Category: Cats

I’m stuck in this old city now

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 5 Comments

Oh, Colorado’s calling me
From her hillsides and her rivers and her mesas and her trees,
When blizzards snap the power lines
And all the toilets freeze
In December in the Colorado Rockies
—Colorado, by Christopher Guest, Sean Kelly and Tony Hendra, 1973

The wind sang us a lullaby, the snow was thick as cream. . . .
The wind sang us a lullaby, the snow was thick as cream. . . .

People and critters get weird around these parts come December. My old pal Hal, who ranches chickens, burros and beeves outside Weirdcliffe, claims the deer ate his Internet the other day. It seems only fair, as he’s been eating them for years, along with elk, antelope, and other four-legged neighbors, generally after shooting them first. But still, it leaves a country boy a tad isolated, especially if his TV blows up about the same time.

Meanwhile, down here in Bibleburg, our large and ferocious feline Turkish has developed a fondness for my lap, in an oddly closeted sort of fashion. If Herself is not in evidence, Turk’ will leap up on my drawing board, stalk across my closed Asus Eee PC laptop to the next table over and give me the big blue eyes until I pat my quads a couple of times. Then he hops aboard and commences to purr, knead, nap and otherwise act like an actual cat instead of a furry Edward Scissorhands.

If anyone walks into the office, of course, I am less of a love boat than a launching pad, much to the detriment of my sweat pants (and quads, or what remains of them). But that’s December in the Colorado Rockies for you.

A harbinger of the season

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 3 Comments
The trees are alive, with the sound of weasels.
The trees are alive, with the sound of weasels.

You know the holidays are upon us when the Wonder Weasels take up residence in the trees. We got another little dusting last night, giving me enough to actually shovel after three straight days of “snow,” but it wasn’t enough to keep Turkish (a.k.a. Turkenstein, The Turkinator, Big Pussy, Mighty Whitey the Wonder Weasel, et al) indoors, where it’s warm and dry.

I myself am having trouble cranking up the required motivation to engage in healthy outdoor exercise, like climbing trees, running or cycling. There’s a brisk wind out of the northeast, it’s still spitting snow, and I don’t sport a thick, furry coat like some of the other creatures inhabiting the DogHaus.

Incidentally, last night’s black bean vegetable soup was edible, but unspectacular, even with a hefty salad and some fresh wheat rolls. What it needed was largish chunks of defunct fellow earth creature: chorizo, Italian sausage, ham, bacon, dark turkey meat, anything along those lines. Vegetables are what food eats.

White tigers in the trees

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 1 Comment

It was a fine day for cats in Bibleburg: upper 60s, sunny, and trees bereft of leaves, which make for excellent birdwatching. It was a tad windy for cycling, so when I gave the VeloNews.com crowd the slip for an hour I rolled on over to Palmer Park, where a guy can dodge the worst of it.

The Mighty Turk does fill up a tree.
The Mighty Turk does fill up a tree.

A cyclo-cross bike is not the ideal machine for Palmer Park, but riding skinny tires and a rigid fork on rocky, sandy single-track has a way of focusing the mind on the task at hand, which is getting exercise without getting killed. Like road riding, only quieter and more scenic.

Speaking of which, a fellow slacker is bound for McDowell Mountain Regional Park tomorrow and a couple weeks of riding in that neck of the Arizona woods. He’s looking at 80-something and sunny, I’m looking at 40-something and breezy. I suspect he invested more wisely than I. I should’ve listened to what my mother told me all those years ago. “What’d she tell you?” you ask. Beats me — I wasn’t listening.