Bad, Bad Blogger
I post. I do. Really.
Anywho, my parent's cat died a couple of weeks ago. (Not dialysis cat, that's the other parents.) I fully meant to write a eulogy to that cat, but I forgot, or got distracted, or never really cared that much in the first place. But this does give me a great excuse to post this pretty little pic of father and cat for all your viewing pleasure:
Sniklefritz loves long walks on the beach, boat life, and fucking with the rotties.
Cute, no? It makes me think it should have some kind of theme song, something sweet, but a little morose. Sort of along the lines of that song, you know, by that band? Cat's in the Cradle? Something like that.
Leads to a couple of questions, though:
1) Who the hell names a cat Sniklefritz?
2) Who takes his cat for a walk on the beach?
3) Rottweilers are kind of dangerous, aren't they?
Well, I'm sure you're thrilled to hear that I do have the answers for you:
1) My dad. And Granny off The Big Comfy Couch. Don't think my dad's ever seen that show, so there's no connection there.
2) Boaters. To a cat, a beach is a giant litterbox. Just like the ocean is a giant toilet. Boaters love cats. My stats may be a little skewed, because I've only spent time at two live aboard marinas, but an inordinate number of boats seem to have cats on them. It may be a throwback to the old plague days, when rats were more than a pain in the ass, it may just be that sharing close quarters with a great dane that can't be walked is rather unfeasible. Sniklefritz was a great boat cat. Satan's Cat is not a great boat cat. She had some problems with geese. But then again, Satan's Cat has never been lucky with wildlife. Kind of like my old room mate Pam. Remind me to tell you about Pam and The Elk one day. Okay, back on the original tangent. Or topic one, or where ever the heck I am.
3) Yes, Virginia, rottweilers are kinda dangerous. Hence, the ex-cat.
Now that that's out of the way I'd like to say that I'm gonna try to work on a more regular posting schedule here. Chances are not writing simply because I have nothing to say will only lead to writers atrophy (not that I'm calling myself a writer, you don't have to be pro to get tennis elbow, you know....) and writers atrophy will only lead to the death of one more pointless and irrelevant blog. And that would be a sad, sad demise. Much worse than the cat, that.
On the other hand, dosing out a daily (or bi-weekly) edition of innanity may actually lead to some increase in capability. You never know until you try, I say no I don't somebody says.
Hold me to it. Go on. I dare ya.
Hmmmm, that pic isn't quite right, is it? What's up with the white semi-border? Well, not much to do, I'm not gonna try to fix that now. So we'll live with imperfection. Oh, and remind me next time to just put the picture at the top of the post. It shouldn't take this much effort to try to position the fucking thing.
Anywho, my parent's cat died a couple of weeks ago. (Not dialysis cat, that's the other parents.) I fully meant to write a eulogy to that cat, but I forgot, or got distracted, or never really cared that much in the first place. But this does give me a great excuse to post this pretty little pic of father and cat for all your viewing pleasure:
Sniklefritz loves long walks on the beach, boat life, and fucking with the rotties.
Cute, no? It makes me think it should have some kind of theme song, something sweet, but a little morose. Sort of along the lines of that song, you know, by that band? Cat's in the Cradle? Something like that.
Leads to a couple of questions, though:
1) Who the hell names a cat Sniklefritz?
2) Who takes his cat for a walk on the beach?
3) Rottweilers are kind of dangerous, aren't they?
Well, I'm sure you're thrilled to hear that I do have the answers for you:
1) My dad. And Granny off The Big Comfy Couch. Don't think my dad's ever seen that show, so there's no connection there.
2) Boaters. To a cat, a beach is a giant litterbox. Just like the ocean is a giant toilet. Boaters love cats. My stats may be a little skewed, because I've only spent time at two live aboard marinas, but an inordinate number of boats seem to have cats on them. It may be a throwback to the old plague days, when rats were more than a pain in the ass, it may just be that sharing close quarters with a great dane that can't be walked is rather unfeasible. Sniklefritz was a great boat cat. Satan's Cat is not a great boat cat. She had some problems with geese. But then again, Satan's Cat has never been lucky with wildlife. Kind of like my old room mate Pam. Remind me to tell you about Pam and The Elk one day. Okay, back on the original tangent. Or topic one, or where ever the heck I am.
3) Yes, Virginia, rottweilers are kinda dangerous. Hence, the ex-cat.
Now that that's out of the way I'd like to say that I'm gonna try to work on a more regular posting schedule here. Chances are not writing simply because I have nothing to say will only lead to writers atrophy (not that I'm calling myself a writer, you don't have to be pro to get tennis elbow, you know....) and writers atrophy will only lead to the death of one more pointless and irrelevant blog. And that would be a sad, sad demise. Much worse than the cat, that.
On the other hand, dosing out a daily (or bi-weekly) edition of innanity may actually lead to some increase in capability. You never know until you try, I say no I don't somebody says.
Hold me to it. Go on. I dare ya.
Hmmmm, that pic isn't quite right, is it? What's up with the white semi-border? Well, not much to do, I'm not gonna try to fix that now. So we'll live with imperfection. Oh, and remind me next time to just put the picture at the top of the post. It shouldn't take this much effort to try to position the fucking thing.
posted by Impulsivecompulsive | 5:29 PM
11 Comments:
That's a great picture. And I love the cat's name.
So... you didn't explain. Did the cat get eaten by a Rottie or something?
Three rotties. Oddly enough, he just recouped from an attack from a couple of (different) rotties that the parents thought he wouldn't survive. Guess it was just meant to be that way. Shitty fate.
I had a big black cat who was built like that. 27 pounds and not much fat on him. He was a massive ginormous sweetheart. Except to the two boxers down the street. He made them give him doggie rides and they hated him for it.
Big cats are the best.
I forgot to tell you...
I found out Morcheeba's playing the Commodore on Dec. 5. Thought you might want to know that.
Thank you kindly, I did already know that. I'm booked on the fifth though, heavy plans to rip all my hair out while agonizing over the fact that it's the fifth, and the rent ain't paid. See, I can schedule.
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ethyssze
This is my favorite word verification so far. "tzvho"... not so much.
I amuse myself way too much.
WE ARE GOING TO MORCHEEBA.
MERRY CHRISTMAS
Sweet, Shadow. But I don't know when tickets went on sale, how much they are, all those nifty little details.
It's sold out. But good thought. Thanks.
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