Fill In Blog Post – by Havelock Vetinari Hoyt


Hi, my name is Havelock Vetinari, though I’m usually called Havey — I think they mean heavy — and sometimes Captain Floof McFuzzy Pants.

As you can see from my picture, above, I’m QUITE the most handsome of the Hoyt cats, far cuter than Greebo who is all black except for some little white patches, and whom mommy calls her little bulldog.  I’m certainly not a bulldog, though daddy sometimes calls me his puppy, since I come when he calls me.

I’m not sure why I shouldn’t come when called, for you see, I love pets more than anything else.  It’s why I let the Hoyts bring me home from a golf course when I was really little.  They petted me, you see.

Mom says my head is full of fluff.  This is not right.  It’s fully of me.  And I can see very well when mom is avoiding the computer because she has a headache. So I’m going to let her sit in the chair and read her kindle-thingy, while I fill in.

I don’t know what I can fill in with, but I can try.

Let’s get acquainted.  I like being petted and playing with things — though mom and dad both yell at me for playing with their robe belts — and I like eating.  I really like eating.  A lot.  Before the Hoyts there wasn’t much to eat, so I’m very happy to have a lot of food now.

I also like my friend Euclid-cat, but he’s getting very old and forgetful, now that he’s almost 18.

What do you like?  Do you have cats of your own?  Are any of them made of floof?

So, anyway, that’s it.  Mom has a headache, so I did this post.  I’ll let her know it’s taken care of, and then she can rest a bit and see if the headache goes away.

96 thoughts on “Fill In Blog Post – by Havelock Vetinari Hoyt

    1. I wonder why?

      A certain author had a cat that could text-message and order tuna on-line. 😉

      1. Ah, but if cats could do it, they wouldn’t need humans.

        You know where this is headed:

        Feline Apocalypse.

          1. Think about it. They’d get underfoot, crawl under closed doors, sneak up on you while you’re sleeping, trap you on your couch with chance to escape.


        1. They’d still need people to open the containers. And to earn the money with which to buy the tuna.

            1. That’s why the CIA has an entire department dedicated to monitoring and sabotaging the cats’ prosthetic thumb development program.

      1. Maybe you should send Sarah a guest post written by your puppy. 😉

        My Beagle Lilly is too lazy to write one. 😀

        1. Over here, Primary Dog is far too dumb to write (and too sweet to write anything interesting) and Secondary Dog is too busy verbally informing the world of his opinions to do it textually instead.

      2. For anyone curious (that’s what, maybe 0.3 people?) I’d be writing more if I had any idea of something TO write – that hadn’t already been done better anyway. And while I suppose I could go the book review route ala Amanda Green… there is a limit to what my sanity (and liver) can take.

        That said, I’m not opposed to suggestions. (snelson134, don’t bother trying to use hypnosis, even stealthility. I installed my own safeguards for that sort of thing ages ago.)

          1. Poor person; you obviously have that common chromosomal abnormality. If boys v puppies, choose puppies; they are trainable and more intelligent, or so my Mother said. Woof.

  1. There are two cats in our household, both almost 18. One is a very sweet tortie who has taken up parkour in her old age. I will be standing in the kitchen and suddenly have a cat on my shoulders. She’s also decided to be a dumpster-diving kitty, so we’ve had to start blocking the trash off every night, since she’s the one who will have multiple dietary indiscretions, which mean we have to do laundry when she barfs up the glittery stuff.

    Our other one is the one everybody’s scared of. He’s hyper-sweet when he wants to be, and a demon from hell when he doesn’t. Growling, swatting, making all sorts of horrible noises. He’s a black Maine Coon-Siamese hybrid, so that probably explains it. One Of Evil Rob’s favorite tricks is to rub his nose in that cat’s belly fur when he’s growling and snarling, since that cat will not hurt him. He’s a jerk, but he’s OUR jerk.

  2. I’m not normally a cat person, but you sound like a fabulous feline. Good job doing the post. Make sure that Mommy gets plenty of rest and doesn’t need to worry about her website. Tell her that I promise I won’t open any dimensional rifts while she’s resting from her headache.

  3. Athena T. Cat (caliby [calico with tabby]) seems to have floof in her head, except… she has the rest of the household so well trained that I suspect she’s the smart one. Right now she’s on my, excuse me, her bed, muttering quietly because the bright sunlight is being dimmed by cirrus clouds and she is not getting a full charge on her solar panels (aka back. In summer she suns her stomach so she doesn’t get too hot.)

  4. Our cat who is made of floof walked up to monitor my reading.

    He approves of you.

    While he, too, loves to be loved on and is black and white, he is generally over-dressed– in a tuxedo, though he passes on any sort of tie.

  5. There’s three in my household, though technically only one is “mine.”

    He’s a 24+ pounder (I hope, because he WAS pushing 30 this summer, and has been put on a diet, much to his dismay) ginger tabby who is officially named Italics, but also goes by Squdge, Fuzzybutt, and Fat Cat. I’m fairly sure he’s a yellow labrador of the extremely lazy variety who somehow reincarnated as a giant orange cat. He loves tummy rubs (and never tries to disembowel the hand/arm) and will actually flop over in front of the nearest available human to demand one. He also head-slams people in the shins when he wants attention. Despite his general laziness, he has actually killed more mice than the other cats (in the house, anyway). Two, to be precise. They were very fat, slow mice and he chased them very slowly to death…

    His littermate (skinnier at 15lbs, but still a big kitty…though not fat) is named Beckham, because he can bend it like the same. He plays catch/fetch/whatever better than any dogs we’ve ever owned, and likes to sneak up on magpies, startle them into flight, and then jump on them midair. He’s scary smart, and if he had thumbs, I’m pretty sure we’d be in trouble.

    Prue is the calico, and she’s generally known as the Furry Tumor (because she likes laps. And will not move once she’s on one). She hates kittens with an undying passion, and so has been at war with the other two since we brought them home as kittens. Six years ago. (These days, it’s a cold war, mostly involving the occasional glare. And sometimes chasing the fat one off his favorite chair and claiming it for herself.)

  6. Four Cats;

    Cappuccina Mischief Monster is a female tortoiseshell. Now Cat emeritus; she spends most of her time sleeping on the bed, but occasionally graces the rest of the upper floor with her presence.

    Romanji; All black male. At one time called The Teaspoon; TSP standing for Trial Sized Panther. Since the introduction of the younger cats has displayed a distressing tendency to bullying and cowardice, s his Panther designation has been rescinded. Spends most of his time skulking in the basement.

    Polly Dolly; mid-sized female Polydactyl cat in white with black. Has a total of seven extra toes, and on the front paws these take the form of thumbs. Very shy of Romanji, has come to tolerate Mischief.

    Cinnamon Sugar; large buff colored male; deprived childhood, which causes him to try to eat everything. Apparently intends to grow into The Cat Oroborous. A big galoot.

  7. Feline overlord’s minion reporting. Empress Tushka has dispensed her morning ration of snuggles, headbunts, mirrups, and assorted chirps, and has retired to the Promenade of Watching to ensure that no errant birdlife disturbs her sanctuary. We are granted life and unremitting toil to serve her needs for another day.
    (Bolshie tabby, now two years old and still reverting to kittenhood on occasion)

  8. Got three feline mistresses.
    Annie (Animalus Insanus), Annie the Insane Animal, is one of those daring ladies who wears a tux like she was born to it…wait.
    Anyhow, she looks much like her momma, and is around 13 years old. Loves anybody and everybody. Pestering Mom and Dad when they come visit me. Tried to trip the Cable Guy when I got the internet connected here, and charmed my land ladies. Often goes cat crazy and tears around the house for no reason. She also suffers separation anxiety or something when I leave to go to work. She demands attention, gets in the way, knocks things off shelves/counters/desks/tables, will climb my jacket to rub her head on mine, then try to sneak out the door with me. anything to delay my leaving. Like residing on my chest when I am at the computer and is trying to do so as I type this.

    Isabeau The Clumsy, aka The Tubby Tabby (even before her recent weight gain) is Annie’s sister from another litter. Momma cat and the likely daddy of them lived across from me where the guy fed them with his brood of fixed felines. She looks like her dad, with Tabby markings/Siamese coloring, has the crossed eye look, and that whiney Siamese meow. As her full name implies, she is not a graceful animal, with a funny shape to her hips, She fell in a fruitless Mulberry tree and though 6 feet off the ground, I needed an 8 foot ladder and stood nearly atop it to get her out of the “cage” she fell into. She was that much work, she became my cat.
    She’s named after Michelle Pfeiffer’s character in Lady Hawk because she was chasing a dust mote or something in a circle and had that confused look like when the rabbit escaped Pfeiffer in her first scene.
    She has not aged as well as Michelle Pfeiffer, and needs to diet (as do I, so can’t judge).
    Annie and Isabeau are the only two cats not named for were I got them.

    My youngest is Allie Alvarado (gee, guess where I acquired her). She is a muted tortie and a lovable spook. She tuns into Gossamer when the folks show up

    or if I run the shop vac, or if I run the house vac, or if I work in the basement, or, or, or who knows.
    She runs, hides, and hisses at the other two for days after an upset, but at night demands attention (Let me sleep! PLEASE!) or wants to sleep on my chest, tickling my face with her overly long whiskers and eyelashes.
    I was running into Brookshire’s and two ladies had her trying to give her away. They even offered the carrier she was in to sweeten the deal. I said if no one took her before I came back out, I’d take her (she was cute as a button, and sweet).
    I was on my motorcycle.
    loaded groceries in the bags and trunk on the bike, unzipped the jacket and tucked her in, gave back the carrier and rode home, she purred the whole way.
    She also does the random cat crazy run through the house bit, and occasionally she and Annie decide they are going to kill each other.

  9. We have one three-year-old, Blue — not the most imaginative name (he’s half Russian Blue and half gray tabby; mostly taking after the Russian Blue side of the family but his coat is darker). He’s a big baby, and is tickled pink that we now have Granddaughter living with us because she is willing to take care of a litter box so he can be in the house most of the time. He does still revert to kittenhood on occasion and chases Granddaughter around, pouncing on her toes.

    We also have Ladybug, usually called Bug, who is an honorary cat. I wasn’t feeling well when we got her four years ago, and rather than deal with a crying puppy, at night I would put her out in the pump house, where we had a momma cat with several kittens who were a few weeks older than the puppy. Bug slept in a pile with the kittens until she got bigger than them (which took a while — she’s a Rat Terrier and isn’t much bigger than Blue even now). She doesn’t like Blue much, though, because he used to pounce on her when she was under the covers on my bed. They don’t fight, but she doesn’t trust him any farther than she can throw him. In the house they are fine, but when they are both outside she likes to chase him and give him a hard time (they have both gotten onto the roof of the house via the wood pile a few times).

    We have two other dogs, but they live outside and don’t think they are cats.

    1. We have an elderly schnauzer, Toby, who was irked when we first started having housecats (when he was a middle aged schnauzer), since in his opinion cats were for chasing outside when he managed to escape. However, he’s a good dog, so he’s never tried to chase cats since. The long-suffering look he gets on his face when the cats are rubbing up against him is hilarious, though. It’s only recently that he’s started snarling back when one of the kitties suddenly takes exception to him and takes a (velveted) swipe at him. Since they do it for no apparent reason, I don’t really blame him for taking a snap back…

  10. Who has the most articulately vocal cat? To show what I mean; I once rented a room in Baltimore. The Son of the house was named Malcolm, and his cat (a grey shorthair named Batman) would occasionally wander around the house asking for him by name.

    “Malcolm! Maaaaalcolm!”

    “He isn’t here, Batman. Have you tried upstairs?”

    “Mrrrrrp!” Wanders off. “Maowlcolm! (receding)”

    1. One of our cats says, “Brrrt meeeowwt! Brrrrt mmeeeowwwtt!” when he wants to go outside. Accompanied by head butts.

      1. There is an absolutely classic Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers bit in which Fat Freddy’s Cat is sitting by the back door;

        Cat, “Meowout Me-yout!”

        Fat Freddy, “What do you want, kitty?”

        Cat, “Me! Yout! Meee-yout! Prowwwwwl Nowww!”

        FF, “What are you making all that noise about? Do you want to go out?”

        Cat (jumping up), Meeeeeeyout!”

        FF lets him out.

        Cat, down by the garbage cans, speaking Cat to his friends, “I swear, they’re so stupid, they don’t even understand you when you speak their own language!”

        1. It has been years (YEARS) since I saw a Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers comic. You’ve given me a FLASHBACK, maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnnnnnnnnn!

          1. There’s an omnibus edition. A little expensive, but worth it, since it has the complete “Idiots Abroad” story. The FFF Bros are one of the few worthwhile things to come out of the underground comix movement. Otherwise the majority of the comix produced seem to be proof of my law that “Surrealism in a narrative art form is tolerable for five pages or fifteen minutes, whichever comes first”.

    2. An odd question. The clearest was a cat in my teens who could clearly speak my name and “help” and a few others, including a swear word. The fun came from pretending the cat was only meowing when guests were present, and watching their “Am I going nuts?” looks.

      Ours is nowhere as articulate, but is certainly vocal. This cat mutters. He thinks we should understand him, and he gets frustrated. Usually we end up doing the 20 questions thing and seeing if we guess right.

      The most amusing was the morning some outside cats were meowing to each other. I opened the door to the screen porch to let ours out, and they immediately stopped. As soon as I closed the door, they started back.

      1. Yeah, my cat’s a grumbler, and we’re fairly certain that most of it is probably feline profanities, since he usually does it immediately after being told NO.

      2. My beloved-but-dumb-but-beloved Maine Coon had numerous feline words but never tried Human. He did, however, have distinct, repeated vocalizations for “Bye, I’m walking out”, “Bye, I’m jumping up” (depending on the manner in which he was leaving my personal space) and “Kindly do not sit on or trip over me, o Ape Without Night Vision” (used only when one of the humans was nearby when the lights were off) and a few other situations.

        1. Pixel, for all he also talked hooman also had his own peculiar sounds, one of which we guessed was “smug bragging” translated as “damn skippy!” Usually an answer to “Are you the most beautiful and smartest boy in the world?”

    3. Fat Cat’s brother has a particular chirp he uses for me, but only at night when it’s bedtime and he wants pets (being pretty independent most of the rest of the time). Fat Cat has a particular “brrt” he makes when he’s trying to wake me up to feed him in the morning.

      Not as cool as actually asking for someone by name, though!

      1. Our only talking cat right now is older son’s cat. If older son just changed his schedule (as happens ALL THE TIME due to 3rd year medical school) he gets antsy and demands to be let up from basement apartment. Then he roams our house top to bottom yelling for Robert.

  11. No cats here. However, the toddler’s hair, as described by herself after the grass fairies’* handiwork is removed, is “chocolate marshmallow fluff.” To the best of my knowledge, this child has never had any marshmallow fluff.** However, everyone agrees it’s an accurate description.

    Is that sufficiently floofy to count?

    *Grass fairies are the particular type to blame for knots in her ultrafine, soft, curly hair. Don’t know where she got them came from, except that sort of tangle is called fairy knots.

    **There’s an elderly Sunday School teacher, has taught pre-school Sunday School for more than fifty years, yet has never quite grasped that sugar before sermon is a Really Bad Idea who may very well have introduced marshmallow fluff to the child.

    1. Probably related to the deacon at the place where I currently sing who slips mini chocolate bars to some of the kids. Only one per child per service, though.

  12. Three cats and one puppy. Checking in.

    Silver. Light gray tabby grumpy old lady now at 18 1/2. Still dotes on big brother who conned dad in to bringing her home; okay mom helped: Big Brother “Mom how can I get dad to bring home my cat?” Mom: “Have dad hold her when he drops you off.” Dad: “When you pick up the kid, bring the cat carrier.”

    Lil Bit: 4 years old. Long hair floof white with black and gray patches. Siblings and taken in by neighbors. Mom & Dad got conned into a 4rd cat (at that time). Big brothers Emmy and Cyr’s passed away soon after (ages 16 and 19). Lost big sister (English Toy Spaniel) last year (2016) just after Christmas.

    Thump. 2 years old. Still very much a kitten. Mom found me along a busy road when I was only 3 weeks old. Big sisters above don’t appreciate me. Not the most quite cat, everyone can hear me thumping around. Also, my nick name is Trouble. Mom won’t let the other cats call me P.I.T.A.

    Pepper: Hi. I am the newest fur sibling and the most important, cause I am the royal puppy. It is my job to protect everyone and make sure all my fur siblings get a lot of exercise whether they want to or not. When mom & dad brought me home Thump thought I was a new toy. Silver and Lil Bit said “You did What?!!!!” Silver hisses and swipes at me, Lil Bit yells at me, and Thump chases and ambushes me; but I know they all love me.

  13. When I first met my Lady, she had a cat named Imp, which was short for Improper Indefinite Integral (who has been fixed so she can’t have derivatives). My Lady was a Math Science major; could you tell?

    Imp had been left in the stairwell between two women’s dorms. No worries there, eh?

  14. Sadly, no kitties in our house — too little space, really, and the kids have their allergies. The only animals we do have are the mice, and they weren’t exactly invited. I know the name of only one of them: Skidoo taunts me by running across the master bedroom, evading the traps I’ve set. We’re mortal enemies.

    Maybe we do need a cat after all.

  15. There was a tv show, named Galavant, (’15-’16). One episode had a lady-friend of Galavant at the ferry-boarding dock to Spinster Island, where each woman boarding was issued a cat.

  16. We have three cats to whom we are staff.
    Purru – a mostly Maine Coon black over brown/grey tabby, was a BIG boy, but had dropped to only 16 lbs in his old age. Very vocal, will sit alongside anyone, but will only sit laps for a very few (not me).
    Goldie – a soft triple-chocolate tortoiseshell coat wrapped around a rugby ball. Lap and chest-sitter, head-butter, and general ball of affection. Also about 15 lbs, but mostly just fat.
    Weiss – An Aryan(white fur, intensely blue eyes) part Persian longhair, both big and fat. His place is in the sun unless there is an unoccupied lap, of a recently refilled food dish.
    As Purru is the most communicative, the other cats tell him what the want, and as the elder and shop steward, he communicates their need, wants, and desires to us, along whti the imperative – Naaooowww.
    Give Havey a skritch for us. Thanks.

  17. I have birds in control of my household: Miss Dolly Parrot, a 37-year-old blue-fronted Amazon who’s been with me for 7 years now, plus two 20+ year-old cockatiels, Squirt and Mr. Beaker. Everyone’s really old, Squirt doesn’t spend all day on my shoulder anymore because he doesn’t like to get too far from his cage, but he makes up for it by screaming until I go over and pick him up instead.

      1. I completely understand – I love cats, but I’m allergic, too. It doesn’t stop me from playing with my friends’ cats whenever I’m around them, I just have a miserable night afterward.

        1. I have noticed that such people tend to miss that the “edge” on which they are tottering is the edge of sanity.

      1. Also the giant blue demon horse. Which did in fact cause it’s sculptor’s death. O.O I’m sure the idea was “Denver Broncos, they do orange and blue, so we’ll have a blue horse with orange eyes, that’ll be great, right?”

        Instead, you have some fifty feet or so of 100% pure high-grade nightmare fuel…

        1. I remember reading that he’d been done in when one of his works fell on him, but for some reason I thought it was the folk dancers, not the horse. (The art museum at ENMU has a number of his sculptures.)

  18. Total tangent;

    Anybody feel like listing books they wish somebody would get into ebook format?

    I’ll start off with; somebody please get THE BUTTERFLY KID done. I got a version for me through Blue Leaf Book Scanning, but I don’t have the right to post it.


    Then, I just yesterday went to look and discovered that THE YEARS WITH ROSS isn’t available.

    Anyone else?

      1. I somehow missed that one. Possibly because my late father was the adopted son of a Methodist minister. He loved his parents, but his mother was muc concerned with ‘what people will think’ and this severely constrained his childhood. I know he never forgave the ‘safety first’ types who managed to outlaw fireworks so thoroughly just when he would have been old enough to use them as an adult. I expect his library at home was heavy with ‘improving’ books for children.

  19. We have Motorhead-a classic tabby rescued out of the engine compartment of my van-and Tumbling, who we think is at least part Manx, based of her strange not cat-like behavior, round body, and stubby tail.


    F.D.C. Willard (ca. 1968–1982) was the pen name of a Siamese cat named Chester, who internationally published under this name on low temperature physics in scientific journals, once as a co-author and another time as the sole author.


    The American physicist and mathematician Jack H. Hetherington, Michigan State University, in 1975 wanted to publish some of his research results in the field of low–temperature physics in the scientific journal Physical Review Letters. A colleague, to whom he had given his paper for review, pointed out that Hetherington had used the first person plural in his text, and that the journal would reject this form on submissions with a sole author. Rather than take the time to retype the article to use the singular form, or to bring in a co-author, Hetherington decided to invent one.[1]


    F. D. C. Willard’s Signature
    Hetherington had a Siamese cat named Chester, who had been sired by a Siamese named Willard. Fearing that colleagues might recognize his pet’s name, he thought it better to use the pet’s initial. Aware that most Americans had at least two given names, he invented two more given names based on the species name for a house cat, Felis domesticus, and abbreviated them accordingly: F.D.C. His article entitled “Two-, Three-, and Four-Atom Exchange Effects in bcc ³He”, written by J.H. Hetherington and F.D.C. Willard, was accepted by the Physical Review, published in number 35 (November 1975).[2][3]

    At the 15th International Conference on Low Temperature Physics in 1978 in Grenoble, Hetherington’s co-author was exposed: Hetherington had signed copies of his article, had included the “signature” (paw prints) of his co-author, and had sent them to friends and colleagues.[4] Later, another essay appeared, now solely authored by F.D.C. Willard, entitled “L’hélium 3 solide. Un antiferromagnétique nucléaire”, published (in French) in September 1980 in the French popular science magazine La Recherche.[5][3] Subsequently, Willard disappeared as an author from the professional world.


    The unmasking of Hetherington’s co-author on the Physical Review essay, which was frequently referenced,[6] caused the co-authorship to become world-famous. The story goes that when inquiries were made to Hetherington’s office at Michigan State University, and Hetherington was absent, the callers would ask to speak to the co-author instead.[7] F.D.C. Willard appeared henceforth repeatedly in footnotes, where he was thanked for “useful contributions to the discussion” or oral communications,[1] and even offered a position as a professor.[8] F.D.C. Willard is sometimes included in lists of “Famous Cats” or “Historical Cats”. As an April Fool’s joke, in 2014 the American Physical Society announced that cat-authored papers, including the Hetherington/Willard paper, would henceforth be open-access (papers of the APS usually require subscription or membership for web access).[9]

  21. Cats like Havey are why we want to start allergy shots for our allergic child. Thanks for the introduction.

    1. The allergic challenge from the cat is commonly from anigens in the cat’s saliva. Frequent brushing and “sponge baths” with warm water soaked terry cloth (wash rags) may reduce the antigen load. After cat contact, NEVER allow the child to touch his/her face until the child has washed its paws – er – hands.

  22. Hewwo, Havey! Ai am Elrond Half-Siamese. Mai mommeh rites 2. Ai fink Ai have herd her tawk abowt riting 4 ur mommeh on dis blog. It habs been awile but Ai fink Ai wunse rote 4 her blog 2. Ai wud have 2 look an see, tho. It is hard wif no fumbs, dont u fink?

    Sowwy Ai am late posting. Ai haz 2 wate until Mommeh an Dawwell goes 2 bed an den sneeks on da puter, so sumtiems Ai am late.

    Do u helps ur mommeh rite, too? Ai wike to help. Most ob de tiem Ai keeps her feetses warm, but Ai also helps wif her gawwey poofs. Heer iz a pichur ob me helping wif her gawwey poofs.

    Ai wikes 2 help Mommeh. Her snugguls gud. Dawwell gibs pickups an cawwys. Ai am glad u posted 2 ur mommehs blog. Ai hoeps u do it moar, soon!

      1. “cat-like typing detected.”
        Yes. Dis maeks sens bcaws Ai am cat. Ai nawt hav fumbs. Ai do best Ai can wif 8 toez.

        Ai am on erleer 2day becaws Mommeh has a code in her noes. Ai helped her seep most ob 2day. Ai lade down on her an purrd. Her an Dawwell cawl me her kitteh twank…twaq… lemme go luk dis up. BRB.

        Ooo, dat nawt at awl wike Ai thot it wuz spelld.

        Ai am her kitteh…lessee…kitteh TRANQUILIZER. Dass it. Ai laze on her an purrs, an her seeps. Long as Ai do dat, her seeps. Dawwell finks its funneh.

        Havey, haz u twied dat 4 ur mommeh? It mite help her hedake.

  23. My old tail-gate beast seems to be mutant with built-in steel-tip high heels which she uses to dig a nest right in the center of “things”, if I am foolish enough to try and doze on my back. In the mean time she will mumble, yodel, wail the song of her people. Then she snores, loudly. My friend with the dangerous eyes, on the other side of the Great River, lives with Cali (Calico) of the Corn, a critter that emrged from the tall stalks and choose her humaness. This fine fuzzy floats gently as a mist (it is the static electricity in the long furry parts, I am sure.) until she finds a suitable place of repose. I read that fish have a swim bladder that provides adjustable bouyancy. Cali of the Corn has a gravitational accumulator such that, when I am roused from a nap by the inability to breathe, I can see the image of the blinds, or furniture dip over her body as evidence of some sort of Einsteinian gravitational anomaly. I can only escape with my life if I make a rattling sound similar to that of kibble in its supply bag. We estimate she accumulates approximately 800 pounds while snoring. I have taken to wearing sox with my name, SSN and DOB embroidered just in case I can’t get enough breath to make the sound of kibble arriving. At other times, Cali of the Corn, is “flop-a-doodle”, rolling over, insatiable, for rubs, pets and brushing. She is a lovely critter, if you survive. I’ve known other creatures like that. [You just know that both of these feline critters are in communication, “I know where you have been, Human. Traitor! My nest is cold!”]

  24. The cats are all my mother’s. Always have been.
    There have been the Scottish Folds, who were demonstrative, as well as being fuzzy. (Yes, you could say “fluff”, even.)
    Then there was Casper – totally white, and *deaf*. When he yowled it was … well, spooky. No pitch or volume control. And loved to sneak up on the other cats.
    Numerous tabbies, who seemed to always be the matriarchs of the clan.

    Dad had the dogs. Always cocker spaniels. And an occasional mutt.

    Our dog is now 14. An Australian Cattle Dog (Red, not Blue).
    I only wish my son had taken seriously the idea of training her to agility courses. I’ve seen her ninja run almost to the top of a 6′ privacy fence, for a good 10 feet. (Yes, chasing a squirrel. She has caught some.)

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