WTF

Watch out, folks.....I think the top of my head may just blow off at any moment.  Something I just encountered in Blogsville has made me realllllllly angry.

I rarely look at "Blogs of Note" because I haven't got enough time to keep up with my own chosen 'blogs of note', but, for some reason I just clicked on it and took a look at the anointed few.  Whoops.   Holy Crap.  Who is responsible for this abomination?

I suspect it may be very bad form and maybe even blog-suicide to criticize, but I am baffled and incensed by one of the selections........something called Amazing Facts.  This particular post consists entirely of 26 exquisite drawings by the sainted artist, Edward Gorey....in fact a complete reproduction of his epic alphabet entitled "THE GASHLYCRUMB TINIES".  There are several things that are driving me to the point of detonating, the first being that the artist and author is NOT even give a line of credit.  I consider that to be a crime against genius and should be punishable by something much worse than death....(I don't know right now, but don't worry, I am working on it).

The second point that is agitating me to a dangerous point on the gauge is......since when is simple outright plagarism to be rewarded rather than condemned.  Aaarrggh.     Grrrrrr.  And other letter combinations of the same ilk.

What makes it all even worse, is that there is no identification as to who is responsible for the blog and therefore no way an indignant person such as myself can make her feelings known to the perpetrator.  Urk and Faugh!

..No, seriously, my darlings.......how can this happen?  And do any of you know of any way of  making this right?  How does one communicate one's annoyance with the purveyors of "Blogs of Note"?  And how does one identify a dastardly, no-good, dirty, stinkin' cowardly thief who not only gets away with his crimes but gets a medal for them.

All I can say on the positive side is.....if you  have to steal from someone, there is no one better to steal from than the blessed Edward Gorey.

Sob.  I have just discovered that Blogsville is NOT perfect after all and this really burns my fanny..

My Close Up - Mr. De Mille

The other nite I decided to try to get a photo of Bitsy and Winnie was next to me on the table so I practiced on her.  I think this the funniest picture because she looks like Devil Cat when she is really the sweetest kitty in the universe.

Then I started chasing the real Devil Cat around and got a few decent shots while standing on my head.

The sad part is that when I downloaded them I somehow screwed up and out of 21 pics only a handful are visible.
 
I am hoping that one of them is of Bitsy and that she looks recognizable if not adorable.

Not too bad but not the greatest.  I will have to try again.

This one might have been OK if the idiot taking the picture had not lost some of the ears outside the frame.....she looks almost saintly which is the biggest con job since theWolf seduced Red Riding Hood into thinking he was Granny.

Sorry about that.


Her fur coat does photograph rather well.



I will attempt to retrieve one more and then call it a day.

I think I have one more of Winnie.  Half asleep but looking rather contemplative........how 'bout dem whiskers?   When I first got her she had nothing but little bristly black stubs.  I believe that the length of the whiskers is supposed to correspond to the girth of the cat so they can judge which openings they can get through.    Hmmmm, Winnie, either I will have to open the doors a bit wider for you or else put you on a diet.........no more num nums for a while, old girl.   Well, maybe we will start the diet tomorrow.........

Watch Out What You Pray For

Once again I have had my nose rubbed in that little innocent looking warning........you have before you both a triumphant Lois - Mighty Tamer of Cats and a Defeated and Exhausted Lois - Slave to those of the Feline Persuasion. 

Loyal readers may recall that I recently took in a small gray waif of a cat who immediately threw my entire household into a state of chaos.  Overnight my sedate LadyCats, Gussie and Winnie, found themselves being hissed and growled at by this impertinent young whippersnapper with no breeding and the manners of an alley cat.  And while they were coping with how to handle this interloper, I found myself cast back in time to the role of guardian of the gates which required much rushing around on roller skates (a figure of speech of course......clashes mightily with my new primary rule of "Don't Fall Down") to slam doors ahead of the little ingrate who seemed only to want  to escape from this prison and/or my kind ministrations. 

After enduring this struggle for almost 2 months I finally said, "Enuf is enuf....the hell with it......if you want to go out and be eaten by large dogs, rained on, starved,  ignored and despised, well go right ahead, Missy".  And I dramatically flung open the front door, whereupon the little snippet gingerly extended a paw onto the porch, smelled and sniffed her way down the steps, checked out each blade of grass on the lawn and eventually turned right out of my line of vision.

As I closed the door I had mixed feelings.  (being a Gemini I always have mixed feelings, sigh)  On the one hand - Free of that little pest at last....no more being awakened in the middle of the night with unholy shrieks of cat warnings, and on the other hand, sadness that I might never see her again and how would she ever survive in the harsh cruel world.  I made the serious mistake of saying a short prayer for her safe return.  I should have saved my breath and my sympathy for myself.

Not 3 hours later I was ensconced in Crochet Corner in my lovely recliner industriously poking the crochet hook in and out and trying not to think of cats at all when a strange sound forced its way into my consciousness.......could it be???  Yes, it was!!!  There at the front door squealing and complaining bitterly at being barred admission and left out in the cold was the little gray thing.  When I flung the door open she marched in like she owned the place, cast me a disdainful look,  headed straight for the snack  bar and then disappeared out the back door (which is left partly open during the day to accommodate Baskin, the mentally challenged tabby who dines and pees indoors but sleeps out in the garden shed. Go ask!) 

I must confess I was overcome with relief and triumph, both of which only lasted about 10 minutes when I heard the same strange sound at the front door again.  Dragging myself out of the recliner once more I tottered to the door, flung it open to see Miss Congeniality march in once again, pause for a snack and disappear out the back door.  I will save all of us the time and strength by skipping to the punch line which is that it only took about 17 repetitions of the scene to reduce me to a small puddle of sweat and tears and to knock it into my own mentally challenged brain that Bitsy had learned how to find her way home and intended to use the lesson to her advantage even if it killed me.  Thankfully, now that she has  got the maneuver down pat she no longer has to repeat it endlessly.  Now, after the return and the snack, instead of rushing out the back door she wisely takes a nap to prepare herself for the next round.  And, while she has not forgotten how to hiss and growl she seems to have found it less necessary.  There may be  hope after all.

Oh, yes......and she has even learned to come in out of the rain......will wonders never cease?

Excuses, Excuses, Excuses

Ugh!  I am plumb, fresh out of excuses.  I know I haven't blogged for eons and I am ashamed....but not so ashamed that I am able to do something about it.  I keep going to the file drawer in my brain labeled "Acceptable, Sympathy-Provoking Reasons for Not Blogging" and the folder is empty, barren of even a usable crumb.  I stand before you naked (symbolically of course) and vulnerable ......go ahead............throw rocks at me if you must, though I'd really rather you didn't............I abhor the whole idea of Death by Stoning.......in fact I could write a  whole blog about my rage at this revolting, barbaric  method of punishment......invented by cowards who are ignorant brutes  too afraid to indulge in their beastliness alone and must have the company and approval of the other cowards.....grrrrr.  But I digress........

I have spent the past week or so involved in the most unpleasant task of making changes to my Trust and, unfortunately. one cannot do that without having to contemplate ......nay, wallow in and face head-on one's final exit from this stage......that surely is enough to make anyone feel moody, puny and scared.

Furthermore, in the midst of this depressing task I also had to prepare myself and my Guest Suite for the arrival of some visitors.  No one who is not a hermit can properly understand the horror and strain this puts upon a hermit person.  Sadly, it doesn't matter whether or not you love the invaders of one's cave or not .........one has to be available for listening and/or talking and being totally interrupted from ones comfortable routine for a period of time.  Recovery from this usually takes at least twice as long as the visit. Gasp, groan. The torture and conflict are indescribable......on one hand you are tickled to see them and have them here and on the other hand you can't wait to see them...gone.

To make matters worse,  when my guests insisted on taking me out to dinner, instead of falling back on my good old reliable Italian restaurant, I decided we should try a new one that had  been highly recommended.  Disaster ensued, of course.  The unpleasant ambience was only exceeded by the dreadfulness of the food which we all kept assuring each other, with bright, phony smiles,  wasn't that bad when actually it was WORSE.  And, in order to keep up the pretense, I had to bring home in a doggy bag the uneaten remains of my dinner and suffer from the memory the next day when I opened the frig and my eyes fell upon the container.......the best part of that whole dining experience was that I got to enjoy throwing the garbage into the garbage where it belonged.

Well, you get the idea, and maybe I have managed to subtly generate an excuse for my absence after all.  Hopefully,  surely I have generated a bit of sympathy.  Or, maybe not.......

Needless to say, I am still in the recovery stage.  Not at all sure that I will ever emerge from same but keep tuned just in case.

Footnote to my beloved friends and family:
If any of you happen to read this, please understand that the above does not mean that you are not welcome to my cave.......it just explains why I have to keep lying down a lot.  Hermits are weird and need lot of understanding........ especially Gemini hermits..

Sickness and Demise by Google

I was just about to start this off with the admonition to all you wonderful people, "Don't Get Old!".......then I realized that the alternative is not very inviting so I take back the command.  Actually getting old is a very interesting process full of surprises (i.e that's funny.....I always used to be able to reach down there to put my socks on),  shocking discoveries (when the Gallup Poll asks me whether I expect my situation to be to be better, worse, or the same in 10 years (as they often do about different life situations)  just thinking about it scares the shit out of me.......I have absolutely no answer...... "damned if I know where I will be in 10 years, you insensitive dolt" doesn't have a box to be checked........I just click on "next"   and pray it is not as threatening. 

Perhaps one of the funniest things about getting old is the fact that, on your bad days,  you and your peers often have a lot of the same vague but possibly ominous symptoms but, in my case, only I have a computer....(these old biddies who refuse to move into the 21st century really burn my ass) ...consequently I have to be prepared to receive phone calls at any hour of the day or nite with an anxious, quavering voice pressing me to look up this kind of pain in the foot just above the big toe or that kind of strange eruption or rash on the hiney  or what could be causing a person to be unable to lift her legs and get out of bed in the morning and off I am dispatched to see what the oracle called Google offers as diagnosis. 

(Fortunately for that last mentioned condition I was able to diagnose it myself by asking how many blankets and quilts were keeping her warm and found the weight of same to be so heavy that it is a wonder she could ever walk again...removal of half of them resulted in an instant cure.......ah well.....)  But that Google can be a menace as well as an aid.........by the time I finish looking at the pictures and reading the dire predictions I usually come down the the very same affliction and can't rid myself of it till my next visit to the doctor whereupon he manages to dispel my fears without making me feel like a total unadulterated idiot.  I have always had a tendency to slight hypochondria
and Google is NO  place for hypochondriacs I can tell you.  I have decided, that for my own self protection, I must shut down my practice as medical intermediary or risk being stricken down before my time by somebody else's ailments.

I'll be very honest....I did not envision having these particular weird problems in my old age.......but I guess that is precisely the crux of the matter.....hardly anyone bothers to picture themselves in their old age and no one can imagine what old age is like till you are sunk into it up the the armpits.   Worse yet, there isn't a single damned book out there to properly describe or warn you of what to expect.  I guess that is why it still remains an adventure of some sort or another.........

An Apology to Rosie

This will be brief and to the point. 

I mistakenly accused/credited Rosie of "Spotty Dog" for offering the name "Bitch" for my new little terror/cat.  Horrors.  An error in the Blogosphere is a serious thing and I am ashamed, repentant and sorry, sorry, sorry.  Below is my public apology.

Rosie, my dear
A thousand apologies for crediting (?) you with the wrong kitty name in my blog.

Please forgive me !

End of the Name Game

I want to thank all you fine folk who attempted to help me name the newly arrived kitty and to apologize for my cowardly chickening out.   (see below)  All of the suggestions were splendid and I must confess I was very tempted by the appropriateness of "Spitunia" (laytonwomand3rd)  but you all must understand that I must picture myself standing on the front porch steps at any hour of the day or night shrieking the name into the neighborhood air along with loud clapping of the hands and intermittent hissings of "here pussy, pussy, pussy".  Sorry, Rosie, but from the beginning but I had to rule out "Bitch".   Not only would it project a skewed image of me as Cat Momma, but I fear it would give my neighbors the totally wrong idea of both of us.

However, for me the main quality the name must possess is that it feels good rolling off the tongue and I finally decided that the one that felt the best and was somewhat appropriate was...... "Bitsy".......not very imaginative I am afraid, but satisfactory.  Of course, I was also heavily influenced by the fact that the previous owners had been calling her "Mitzi", a name I detested, but I noticed that the little wretch at least cocked her ear slightly to the sound of that and "Bitsy"seemed the perfect solution..........so, c'est fini".

Thank you all enormously.......your suggestions were hugely useful in helping me decide what I did NOT want to name her......no offense intended..........and, who knows, after another few months of this silly growling and hissing she may end up being "Bitch"

I know you are all wondering why I have not posted a photo of her and I promise I will do so as soon as I can take one that does her justice. 

Gotta go now and round up the herd.