pocket, and we went on about the hike. On a big step, she might wake a bit, pull herself up to take a look, and then slide back into the hammock for some shut eye. As the only non-professional on the hike, I was happy to be able to show an unusual level of skill in kitten wrangling. Not that I would, you know, gloat.
- mark 8-29-2004 5:33 am [add a comment]
Squirrel of Death
- mark 8-31-2004 1:22 am [add a comment]