
Category: Cats
Morning report

No, you haven’t stroked out. All is well. What you’re seeing is the wind-driven rain smearing Miss Mia Sopaipilla’s upper-deck observation window.
Frankly, she finds this irksome. The Enemy is everywhere, and eternal vigilance is the price of liberty, as we discovered last night when a stray cat materialized outside the Southwestern Sally Port.
I was loading the dishwasher when a horrific yowling and clatter nearly gave me a stroke. I thought maybe the Dead had breached the Wall, but nope. It was Mia, scattering the vertical blinds as she marched to and fro alongside the sliding glass doors, challenging a feline interloper to personal combat, while Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment) formulated strategy and tactics from his command post in the rear.
This morning I awakened to find that the commander and his staff duty officer had deployed various biological countermeasures overnight (the Geneva Convention notwithstanding), and terrorists had disabled the coffee grinder. But I was able to bring the base back to full readiness with various cleaning products, some elbow grease and much bad language.
Opening a few windows helped, too, until the rain started coming in sideways.
That is all.
Sinko de Mayo?
The cat’s meow
The Cat on the Street interview

“Impeach him? Of course you impeach him. And convict him, if you haven’t been ‘fixed’ like the Turk, who by the way doesn’t think you ‘fixed’ anything by having his nuts cut off. They weren’t broken, f’chrissake. Not like the Senate’s, anyway. Talk about your nutless wonders.
“If this clown were a cat, we’d have hissed at him and swatted him and run his fat orange ass all the way back to New York by now.
“We’d have shit in Pelosi’s shoes, too. And barfed hairballs into the kneepads McConnell wears when he’s getting the Kentucky Meat Shower at those Federalist Society clusterfucks.
“And to think you call us pussies.”


