Tuesday, March 31, 2015

A Box of Harris: Advanced Packing, Part 2

Earlier, Harris demonstrated Part 1 of "Packing Techniques for Your Harris." Now he's moved on to the second part of the program. If you've been observant, you will have noted that Harris's various appendages have proven problematic — except for his tail. And that, it would seem, is the key to successful Harris packing. Keep the tail in the box, and the rest will eventually follow. More or less.

Without further ado:

Monday, March 30, 2015

A Box of Harris: Advanced Packing, Part 1

Harris has thoughtfully provided a two-part demonstration on advanced techniques for packing a Harris into a small box — I guess this is his "carry-on" demo. It is not simple to fit a Harris into such a container, but it can be achieved with sufficient patience, creativity, and fortitude. More or less.

Here's Part 1. Carry on, Harris:

Stay tune for Part 2, tomorrow.

Sunday, March 29, 2015


I promised Possum that I would stop posting so many photos of him out cold on his back, showing his belly. He's embarrassed; he thinks that's how you all think of him. (Which is how you should think of him because he does indeed look like that much of the time, including right now.)

Anyway, I told him that if he wanted me to stop taking belly photos, he had to help me out by being awake every so often. So here he is. 

This is a rare photo because Possum is A) awake, B) in a non-compromising pose, and C) not sitting or lying on my husband. I won the Trifecta. I doubt it will happen again any time soon.

Saturday, March 28, 2015

Flowers for (Another) Snowy Morning

We're having a snow shower this morning, with big wet flakes coming down hard and fast. I don't really mind but I bet plenty of people do, so let's enjoy some flowers from Boden. Their spring prints have a bright, 1960's look that suits my current mood, since Easter is next Sunday and the last episodes of Mad Men will start airing that night.

I almost never wear floral prints but I enjoy seeing them on other women and these are a treat for the eyes after during this long winter.

Vintage Bow Dress in a watercolor floral (when I was little, my mother and my aunts had lovely summer dresses cut like this one):
 Pandora Skirt in silk organza (sheer organza is a rarity... check out the pastels on white, too):

Easy Printed Tee (I'm ready for a flowery tee, to brighten up jeans and denim skirts):

Navy Bella Slingback Flats (rhinestones + paillettes = blossoms):

Bistro Shorts (remember shorts? Boden makes a tee and some dresses in this print, too):
Chelsea Leather Slingbacks (if you wanted these last spring, they're on sale now, and also in blue):

Silky Vintage Top (I'd wear this with white jeans if I could ever keep a pair of white jeans clean for more than 10 minutes, which I absolutely can't do):

Soft Leather Bowling Bag (vaguely "Liberty" and half-price):

It's still snowing...

Thursday, March 26, 2015

Five Cats

We usually see four, not five, cats together on the bed. I'd left some clean laundry there, which proved irresistible to Toffee, who usually curls up on a nearby chair. This was taken in the evening without flash, so it's not a great photo (although you could call that effect chiaroscuro, I suppose) but it documents that all five are friends.

It also shows that five isn't that many, even in a small apartment. When they are gathered here, the rest of our place is cat-free or, as some might put it, bereft of felinity. My husband and I only discovered they were all together because we were alone in the living room grumbling: "I thought we had some cats? Didn't we have lots of them? Why aren't there any anywhere?"

This is not to say that we think we need more cats. We realize we are at budget capacity, since the food we've chosen for them is quite expensive. We are also at litter-box capacity, at least until we move. We are also at attention capacity, since three cats want plenty, and the other two want it sometimes. And three also like a few play sessions with pole toys every day. So we're busy enough with five.

And then there are times when most of them are lounging in the living room and we have nowhere to sit.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015


The slumbering beastie...

The little Lion stirs...

And behold:

So there!

Sunday, March 22, 2015

The New Appliance

Suddenly, there it was, sitting on the counter: a new, serious-looking piece of kitchen equipment. But what was it? 

It was not a coffeemaker, blender, or seltzer machine. Nor was it a cookie jar, although I have one that's very similar that used to sit right there: a ceramic orange tabby. The head on this one doesn't come off, though, and that capacious belly is not hollow.

It could be some type of dishwashing device but it doesn't seem very reliable or hygienic. 

It could also be used to prop up a cookbook but, again, not reliably.

It could be a toaster. You could put the bread underneath it and eventually the bread would get warm, which is about all we can expect from our electric toaster, with whom we have a longstanding disagreement over its household duties.

So, yes, perhaps it's a new, improved toaster. But I wanted to be sure.

So I asked it. "What the heck are you supposed to be doing up there?"

It said, "I'm a popcorn tester. Give me some, and if it's any good, I'll tell you."

Saturday, March 21, 2015

Cake for Breakfast

The other day, the cats' breakfast chef discovered that they had tried to help themselves and give him the morning off. Our talented Harris (it's always Harris, trust me) had even managed to get the cake to land face up although he couldn't get the lid off (I have trouble, too). He got extra points for not making a mess, but he still had to settle for chicken, lamb, or duck for breakfast.

Notice how no one is looking at the crime scene, just everywhere else.

Thursday, March 19, 2015

Our Fluffy Academic

My husband calls Possum "Professor Crossypaws" for obvious reasons. He also took this picture, which I love. I adore all of our cats but Possum and I have a special bond... even if he's been spending most of his time curled up with my husband instead of ME.

Feeling a little jealous, you ask? 



Don't worry, I won't fall into total despair and down a mango-Drano smoothie. I'll just sing along to Roy Orbison as I watch my most precious, beloved, soulmate of a cat snuggling day and night with someone else — although it's painful to see his rapt, adoring gaze. And all the while, said husband is struggling to remain glued to his laptop despite the large distracting object that keeps appearing inconveniently between his head and the screen.

My weapon is Truth. I've taken to reminding Possum that I had to fight to get him. That a certain party didn't want him because of his clipped ear. I won't waste your time listing the pithy points I used to demolish his argument that Possum was not right for us because of his ear. (Oh, for god's sake....) I'll just say that I was "emphatic" and that a certain party was forcibly gotten over the ear thing long ago.

And then I can't help mentioning to Possum that, back when we'd first met him, a certain party also demanded that we only get a female kitten, which the rescue people had said Possum was. I'd wanted a male, because we already had Wendy, but I fell in love with Possum. (The other party preferred his sister, with two whole ears.) "He's a little BOY!" I crowed in delight after his foster mom called with the surprising news after his pre-adoption vet visit. (He was fluffy and already neutered.)

I won that argument, too.

Possum doesn't even blink when I tell him this stuff. He's heard it before and moved on: no grudge-holding from Possum. Male bonding and intense academic collaboration continue.

So then I'm forced to strike where it matters. "Possum," I say, "He might MAKE the popcorns, but who GIVES you the popcorns? Did he ever spare a single piece from his bowl for you? No! Never!"

Possum is a new popcorn convert — a popcorn fiend, in fact. My husband acts oblivious to his intense pressure tactics, but I dutifully take handfuls of popcorn and carefully inspect and edit them to a few perfect pieces with no sharp bits of unpopped shell that could cause choking. And when Possum gets them all soggy and disgusting because he's lousy at eating popcorn, I scoop up the wet bits with my fingers so he can finish them off.

I deserve a ton of credit for this, I do.

Talking about popcorn always gets his attention, so then I say, "And what about the bicycle rickshaw? Spring is coming! WHO is going to have time to pedal you around to the restaurant dumpsters of your choice, and WHO is too busy working 80 hours a week to ever take you anywhere but to the vet?

If I'm lucky he'll feel guilty and visit me in the middle of the night, walking around on me as I'm curled up on my side. It's awkward and his feet feel very hard and pointy at that hour, but I'll take what I can get.