Our “leaders” are sending thoughts and prayers around and about once more, this time to a small Baptist church outside San Antone.
I often think about tacos. (“Man, a taco sure sounds good right about now.”) I have even been known to pray for tacos. (“Jesus, let there be a taco stand around here somewhere!”)
None of this has ever gotten me a single fucking taco.
Friend of the Blog® Jon Paulos asks for a report on the feline members of the household, specifically, how they’ve adjusted to life in the upper reaches of the Chihuahuan Desert after spending their formative years in the posh Patty Jewett Yacht & Lawn Bowling Club.
Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment) finds his new post slightly overwhelming.
Security was incredibly lax when The Commander first arrived to take charge, and he has spent many a long day (and night) napping furiously in search of some solution that doesn’t involve him actually, like, y’know, doing anything.
Aide-de-camp Miss Mia Sopaipilla, meanwhile, inspired by Herself’s midlife career change, is contemplating a lateral move into the library field. She can be seen at right cataloging back issues of Bicycle Retailer and Industry News.
In between naps and feedings they practice biological warfare in the litter box, enjoy occasional outings in the back yard (on harnesses), and keep a weather eye on Mister Boo, because you never know when a 12-year-old, one-eyed Japanese Chin is liable to get Western with you.
Yesterday was a Rivendell kind of day. The trails are usually crawling like anthills on a weekend, and the roads were busy, too. Plus I didn’t feel like doing anything of a serious nature, having chores on the schedule.
So Sam Hillborne and I pooted around on side streets and the Tramway bike path for a spell, just keeping the legs loose.
Some nitwit impatient to make a right turn honked at me as I proceeded through an intersection, with the light and pedestrian crossing signal working in my favor, and I reflected once again how concealed carry is a bad idea on a bicycle, if only for the sag a Ruger Model 3701 puts in a jersey pocket.
Afterward I mowed the weeds and retrieved some video from the old Canon ZR500 MiniDV camcorder, which Herself is eBaying along with a few metric shit-tons of other lightly used and heavily forgotten items cluttering up the nooks and crannies at El Rancho Pendejo.
The process of acquiring video from an old cassette camcorder is time-consuming and irksome, but proved rewarding in this instance. I unearthed some ancient footage of an elderly Chairman Meow and a very young Turkish, back when we still thought he was a she. So stay tuned for a short video trip down memory lane.
Remember the good old days, when there were commies under your bed?
Now it’s just cats. And they’re both under it and on top of it.
For purposes of security, his adjutant and aide-de-camp Miss Mia Sopaipilla favors a (mostly) undisclosed location.
I’ve wondered more than once whether they’re solar-powered. If so, their batteries should be topped off nicely.
Field Marshal Turkish von Turkenstein (Lord Commander, 1st Feline Home Defense Regiment) is taking his duties very seriously indeed as we gird for the dawn of the New World Ordure.
You will notice, for example, his steely gaze. Resolute, is it not?
Also, and too, the crumpled papers with which he has surrounded the Turkenbunker. No jackbooted Trumpetista can approach his position without causing them to rattle. Fear, fire, foes! Awake!
Finally, observe the collected Tolkien in the bookshelf. Instant access to comprehensive advice as regards the arts of war and magic!
We all may sleep a little easier tonight.
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