I see him here behind me, but excuuuse me if I don't know what he is. A yellow introoder of some sort. At least he's not asking me stupid questions. Honestly, Kitties, you would not believe the stuff that has found its way into my castle as the Human "cleans out" 37 years' worth of crap valuable possessions. Like this one.
To be honest, it's not *my* favorite show, but I didn't mind too much since there was (reluctant) laptime coupled with abundant brushies (the reason the laptime was tolerated). Next time I want to watch Ren & Stimpy or My Cat from Hell. Who cares about some stoopy chemistry teacher? Though I do kind of like Gus. I mean, I even have a little Gus with a bucket of chick-hen, too.
Well, Black Boycat dipped in sunlight anyway. I have been reaping the benefits of a Human that is now only semi-employed. This seems to mean that she goes in when she wants, stays for 2-4 hours, and departs without so much as a by-your-leave. If she coulda had this gig all along, she might not be retiring. I let her go to the movies today. I'm reasonable.
This calendar page previously resided in her planner, and then on the bulletin board behind her desk. For some reason it is now on our fridge door, where she ponders it as she gets *her* foods; I myself do not eat food once it has been stored in the refrigerator. Leftovers? I don't think so! We call it parole rather than freedom as she is still working a few hours a day through mid-July. Very few. And maybe not really working, exactly.
So, I am real comfertabuls and relaxed, and I didn't even mind her sneaking up on me again --well, she couldn't exactly sneak this time. I think both my whiskers look purrfectly natural, do they not? Also, please do not mistake my barely-interested glance for an adoring gaze.
So the Human says Happy Days Are Here Again . . . or almost anyway. The graduayshuns was last night and now her work schedule for the next six weeks or so calls for appearing at, say, 10:30 a.m. and leaving around 1:30 or 2:00 to come home and have a nice nap. Works for me! Already I had toytime today, and I rewarded her with a little laptime. The Good Life is on the horizon. Woo-hoo!
Okay, okay, I guess "mid-70's" might not qualify as heat in most parts of the Golden State, but honestly, at Chez Spittola a furball was upchucked and lying spreadeagled was the order of the day. On the plus side, I have handsome legs, don't you think? Oh, and a new and shapely white whisker has grown in to replace the lost one.
Everything is fine (well, *she* thinks so), but I am being forced against my furry will to take a little hiatus for a week or so while the Human disports herself at various end-of-year events. Phfffft. I mean, you know what that means, right? No fun times for the kitty. No toy time, no snuggly times, no companionable napping times. Nada. Zip. Zilch. She says we'll be back next weekend. Is there a black market in thumbs, do you think?
So here I am, but only to say the Human wants to have her OWN post today, taking over mine like it was nuffing! Like it's just the way the world works or something. She did not even really seek out my permission or anything. I'm offended, Kitties, but what can a ManCat do when a Human decides to overstep her bounds?
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On Friday, my fabulous AP English Lit girls threw their Old Bat teacher a retirement bash for the ages. There were flowers and balloons and Spitty mugs galore, not to mention a breakfast buffet, with many chip-and-cookie courses, OJ in champagne flutes, and fantastic homemade banana bread. It was almost enough (note: almost) to make me reconsider my decision, but . . . no. Here are the charming hostesses themselves (wearing gear from the colleges they've committed to):
For 44 years, the students were always the best part of every workday.
I debated long and hard over whether to allow the Human to publish these fetching but imperfect photos. My tailio is not shown off to its full washed and brushed glory, and there's kind of a lot of distracting messy stuff on the bed.
On the other hand, both she and I have come to enjoy my superb stretching form. So really, it was not much of a contest. Any picture of me awake and looking charming deserves to see the light of day, amirite?
Okay, so this photo is not going to qualify for Cat Fancy magazine (or any magazine, anywhere, ever), but we are willing to expose our (excuse me, Human? "Our"?) very poor housekeeping habits, especially at this time of year when the Human barely does the dishes or the laundry. Aaaaaaaaaanyway, the point is, despite its many failings in the area of fine (or even--let's be honest--competent) photography, it does portray my total commitment to the warms that pour forth like melting honey from the Radiator Goddess. Behold! I am the Warms. Recline before me and be Toasty.
Well, after a week-long clash of wills, an unconscionably long delay, amirite?, the Human caved at last and this very morning I was given my first Kanga-treat. At first I sniffed, and sniffed again, and then I consumed,
and consumed, and consumed. I had about 8, Kitties, and I would happily have eaten more.
But the stoopy Human was afraid I might start leaping tall buildings in a single bound.
Today I offer my deepest gratitude to Miss Megan, my friend from the Land of Oz, who sent me this instructive cartoon to share with you. Really, however, its most impawtant audience is the Human, who should study it carefully in preparation for the new era to come--you know, her transition from one full-time job to another: Attendant to His Majesty.
This is the Human's fourth birfday party on Dec. 12, 1953--technically she was still three as the real day is the 24th. I think she looks more like six! That's her in the right foreground, and the other girl in the front is Pam, her BFF in 1953 and still her bestie 65 years later.
The little boy to the left is Mikey, about a year or year-and-a-half younger than the Human. The Human and Pam, mean little girls that they were, tormented poor little Mikey mercilessly. Can't you just feel the terror in his eyes?
Quite the exciting little party eh? And everyone looks so clean, too. Remember when this is what birthday parties looked like? No Chuck E Cheese's or amusement park outings or bouncy-house rentals or gatherings of a cast of 100s.
Nope, just 7 well-behaved little tykes hoping for some punch and a slice of the good stuff. A round of pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey and that was that. The guests departed and Mama kicked her shoes off and sipped a cocktail. Ah, the good old days!
but truthfully, you can't imagine how warm and toasty my ears get when I rest my head on the radiator ledge-thingy. So really, I just had to shove that hammick outta the way and fire up the indoor BBQ. It's cold, Human.
I am a, shall we say mature, ManCat. And honestly, I thought last January 15 was probably going to be my final breakthrough, but apparently there are still barriers for this hardened former feral to conquer. A couple of days ago, the Human was putting a bag of Temptations in her schoolbag to take to other Humans with treat-loving kitties at her work. Then she decided that she would give me one last try (after like 13.75years of trying). She put a couple down on the floor and voila! They were enthusiastically consumed. Finally, I understand what all you other kitties have been praising all these years! Treats are mouth-watering!