On Monday, at the grocery store with Guamaniac, we talked each other in to getting a box of "Smokey Bacon & Cheddar" crackers. Oh my fucking god. I can't stop eating them. Other than I was forced to when the bag was suddenly empty. Cruelly empty. Probably because I made that deal with the devil when I was 12 and got my ears pierced. I always knew he'd be back to claim my soul, and my soul was in those damn crackers. Fuck you, devil. You got me this time.
In honor of the one-week anniversary of the Orange Lover's death, I give you this picture of him and baby Whoopis.
Look how kind he is with that kitten dancing on his butt. This is in Boston, and I have such amazing memories of that summer. So at least I can look at this picture and laugh. Even though Whoopis did almost die that night because he got his little jaw stuck under the collar and was choking (we realized later that the dancing was him hating the collar, which led to him trying to get it off by putting his jaw under it--poor kitty and his tiny bitty brain). Wikus and I just managed to get the damn thing off as he was turning blue.
The things we have gone through with our cats. Remind me to discuss the one time Whoopis' sister (Wikus has her) bit the tip of her tail right off in complete panic mode. Or how we saved the Bear from a life on the streets and being forced to inhale marijuana from our stoned neighbors. Even Mattress has his stories, like how he has gay legs and will totally act like a pussy when someone shoves a thermometer up his ass.
3 comments:
Man, I couldn't agree more about ol' Patty. What really incenses me is his amazing abuse of power. He is willing to transmit his prejudice and hate to hundreds of thousands of little sheep who love the 700 Club. It's one thing to feel something irrational and despicable. But it's another to encourage other people to feel the same way. Jeez. I would settle for having his jaw wired shut for the rest of his days.
The picture of Whoopis and handsome robust Orange Lover is so sweet. I haven't seen many pictures of O.L. in his prime. What a beautiful coat. Did he ever have a strutting phase? Because he could really have worked that look. But I bet he was too sweet and humble. I love when handsome boy cats forget every bit of their dignity and act like love slaves. Morton and I have a regular morning snuggle going on these days, and he's so addicted to it. Please give your sweet boy cats a hug for me. I will trust them to hug you back in my place. Thinking of you guys --
You are so kind, D.! Seriously, only his jaw wired shut. It's not enough. I really do enjoy fantasizing horribly vicious acts of atrocity against him. Today, I am imagining him under a pile of concrete and rebar, and he is calling out for help, and everyone is walking by, totally ignoring him. He's in the dark, he's cold, his spine is snapped, and I come by and tell him that he just wasn't a good enough Christian for anyone to save him, and maybe he should spend some time asking God for forgiveness, and he'll know when he's been forgiven when someone stops to help him.
As far as the people who are listening to him and taking him to heart, the sad reality is that if it wasn't dickweed Pat Robertson, it would be some other person. Those sheep want to be led, and they have a particular affinity for hate speak. Just as there are liberal sheep who only soak up crazy conspiracy nonsense and anarchy.
As to Orange Lover and his gorgeously thick coat, he wore it with the respect it deserved but with humility, too. Like a lion. He was proud yet kind. You know, so Aslan! Whoopis misses him terribly. Glad for your morning snuggles with Morton--so jealous!
I can't wait to hear how the job is going. Fill me in when you can. Life must just be so full of new experiences and surprises right now!
Buh. You're so right. I am way too soft on crime. Your suggestion would be a much more, er, teachable moment!
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