Tag: Miss Mia Sopaipilla

Rise and shine

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 10 Comments
Time for coffee.

Fall back. As in, fall back into bed for another hour.

Or, you can just not get up. Which is what I did.

Herself arose as per usual. Miss Mia Sopaipilla doesn’t know from time changes, and she will parade up and down the hall giving out with “Reveille” until someone — almost always Herself — gets up, marches into the kitchen, and pours some chow into her bowl.

I’m not a morning person, no matter what time it is. I like this bed. I paid for half of it, and I’m gonna get my money’s worth, thank you very much.

As long as someone feeds the cat. Jesus. Sounds like Marjorie Taylor Greene and Louie Gohmert doing the nasty out there.

Going to the mattresses

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 6 Comments
“Is there a pea under this mattress? I haven’t slept a wink.”

Miss Mia Sopaipilla knows what to do with a brisk fall morning — make a blankie burrito out of herself at the foot of our bed.

Ordinarily she’s not a bed kitty, though if we leave the door ajar at night she will jump on our heads at stupid-thirty to see if we’re interested in playing with and/or feeding her.

But come fall, once everyone’s up and doing their little bits of business, she’ll burrow under the covers and assume her nom du sommeil of Lumpy the Bedbug.

MacArthur, parked

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 8 Comments
Pitter-patter on the patio.

Huh? Whuh? Rain?

Sheeeeeyit, it must be autumn for reals.

Please don’t wake me, no, don’t shake me, leave me where I am, I’m only sleeping.

The weather widget says 64° at 2 in the peeyem, which is quite a departure from the usual around these parts at that time of day.

It makes for fine napping weather if you have the time for that sort of thing, which Miss Sopaipilla does.

What the hell? She wasn’t expecting a congratulatory phone call from the John D. and Catherine T. MacArthur Foundation, and neither was I.

Shit. I should’ve taken a nap too. No wonder I keep missing out on the genius grants.

 

Mission accomplished

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 5 Comments
The backyard maple is shedding leaves, and it’s not even Labor Day yet.

’Twas a glorious day to ride the bike in ’Burque.

Nobody told me I had waited too long, or left too soon, or was just plain doing it wrong. That I had left my wife and cat behind raised nary an eyebrow among the chattering classes.

This may be because El Rancho Pendejo remained firmly under the control of said wife and cat; their autocratic ways are not exactly breaking news. Herself has been in the driver’s seat since 1990, and Miss Mia Sopaipilla has been a key member of the ruling class for nearly half that time.

In my absence they do exactly as they please, which is pretty much what they do when I’m around, the United Nations and Geneva Conventions be damned.

The only uproar arose when I returned after 90 minutes of pooting around in the foothills on the Co-Motion Divide Rohloff.

“What’s to eat around here?” they yowled. The knives were out, along with the forks. Can a call for comment from The New York Times be far behind?

What a difference a day makes

~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 33 Comments
“Say, does anyone else hear gunfire and sirens?”

If this shit had gone down 24 hours earlier Miss Mia Sopapilla and I would’ve been right in the thick of it.

Miss Mia had an appointment with the veterinarian, and the only thing between her clinic and this firefight is a Valvoline Instant Oil Change shop.

I imagine it’s slightly anaerobic to low-crawl through a fusillade with a cat carrier in one hand and a mask on your mug and only a few barrels of flammable liquids for cover.

Especially if someone has pooped in your pantalones. A fresh set of drawers is not the sort of instant change Valvoline provides.

Meanwhile, a word to the wise: Shooting the John Laws is exceptionally stupid, even for Duke City pistoleros. It only makes them mad. Plus it scares the cats.

Here’s hoping the injured officers recover quickly. I’m very much not looking forward to reading about what swell fellas their assailants were and how their grammies just can’t understand what got into them.