Category Archives: our furry overlords

Somebody Outside the Door

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Another batch of cat blankets just about ready to mail to Georg. If you are not a fan of the postal system, I urge you wrap up something unusual and mail it to someone. Not salami, though. Not that.


While we’re out on our bikes, I feel like a million bucks. The summer’s a hot one, great news for me. Even so, I’m now and then having a tough time standing and walking, both of which are crucial to helping out at the food pantry. I’m downright glum about it, but this annoying little setback is just temporary. Temporary! For the time being, I’m knitting and swearing. At least I’m goddamn good at one of them.

In the Sycamore Tree Dream A Little

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A kind of drusy you can buy.


After work today, I was unpacking my bookbag while Pete and Drusy looked on. Slowly, he said, “Which of the little black cats is that?”

“It’s Drusy,” I said, annoyed that he didn’t recognize the tiny cat that often sleeps on his chest. “Of course.”

He scratched her neck.

“Where,” he asked her, “is your little necklace?” Panicked, I searched the house and didn’t find it. Did she decide to change her jewelry when it clashed with her summer fur? Did she get caught on something and the collar snapped open? Did she and her sister tussle over whose Justin Bieber posters would decorate the door? Did Drusy and Alexis Carrington ruin their designer outfits after a fight that ended in a pool? We don’t know and the cats aren’t telling.

And Still My Light’s On

Posted by Tata on

I have been avoiding writing this, so let’s get this over with. Last weekend, I noticed I hadn’t seen Claude here in – well, I wasn’t completely sure. I saw him on Friday, then – did I see him Saturday? I can’t say. As the week began, I was nervous and uncomfortable when I didn’t see him. The people he belongs to don’t speak English well, so I couldn’t figure out how to ask what had happened. There seemed to be only a few possibilities and I didn’t like them. On Wednesday, I realized I wasn’t going to see Claude again.

Goodbye, Claude.


On Thursday, I printed out this picture and walked across the street. I pointed at the picture and gestured around. Where’s this cat? The man called to a young woman who is either his daughter or his daughter-in-law, who told me the cat died over the weekend. She wasn’t at home when it happened, but a speeding police car ran over some broken plastic, which killed the cat. I didn’t ask any questions. I told her the cat was a sweet little guy and I’d miss him. She seemed very surprised that I’d taken a picture of him. She said he was eight years old.

So Claude is dead and I miss that guy.

No Reason Just Seems So

Posted by Tata on

Topaz well knows the fresh hell that is having two sisters.

La famiglia has been scheming to get us all to Disney for my fiftieth birthday. That is fine with me, so long as no one expects me to turn up, too. I was reminded of Brendan Behan.

I was court-martialled in my absence, and sentenced to death in my absence, so I said they could shoot me in my absence.

The whole notion has made me cranky and teeth-gnashy. Grrr.