Emma & Marcel, November 13, 2020
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Friday Haiku
Marcel. September 22, 2020.
Oh, to be Marcel
lifetime of naps in sunshine
where do I sign up
the Monday crowd
Marcel assesses the activity. September 28, 2020
Cat and squirrel face off through the glass as a House Finch dines in the background. Meanwhile, a fish (window sticker) swims across the scene. Would’ve been even more awesome if a reptile wandered into the picture.
Guess it could happen…the day’s still young.
Pondering
Marcel. September 14, 2019.
To chase tail or not to chase tail, that is the question.
Happy #Caturday!
Greetings from my friend, Marcel.
July 2020.
This peanut butter kitty could definitely kick our asses with his enormous feet, but Marcel prefers to snuggle. In fact, he’s in ecstasy when I rub the the bottoms of those long feet and often drools during our massage sessions. Gotta admire his unapologetic hedonism.
Thankful Thursday: Zebu edition
Zebu and Emma. December 30, 2019.
Today is Zebu’s birthday. He is 24 (and so much more). He’s living here as he works from home, saving up money in preparation for a move to Seattle in the next several months. I’m grateful for our solid relationship and the laughter we share. He’s a master of puns and makes me cringe/crack-up on a daily basis, and it’s going to be a major adjustment when he moves out. In the meanwhile, I’m enjoying his company while I can (as is Emma).
Happy Birthday, son o’ mine.
Note: I just downloaded new photo editing software and am facing a steep learning curve. 🙂
#Caturday: eye puzzle edition
This photo was taken years ago and when I came across it today, I was underwhelmed. I mean, why the long shot of the rail and the barely-visible cat tails? I was about to delete when I looked more closely.
Marcel and Loki on deck. July 28, 2017.
Aha.
Hello there, Marcel.
Slight exaggeration
I’m quite sure it’s only stress-induced illness, but I haven’t consistently felt like my normal self over the past 12 days. As soon as I feel better and exert myself, it sets me back again. So, I’m now embracing my inner slug. Today, for instance, I spent all day in bed. And you know what helps make me feel the very best?
Image by Erik Tanghe from Pixabay
Humidity.
I’ve been closed off in my bedroom, reading and writing, while the humidifier sends a constant stream of vapor into the air. My cough doesn’t stand a chance against all the moisture. Don’t worry, there’s no fungal in this bedroom jungle. Not yet, anyway.
Tuesday Haiku
Zebu’s 5-day hair growth (3.24.20)
Cutting your own hair
quarantine necessity
five days ago bald
Making friends
Lots of sunshine here today and I was eager to get outside after two days “trapped” indoors by snowstorm and frigid temperatures. Silly me, I assumed my three menfolk and the dog would share my eagerness. Not so. I finally coaxed Emma off the deck and tried to get a game of chase going in the backyard but, after taking a piddle, she ran back to the deck. The guys stayed indoors, refusing to join in the fun. (Except for when they stepped out long enough to lob a snowball or two at me.)
Well, they missed out on some awesome conditions. Warm sunshine + snow just dying to be packed and rolled into balls. However, the snow was verrrry heavy. Oof.
Eventually, I gave up on creating snow friends and started to play a game of Jenga with myself. Here’s an early iteration (actually, two).
My final Jenga tower was above my head and just as I handed my phone to Zebu to take a picture of me standing next to it, it tipped over. The tower was truly glorious and you’ll just have to take my word for it.
Meet my neighbor
Yes, it’s snowing again in Colorado. At this point in the year, I’d prefer the sunshine and warmer temperatures we’ve had the past week or so, but this storm has it perks. Exhibit A: looking out my window at Rainbow.
Rainbow Dash (so-named in honor of My Little Pony)
As I write this, she’s still out there, content to let the snow accumulate on her beautiful, thick fur.
Happy anniversary, Emma!
Three years ago today, Zippy accompanied me to a dog adoption event at a pet supply store. I had my heart set on a black dog named Rocko, a dog I’d scoped out on the web site. But when we arrived, Rocko was much bigger than his profile suggested.
Zippy, who wasn’t convinced we should even adopt another dog, said, “He’s too big. I’d prefer a dog more like . . .” he looked down at a dog being walked past us on a leash, “that one there.”
So I sent silent apologies to Rocko and followed Zippy to the event volunteers where he asked if we could take the little dog for a walk outside. Her crate said EMMA and the volunteer who’d just put her back inside after that other person’s “test run,” snapped the leash on Emma again.
February 11, 2020.
We went out with the little dog who had a looong torso and short legs, and allowed her to sniff and investigate the sidewalk and grassy areas of the strip mall. Emma seemed like a nice enough dog, but showed zero interest in us. Until we started back towards the store entrance. Then she stopped and looked up at us with big brown eyes.
Well, the rest is history.
Wordless Wednesday: cabinet dweller edition
Loki, chef’s assistant. February 1, 2019.
#Caturday distraction
Marcel ruling the roost. January 25, 2020
Zippy and I just returned from a run on the trails with Emma, and as I sat in recovery mode (basically, waiting for my ears to thaw), I noticed the floor was in serious need of vacuuming. But on my way to retrieve the vacuum from the closet, I noticed Marcel’s regal bearing. So, I adroitly abandoned the vacuum for the camera. And now here I am at the laptop, posting on my site.
I’ll take a nice cat photo over clean floors, any day.
#Caturday: This is a stickup!
Marcel. December 28, 2017
Just to be clear, the only weapons Marcel has in that box are claws, teeth, and a whole lot of tangled ribbon. Your wallets are safe.
On the other hand, he does drool. A lot. So to be on the safe/dry side, you might want to back away slowly . . .
Mood
I feel those feelings, Loki.
How’s about you and I find a patch of sunshine and settle in for a nap?
Sunday Confessional: a toast to comfort food
Photo by Buenosia Carol from Pexels
I’ve been leaning on comfort food more than usual these days. And I guess it’s time to admit that my dalliances with sourdough toast and strawberry jam have become a daily thing. There might be a day here or there in which I don’t toast my bread and eat it too, but more often than not, I indulge in that crunchy, sweet comfort food.
The best part? I’m completely at peace with my newly acquired discipline.
#Caturday: Portrait of Defiance
It took mere minutes for Marcel to discover the warm laundry just removed from the dryer. And when I went back down with my camera to document his trespass (which will result in white hairs all over my sons’ new dark-colored sweatshirts and socks), Marcel didn’t budge, despite his aversion to cameras.
I guess that cat is more averse to attempts to shame him into moving than he is bothered by the paparazzi. Another guess? There’s a lint roller in my sons’ futures.
It was 20 years ago today
Today is Wildebeest’s birthday (which he shares with his cousin…Happy Birthday again, James!) I haven’t yet talked with Wildebeest today because he’s out doing fun stuff with his camera and friends. But here he was 20 years ago, making a wish before blowing out the candles.
Wildebeest. November 4, 1999
I don’t know whether that particular wish came true, but I do know that today my son is happy and healthy, which means my wish came true.
Happy happy birthday, Wildebeest!
On your marks…get set…bake!
My son Zebu had all four wisdom teeth removed yesterday, so I’ve been on ice pack and medication duty. Every 20 minutes, he applies two bags of frozen peas to his chipmunk cheeks. The peas are held in a sling we made using the leg from an old pair of my flannel pajama bottoms which is then tied around his head. After 20 minutes of ice, he goes another 20 minutes without. Ice on, ice off. I’m the timekeeper which means it’s easier to stay close.
So how are we spending our time? Watching the Great British Baking Show, of course.
Paul Hollywood, Prue Leith, Noel Fielding, and Sandi Toksvig | Netflix
Actually, I’ve never watched the program before even though all sorts of folks on Twitter rave about it. A show about baking? Who cares? I’m the woman who can’t get cakes out of pans in one piece and so spackle with tons of frosting to hold them together. I enjoy eating baked goods, but couldn’t care less how they come about.
Well, I stand corrected. It’s a very interesting and entertaining show. In fact, I haven’t really accomplished much of anything today besides watching those brave people create amazingly beautiful baked goods (along with some Tracy-worthy disasters). Zebu is napping now, but I’m confident later on we’ll tune back in to see how the remaining bakers fare.
The one downside to the Great British Baking Show? It makes me very, very hungry.
#Caturday with Marcel
Marcel thinking deep and dreamy thoughts for this Caturday.
May your thoughts be equally deep and dreamy this weekend.
As for me, I just hit my work-for-hire writing goals for today and am clocking out!
See you out in the clouds!
#Caturday hijinks in four acts
Marcel climbs on top of the scratching post to avoid his brother who wants to beat him up, then briefly stares down at Loki before smacking him on the head.
Loki then tries to storm the castle by clawing his way up the scratching post. Marcel looks on with calm detachment as Loki eventually loses his grip and falls back to the floor where he stares in frustration at his brother. So close and yet so far, Loki.
Just as quickly as the kerfluffle began, it was over. Both cats are now napping and all is well this Caturday.
Sunday Confessional: I just unpacked a box from my 1996 move
Today I finally, finally cleaned out our storage room. It’s been on my radar for years, but every time I went in to start I’d immediately feel overwhelmed and quit. A huge part of my problem is that it’s SO HARD for me to get rid of perfectly good stuff.
For example, what was in that box from 1996? The label read “Scratch paper.”
An entire box filled with various types of paper: loose-leaf notebook paper, stationary, index cards, note pads, scratch pads, the LOST DOG flyers we made for a friend’s dog who disappeared on our watch, old lesson plans, brand new folders, labels, classroom handouts, etc.
I’d never been able to get rid of it because every time I peeked inside that box I thought about the woman who taught in the room next to mine telling me about traveling to another country where paper was so precious people would smooth out envelopes that arrived in the mail and write letters on the insides. How could I recycle all that perfectly good paper?
Well, today I got tough. Probably not as tough as I should’ve been (because I kept about one-quarter of the paper), but it was a fine start.
And look what gem I uncovered. I love me some vultures and that little pic on the bottom corner of the note pad cracked me up. But is that joke worth a 23-year stay in my basement?
Actually, some situations are black and white
Black cat Loki and white brother-cat Marcel striking the same pose on my bed this morning.
If you look very closely you can see Loki’s green eyes. Otherwise, he’s pretty much a black hole. Explains why there aren’t many photos of him on this blog. Loving? Absolutely. Photogenic? Not at all.
Sunday Confessional: I’m having more fun than Marcel
Soon after adopting feline brothers Marcel and Loki in October of 2013, son Zebu vowed to buy me a baby sling to carry our loving, snuggly cats. Despite my frequent reminders of his promise to me, years went by with no sling. And then this past Mother’s Day, Zebu surprised me. It’s safe to say he also surprised Marcel.
This photo was taken in May during Marcel’s initial and longest stint in the sling. But you can tell by his ears that he’s less than thrilled with the situation. I tried putting his brother in it last night and he wasn’t having it. At all. And then Marcel humored me for all of fifteen seconds before escaping.
Maybe they’ve figured out it’s technically a sling for small dogs and are philosophically opposed to debasing their royal cat selves.
Or maybe they just really, really don’t want me carrying them around like babies.
Tracy Abell 