I find it unbearably cute when Mingo stretches.
Dig those crazy toes
Archive for News from the Homefront
Mighty Mighty Mouser
So I’m sitting in the living room with Arthur and a couple of friends, knocking off a bottle of wine, when we hear this loud, high-pitched squeaking/scraping sound. It sounds exactly like when the cats scratch at the deck doors; nails on glass. But it’s not coming from the direction of the deck.
Then we see the mouse.
May I pause for a moment to emphasize that I don’t live out in the country? In fact, when I did live out in the country, I’d occasionally see mice in the house, but they were field mice. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a house mouse before.
The house mouse is much smaller than a field mouse. It looks just like one of those little toy mice we bring home for the cats to attack and devour. Except, y’know, not bright pink. Or green.
So there it was, bold as you please, walking across the living room, not even trying to be discreet. And may I say, uglier than a field mouse as well. At this point, the Gang of Two are going bonkers, and Arthur’s all “What do we do?” And the rest of us just say, “That’s what we pay these cats the big bucks for” and sit back to watch the show.
Sure enough, about fifteen seconds later, Mighty Mighty Mingo trots across the room, all “I am the Hunter, Fear me!” with a mousie in his mouth, and we all applaud. And Christine points out that cats like to toy with their prey and tend to be disappointed when they’re finally dead. As if to prove her point, a minute later we hear the squeaking again. Mingo has let his toy run free so he can get more exercise. Or maybe he’s just sharing with his sister (not bloody likely).
The next morning Arthur is up before me and he calls and says “Hey Mom? You know how when we bring them toy mice they tear the stuffing out of them and leave them inside out in the middle of the room?”
Yep. That’s what they do all right.
Yay, I got flowers
Update: Nom nom nom
Friday Catblogging
I never tire of these cuddled-together shots
Non-ode to Roberta
Today is my sister Roberta‘s birthday. Yay Roberta.
On her blog, Roberta does “birthday odes.” As it happens, I have never mastered the art of silly rhyme. So, no ode.
But here’s the thing. Take two people who are really intuitive, really get each other, love to talk, love to interact, and are sisters, and they will be very close, and really love each other. Take two people who are both very verbal, very in-your-face, have intermittently functioning mouth-brain filters, are sarcastic, strong, interesting, challenging, dynamic, and exciting, and they will surely fight and have conflict.
And here are my sister and I. We love each other. We get each other. We enjoy talking with each other. We’ve had spectacular, scary conflicts. And often I am on tiptoes with her because I am, in fact, scared of that level of conflict. I feel ill-equipped for it. Which is stupid, because in fact, Roberta and I are probably way better equipped than most for handling conflict in a grown up way. Also, it’s worth it, because she’s amazing, and because we’re both amazing and we want and deserve and get huge value from a good relationship.
So here’s to Roberta, born on the same day as Ella Fitzgerald, Hank Azaria, and Al Pacino. She is smart, funny, interesting, pretty, and sings like an angel. She is difficult. It is possible that the fact she is difficult makes her even more worthwhile and more wonderful to know. I’m glad she’s my sister. Happy Birthday.
Friday Catblogging: What’s Under the Stove?
I have no idea what’s under the stove.
Mingo seems to.
And it kind of freaks me out.
P.S. Fanty runs away whenever she sees me with the camera. Never heard of a camera-shy cat before.
Flooding
So here’s how my day went.
There are floods in New Jersey. (Normally I link to news stories and such, but what? You aren’t going to believe me?) I woke up to a radio report saying the (acting) governor had declared a state of emergency.
Now, I live in New York and work in New Jersey, just over the state line. Literally. Just. You see the “Welcome to New Jersey” sign and take the next right. Eight miles of my 9.5 mile commute is in New York. And most of the flooding was further south, so I didn’t know what the story was.
Called the corporate hotline for office closures. We’re open. Then I go onto the web and see traffic reports and status for the major roads I take. All clear. So then I phone the office, calling the person I know normally gets in very early, and ask her specifically how the back roads immediately surrounding the office are. She says they’re fine.
So I drive to work. Highway is clear. Get 9 of my 9.5 miles under my belt. Go to make the left that will take me to just a smidge north of the office. Road closed. So I go to make the left that will get me a smidge south of the office. Closed. Next road south, open but floody and then I can’t make the turn. Two or three more turns like that. I call the office. They say to get back on the highway, go another exit south, and come back up again.
I say “You know what? Governor declared a state of emergency. By law you should close. Call corporate and tell them. I’m working from home. Buh-bye.”
Drive back home. Arthur is just getting up and says “Mom, it’s 9:30, what are you still doing here?” I explain. He says “There’s something mythic about flooding.”
Yup. Mythic. Whatever.
Friday Catblogging: Hind legs
Mingo believes he can walk on two legs.
Next he will grow an opposable thumb.
Friday Catblogging: Convalescence
Probably the only good thing about Arthur’s long illness was that he got some quality time with the Gang of Two.
You know how sometimes you can’t get up because there’s a cat in your lap? In our family, we call that being “catted.” As in “Would you get the phone? I’m catted.”
Catted by Mingo
