At the altar of cats

These are two of my daughter's cats. Jasper and Shadus. They think they are her real parents. Each morning - and oh this is so gross -- but each morning, there is a dead little creature on our front porch.



We really think it's Jasper who is doing this.

He is sneakier than the others. Doesn't show the same open affection as the others, and stalks my daughter more than the others.

Perhaps he is rebelling because she once tried to keep him on a leash.

But we really don't know. We just know, that every morning, there is one or more small dead creature on our porch. (May they rest in peace)

There are several schools of thought about this.

1. Your cat loves you dearly, worships you so much that he is bringing you an offering.

2. Your cat thinks you are a total inept human bean who can't take care of themselves.

3. Your cat is reminding you to feed him.

4. Your cat takes great pleasure in dining at home.

The weird thing about this is, it just started a few weeks ago. So what I am thinking is, they think (one of them or all, as you never know with cats, as they could have formed an alliance to get their message across), they think someone should be there with their food very first thing in the AM. Which we are not. (Cats were gods in Egypt, you know, and they have never forgotten that)

And, we have found out that if you leave their food there for them the night before, they don't like *that* food in the morning. Their food must be poured fresh out of that bag, and they are much happier about the whole thing, if they hear the sound of it coming out of the bag, and they can bump your arm, so that it spills everywhere. Oh joy, they do a happy dance for that one act of rebellion. I did read a head butt from a cat is suppose to represent love, but you know, I'm not sure I buy that.

These cats are not mine. They belong to my daughter, or she belongs to them, not sure which. Her dad and I were never animal people. We love animals, of course, who doesn't love animals? -- we just love them in their natural habitat. We love other peoples' animals. We have, many times, taken care of other people's animals and done a very good job.

But, our daughter is crazy smiten for animals. She is a vegetarian (and would own every little kitty within her reach if she could). When she and I go for walks, we see more cats than I ever, ever see when I walk with someone else. It is to the point of weird. Cat radar or something ....

How do people get like that?

I suppose it's one of those things I will never know the answer, too.

"I got shot off my horse,

So what, I'm up again"* ...

Everything is supposed to happen in threes, say the old legends and tales, and stories from the twilight zone, and old ladies in airports.

The end of last week, I fell over my dishwasher. Well, actually, I flew over my dishwasher, as the door was down and I was walking while reading, which I thought was not as bad as running with scissors, but as truths are told in fables, alas, it is probably the same thing, as some part of my body hit something foreign and large, and then the standard line beginning 'next thing I knew' enters my story...

I was on the floor, somewhere in the kitchen, while various parts of my body began wondering what had happened, as my brain began to register the feel of the signals of pain and send messages under lined with the subtext of 'you idiot'.

Yet, I have to say, 'my egregious error', as it had been I who left the dishwasher door open, prone to the multitasking gene that would probably function better with medication that I have always refused to take, thinking myself better than most at multi-tasking, but certainly proving by my life that is not even so in the slightest regard. Perhaps I should, again, weigh the good and bad of that decision.

Blathering on, I was to discover, that was one of two because yesterday, I was stabbed by the silverware in my dishwasher. It was a direct hit with a very sharp knife, most likely the only one I own, and the penetration of said weapon entered in the finger, again most likely, the only place where blood would profusely flow at a great speed making one unable to find the wound directly upon observation, and so causing a peril of panic in the mind. I mean ~*blood* ~ so, surely, we are perhaps maybe could be dying.

While addressing that wound, that's when it hit me ~ I am on the count down of doom list, as everyone knows --Things happen in threes.


Threes. One, two ....


Oh dread, now I must wait for the one more thing that might kill me. Perhaps, I should go to bed and stay there.

As it happens, according to all who gather statistics and put them in places where you can find them easily with a quick Goggle search just in case you should wish to scare yourself with something that day, and, myself already knowing the grand total of most accidents happen in the home, and, I am standing there, in the place where I had, on many occasions, considered myself safe, but was now on my way to bearing out two of the most dreaded statements we all live with:

1. Things (always) happen in threes.

2. Most (the majority of) accidents happen in the home.

And with the most serious accidents being credited to the kitchen (look it up)! My thinking was, after being flailed across the kitchen and stabbed by my dishwasher, I should go work outside today.

Hah! It didn't take long for the strings in the universe to connect the dots belonging to human behavior and zero in on keeping with those strange truths that we pass on for generation to generation.... And, bingo!

My hand clippers chopped off a piece of my thumb.

But, tedious as it may have been, it's over now, and I am out of the legend of curses loop and ready to live another day.

Have a safe and happy day,


Miss Roxie

*Mark Knopfler ~ Everybody pays to play

Put out there what you want...

Giving is supposed to be the way to get what you need. Empty a place and a place will be filled with the *things* you need.

So, today, I will put it out there. I will give gifts of *something* and see what comes back to me.

Top 10 Reasons for choosing a wine

10. Someone brought the bottle to your house. To be polite you try it even though you are sure you saw this exact bottle in the markdown bin at the Dollar General. (Even though you think it unusual to find wine on your front porch. Already opened...)

9. You thought you were going to be invited to a party, so you bought some wine you thought would be appropriate i.e. cheap and on sale cheaper, and had a nice label, and you didn't go to the party because, actually, well, you weren't invited, so might as well drink the wine.

8. It was cheap. And right in the end cap so you didn't have far to walk. Made it easy to grab a bag of chips on the way out. Maybe some M & M's.

7. It was a small store and your choices were limited., and you only had that $10.00 you stole.

6. You read the back of the bottle and the story seemed interesting enough to be enticing. (Do you read those stories? They are like little novellas! I mean, that's why I bought Goats Do Roam.)

5. It came with a coupon for $1.00 off chicken or fish or a $10.00 rebate (that you thought was for one bottle, but really was for purchasing 10 bottles. You are wondering does your boss care you haven't been to work all week.)

4. You thought someone might have told you about this wine. If it was a good friend, you are thinking this might be a good wine. Usually, it is.

3. The get-a-way car was running and the line on the gas gauge says E in red.

2. Someone left it in a grocery cart.

1. The name of the wine is Xplorador and since Dora the Explorer is the only show your granddaughter is allowed to watch, you think "hey, you know it's got to be good!" (This is actually a true story. It was a Chilean wine ~ merlot, from French grapes vines the Spaniards brought to Chili -- I read the story on the back . And, I added the *a* at the end. Clever...)