|Insane puffcat picture|
taken by my youngest on his phone
The blue Persian gift-horse puffcat is contemplating the well of nothing. She is a very Zen creature, always peacefully floating in the abyss and often forgetting where the bathroom might be. The tippy-most bit of her tongue is often barely out of her mouth, giving her an addled look that is not belied by her behavior.
The beauteous and intelligent but grumpy Theodora is contemplating that I'm over the hill and yet have seen no woman as president. Why should a cat bother with such things? Like a lot of grumpy beings, she is political and sometimes bites. She tells me that H. Clinton will have Benghazi blow up in her face if she runs. She guesses a woman as president won't happen in her lifetime.
I tell her that a cat's lifetime is not all that impressive, especially if one subtracts the hours spent napping. She flicks my words away with her tail and says it won't happen in my lifetime either. I tell her that it's Saturday morning, and I don't care to think about politicians, many of whom appear to have specialized in nothing but running for office. But try telling anything to a beautiful long-haired calico with exceptional whiskers!
|The brainy one. Phone picture by RBM.|
With a long, demanding stare, she reminds me that she has a pronounced penchant for Hartz Hairball Remedy Plus. Whether these wished-for pellets actually work is at yet unclear (alas), but my ongoing desire for the absence of giant hairballs faithfully leads me toward the nearest kitty snake-oil remedies.
I obey. Bottled-up eagerness and then joy comes to cat-world. And now, back to home archaeology.