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Why I Drank The Cat’s Water On A Snowday, And More

I was in my first pair of pajama pants this morning talking to my friend on the phone when she said something funny and I started to choke on a piece of ham in the split pea and ham soup I’d made in my Crockpot from 1972.


So I grabbed the closest glass of water.  The cat’s.  Some went down my throat, the rest went into my lap.

I changed pajama pants.

Later I was talking on the phone with my girlfriend Kristin and telling her about the ham-choking-catwater debacle when I heard noises in the basement and my cat Tom shot down the stairs.  My dog Rocky started to follow him, but he is not allowed to do stairs because he’s injured.  So as I was grabbing my 86 pound dog, a woodpecker flew past my head and went straight for the picture window.

Kristin heard the ruckus and said, “Should I call you back?”

I say, “No, no.  It’s a woodpecker.  Let me grab a dishtowel.”

There are chairs all over my sofas (see previous blog post) so Rocky was unable to hurl himself at the woodpecker, giving me time to cover the bird and open the french doors.

Kristin: “Are you sure we shouldn’t get off the phone?”

Me: “I got it.”

I had the bird in one hand and the phone in the other and walked along the icy deck.  Then I was butt-first in the snow.  (Note:  Crocs are not good winter shoes.  Not just for the holes in them, but for the pancake smooth tread on the bottom.)

Kristin:”Are you there?  Did the woodpecker fly away?”

I checked the dishtowel.  Empty.

I am writing this post in pajama pants #3.




My Cat Is A Perv

It’s not just that he stares at you while you pee.



It’s that I got a call from a neighbor a third of a mile down the street.  They’d found his collar.  Inside their kitchen. And he had knocked their dinner tray off the kitchen island.

So he breaks and enters, trashes the place, rips off his clothing, and leaves.

Did I mention he came with the name Tom?  Apparently, that’s his last name.  His first name is Peeping.

A Poem About A Strip. A Strip About A Poem.

A Cat’s Map Of The Bed, in poetry form.  Thanks Master Poet Teresa!

Who’s going to add the music and when it this going to Broadway??  Get on it, people.  The cat needs kibble.

At the end of this post, you will find a more morose strip about a poem…


The original date of this strip is

A Map Of The Cat Bed (Human Of Course!)
Inspired by a wonderful drawing by Hilary B Price.

Their bed is multifunctional,
a scientific fact.
Divided into sections,
to accommodate a cat.

To understand the theory,
just think in terms of zones.
Each section has its purpose
which every cat, just owns!

The crucial place for stretching
is located at the top.
Just below the pillows,
to optimize the flop.

The middle topmost section
is for the night time sleep.
To the right of that the barfing zone,
In case you sleep too deep!

Then we have the parlour,
for that little night time groom.
The rasping tongue and scratching
seems to echo round the room.

The dressing table launch pad
is located on the right.
It’s clear for any take off,
in the middle of the night.

Foot attack and hurdling zone,
is at the bottom of the bed.
Following the foot assault,
It’s back up to the head!

So the mapping is completed,
every inch is spoken for.
Every angle is included,
it’s now the law of paw!

Teresa Harrison-Best

And here’s a strip from last year about a poem. More specifically, a poem about a rare and radiant donkey.


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