BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

It’s Sunday and I’m not in a particularly funny mood today.

Not so much because it’s Sunday. At least, I don’t think that’s the reason. Actually, I think it’s more because I haven’t had enough coffee, and I just have too much going on to feel funny. Then again, maybe I’m not actually funny at all and I just think I am. There are those who believe that is that case. Suffice it to say, I don’t like them all that much.

At any rate, when I went to bed last night “The Competition” (that being the two rescued feline types who live here) were having a bit of a tussle over a catnip filled mouse. Drugs. They do strange things, even to cats. So, as I drifted off all I kept hearing inside my head was—

—just goes to show you that I’m not all that right in the head either, and I wasn’t even playing with the damned mouse.

Anywho, where was I? Oh yeah… So, when I crawled out of bed this morning I found the little bastages sprawled out in the living room, sleeping off their catnip high after contemplating the curtains for half the night. It was actually serene for a change.

And so, I leave you with this… The Zen of K(c)at—

EK (the red haired evil one), Asphalt (the BIG gray one), and Nachos El Tigre (the small gray one)

E K sorta looks like SHE could use some catnip…

More to come…

Murv

We’re about to have a problem… A BIG one. As in, Cat on a Stick.

As most of you know, we tend to rescue animals. Cats, in particular. Now, while we haven’t been taking any in for several years now, we recently ended up in a situation where we DID take in a half-drowned, flea-bitten, six-week old, somewhat feral kitten rescued from a highway post flash-flood.

E K and I wanted to call him ARK (Almost Road Kill) because the person who picked him up actually saw him nearly get hit by a car. When I say nearly, I mean the kitten was literally pummeled by the rush of air from the vehicle’s tires as it screamed by on the highway. In fact, the person picking him up thought that he actually HAD been hit. As it turned out, he hadn’t. Good thing too, because there wasn’t much of him there to hit… As it turns out, the o-spring sort of adopted him for her own, so she named him Tiger. Me, I just call him “Nachos El Tigre” or, more recently, “You #$@@^&* SH*THEAD!”

Why? Because the little bastage has taken to playing under my desk. Now, it’s already bad enough that I’m getting kitten needle claws stuck in my legs, but that’s not the BIG issue. The BIG issue is that he has discovered the cords on the back of my computer.

Actual pic of Sh*thead "killing" the feather on a stick...

And he plays with them…

And he unplugs them…

Or he jumps up and down on the UPS until he lands on the button…

Know what happens?

My system shuts down. Unceremoniously. Without warning. WITH extreme prejudice. Killing and corrupting files that I have open.

Fortunately, he hasn’t destroyed a manuscript yet. Besides, I keep those backed up all over the place so we should be safe.

But I’m here to tell you, if the little sh*t messes up any of my “pR0N”, he’s toast… Just kidding. I back that up too… 😉

More to come…

Murv