Take Your Pick

One or the other:  we are either "Animal House" (John Belushi) or "Animal Farm" (George Orwell) and Bess and I are Big Sister watching.  After getting the TV turned back on and Celeste from behind the furniture (opening now blocked), Bessie and I decided to take a new tack.  We are ignoring the cats.  Cats, perverse creatures that they are, do not like to be ignored.  Show me the cat that does not know in its heart that it is the Master of the Universe.  Working at the computer in the afternoon with Bess lying in the kneehole of the desk and my back to the cats, it wasn't long until Ralph and Celeste came out from under the bed, checked us out and then went to explore the rest of the house.  They did retreat to their cave later, but like little bats came out after lights out and played throughout the night.  They are wreaking havoc in the bathroom right now, knocking stuff off the counters, hoping to get our attention.  Celeste makes a funny "brrrp" sound, not a miaow.  Ralph as yet remains silent.  I know for a fact that all their systems are working.  I clean the litter box at least six times a day.  It's no wonder Larry referred to them as "chunky monkeys," as the food dish is quickly emptied.  They are amazingly "sturdy" cats (i.e., heavy!) for their size.

I think our new strategy will work.  I feel so sorry for Ralph and Celeste.  They were taken from the people they knew, driven miles and miles on winding roads (Bess used to get carsick), dropped into a strange world that included one of the dreaded "them," a dog, and an unfamiliar lady who kept pulling them out of safe places.


Comedians learned a long time ago that people will laugh at a pratfall.  I got a laugh the other day when two of the Silkie roosters had a set-to.  One jumped up to attack the other, missed, and landed face first in a mud puddle.  If a bird could show embarrassment, that rooster was embarrassed.  He shook himself off, strutted away, and muttered, "I meant to do that."

Why is it that the one critical piece of documentation necessary to prepare taxes, that paper that was put in an unforgettable place, suddenly disappears into thin air?  It happens every year, and every year I think I've forestalled such an event.  It's like "Groundhog Day," and I go over and over again, hunting for the doggone thing.  The dog thinks I've lost my mind as I riffle through drawers, pace through rooms, and shuffle stacks of receipts.