Lovely Topaz
Black Cat Resting In Shadow.
Category Archives: our furry overlords
There Will Have Moved Here
Topaz here. Tonight on Poor Impulse Control Theater: Drusy tries to make her boney body even flatter to combat the heat while Sweetpea snoozes the day away. I’ve befriended a French-speaking dust whirl and tomorrow, plan to overthrow the municipal Supervisor of Public Works, who smells like cheese, which I like. Don’t get me wrong. He may be very nice but he reminds me of a rabid badger. That’s tonight on Poor Impulse Control Theater. I’m Topaz. Goodnight!
Let Alone An Egg
Good kitties…good kitties…
Sharkey bought a house that came with concrete outdoor cats.
Anyone know a garden center where I can pick up a concrete ball of yarn?
Dances While Her Father Plays Guitar
Some of the stray cats prowl the yards and gardens, but stop by our backyard for a cautious bite to eat. Others, like this giant tom we call Tom, come around for an amuse buche and repartee. His eyes are green, his movements smooth and fluid like a cougar’s. While Pete stood on the back steps with the camera a huge Rottweiler on the other side of the fence barked ferociously. Tom didn’t flinch. He’s a professional, you see.
Of the Memory Of Late Nights
Indoor Furry Overlords passing notes in French class.
We’ve been feeding the outside cats because they keep the squirrels and the birds out of our gardens. Sort of. Two bluejays have adopted the tree in our backyard from which they heckle us and the cats. The cats are taking it pretty well. They give the squirrels a run for their money, gnaw the heads off field mice and prowl around the place like a pride of lions – at least until the skunk turns up.
A Borrowed Dream Or A Superstar
Miniscule cat and stiff ursine friend.
This morning, I woke up at 4 out of a sound sleep, lying flat on my back. Tiny Drusy was perched on my chest and we were nose to nose. My right hand was petting her. I’d been keeeessing her in my sleep. Because I loooove the Princess Drusy, even in my dreams.
Man, my subconscious is SO CORNY.
Pander To My Taste For Candor
Today, I’ve been preoccupied with Topaz’s labored breathing. The poor darling makes the same face people do when we have headaches. Mostly, she stays upstairs in the attic, where it’s warm and she has fresh water. At the moment, she’s walking around on the counters in the kitchen like nothing’s up. Yesterday, she curled up on my lap for a couple of hours, which she has never done, so things are up and down. Cross your fingers, Madame just has a cold.
So I made pizza for dinner and cut the kinds of corners busy people do. 
Stop & Shop sells inexpensive 12″ whole wheat crusts, two crusts to a package. The crusts do not have much flavor. Think of them as blank canvases that won’t kick your digestive tract’s ass. I brush each with olive oil, then flavor with garlic, basil and whatever rocks my boat that day. The toppings: chopped spinach, a broccoli crown, half each of a red, orange and yellow pepper, 1-1/3 pieces of turkey sausage, 2/3 cup ricotta, salt, pepper, grated parmesan cheese. I forgot the diced tomato but didn’t miss it. If you can operate a pairing knife, you can make this pizza for yourself and – and here’s the key – it’s actually good for you. If you’re a vegetarian, leave off the sausage. Still good for you. You can eat it for breakfast without regrets.
In the meantime, I devoted my time to making special chicken stock for cats. Georg recommended gravy for dogs I’ve had zero luck finding, but suggestions are still welcome. With boiled chicken and special stock, I’m in grave danger of becoming the Mama Celeste of the cat world.
They Say When We’re Together
Topaz is feeling under the weather and I’m up to my neck in work. At least the protest poop seems to have stopped. Between that and the diarrhea it was a real costume party around here, but only if the theme was “Come As Your Least Favorite Gooey/Stinky Mess, Plus Bleach.”
The Gypsy Swore That Our Future Was
This kitty, with her handy false mustache, knows you cannot resist her, yet she remains mysterious! You are lured by her charm, yet you cannot really know her. The beautiful pussycat! With the mustache! Note her taste in lovely velveteen pillows, made more wonderful by her presence! Who is this beauty? Why, it is our lovely Sweetpea!
Did you guess?
And At Keeping Things Vague
Photo of bathroom in darkness, as seen by leaping pussycats whose cameras have a flash.
I.
Last night, an unusual noise woke Pete from a sound sleep. He sat up in a panic, muttering, “What? What?” Then his head cleared and he realized one of the cats had flushed the toilet. We suspect Topaz, whom we often spy figuring out how some contraption contrapts – or maybe the giant kitten made a sloppy leap for the window sill from the toilet tank.
II.
This morning, I’d taken the day of from work to transplant lettuces and tomatoes, to get some rest and bask in the sunshine. During my drive to physical therapy at 7:15 a.m, Matt Pinfield played Guns N’ Roses’ Used To Love Her. I said, “Fuck you, Matt,” and shut off the radio. Just after 9, Pete and I drove to the eye doctor’s office in our home town and Matt played Under My Thumb. I said, “Fuck you, Matt, we get it. You hate women. Women get the message.” When he lived here, I used to meet Matt Pinfield in that grocery store four blocks from my current house. If I ever see him there again, I will personally fling the first cream pie.
III.
My grandparents had a cat that potty-trained himself. His name was Gato, and he was a genius. He could open doors with his paws. One day, my grandfather opened the bathroom door and found Gato reading the paper and smoking a Lucky. I’m kidding, of course. Gato was doing a crossword.
Poor Impulse Control 