Friday, August 14, 2015

Another Episode in the Ever-Continuing Drama -...Wait For It... - "As the Hairball Hurls"

(Cue organ music and fade..)

Tom (aka Chopin): Well, I've just about had it.

Tinker: Had it? About what?

Tom: All these humans wanting to run our country. The drama is raising my blood

Tinker: Yours? I'm so stressed out, I can't hear myself think.

Tom: Nobody can actually hear themselves think.

Tinker: You have to pick at what I say. Why do you get technical when I'm trying to make a point?

Tom: I can't help it. Here I am, quanderizing about the state of our world and you're saying stupid stuff.

Tinker: Quanderizing? What the hell is that? Let ye who is without sin cast the first stone. Or, have you forgotten?

Tom: Since I AM without sin, you better duck, wise man!

Friday, July 24, 2015

Romeow and Juliet

Tinker here...

In honor of my Gotcha Day, I will share my version of a Shakespearean classic.

As you can see, I am perfect for the role of Romeow ~ handsome, six-pack abs at the ready, a big hunk of lovin' of a big cat (which I know you ladies love), and a darn good actor, if I say so myself. Which, of course, I just did..Here, see for yourselves:

Rrrrruffff...I mean, meow!!

Anyway, I recently starred in a play along with my beautiful Anastasia, who played Juliet. She was calling out to me.."Wherefore art thou, Romeow??"


I arrived right on cue, and boy was I in for a surprise. No sweet-faced, kissable lady love awaited me!


Would you believe it? Listen to what she said to, Romeow!!

"Who the hell are you??"

I froze. What else could I do? This was the unfriendliest Juliet I had ever seen!!!

Finally, my heart stopped pounding and I had an idea. Instead of running away, I decided to go right at her, pretend I didn't hear the insults and make her wonder if I was going to attack from underneath! Hahahahahaha!!

"YOU #$%^&*()_!!!!"

So, what can I say.. We made quick work of one of the most famous plays Shake Speare ever wrote. 

Apologies, Mr. Speare. Maybe next time, we'll find us one of the Merry Wives. 

Sounds good to me already.

Saturday, March 21, 2015

Sock Sorting Saturday

Hi, Bridgie here--

Boy, did I have a surprise this morning! Mom's all ambitious and, wouldn't you know it, I had to get caught up in it! Next thing I know, she's in the sock drawer, going into shock.

"We need to pair socks! This is getting out of hand!" she shrieks. And, of course, my help is required.
Here's how it went:


Socks to the left of me, socks to the right
None of them paired, it's such a fright!

There's a sock for all my colors
But none like me in sight!

Shhhh! She left the room, so I think I'm okay
Where's my Birdie? I wanna play!

Oh! What me not working?
How can that be?
Mom sneaked in and is now looking at me!

No harm done, she says.
Putting the socks away
We'll find mates for these others
Another day.


Wednesday, December 24, 2014

From...The Sound of Mewsic!

Friends and furriends,

Those who know me are painfully aware that I can never leave lyrics alone.

To the tune of "My Favorite Things," here is:

by Julie Mackenzie

Anastasia and Tinker
And Chopin and Bridgie
They are delinquents
Their sins make me itchy.

I tape the cabinets
All across in red
To keep my Chopin
From clawing instead

Stasia all fluffy
And slow as molasses

Bridgie the baby who
Catches long passes

All of these characters
Stuffed with herring
These are a few of my
Favorite beings

When Chopin bites

When the Tink sings

When I'm feeling sad

I simply remember my favorite beings
And then I don't feel so bad.

Merry Christmas, peace and blessings in the New Year from all of us ~ our angels, too.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

From Mugshots to Sheer Heaven

Chopin here ~

Remember this mugshot of me at the shelter?

And that photo of me with Mom Julie after she fell head over paws (I'm so glad)

It's been a whole year today, my Gotcha Day and I've never been happier.

I spend a lot of time on the porch where I can pretend I'm in the jungle.

My big brother Tinker is my guide:

Me: What's that over there?

Tinker: An ugly, hairy critter who likes to nibble on cat ears.

Me: Oh, no! I'm glad I'm safe in here! (I knew he was just pulling my leg)

Then, for the first time, I met the "red dot." Tinker was trying to catch it as I watched.

I have been very happy with treats, good livin' and lovin' and a family and home to call my own.

And this is just the first year, my furriends.

Life is good.

Friday, August 22, 2014

Some Quiet Thoughts

Feeling such sadness over the loss of Sparkle while hurting over what we are so helpless to control,  I had to put the following down and make a thought-provoking connection:

As I was responding to a post by fellow blogger Julia Williams about how some people seem to think "a pet is just a pet," I was thinking how shallow so many assumptions like this really are. Some people have that attitude, but I hope to blazes it is a minority. Anyone who thinks like that has no sense of spiritual value or depth of feeling. They probably look at an old person and think they're "just another old lady or old man," and insignificant.

I have news for them. They are the ones who are insignificant. We can do without those who lack compassion and appreciation for those companions who are there for us when we're sick and serve as calming guides through a life fraught with uncertainty and pain. I know I couldn't ever face the inhumanity so prevalent on so many levels were it not for the comfort of a four-legged friend or friends.  Someone who dismisses an animal as inconsequential, is probably the type of person no animal or human should ever trust.

Our pets are instinctual, perceptive. Their place in our lives and our hearts are accepted routine as the days, months and years go by. Then, the shattering reality of their passing. An indescribable sadness falls over everything. It's such an emotional adjustment to eventually realize they will remain with us, but in a different way. For us though, because we appreciated their special place and recognized their value to our souls, will be blessed with a spiritual companionship until our own meeting with Fate.

A companionship some people will never know.


RIP ~ Sparkle

Thursday, August 7, 2014

Throwback Thursday

I really like the concept of going back and repeating a story or sharing a photograph. Especially with how the world is today, it's nice to think of a calmer time when looking over your shoulder meant making sure loved ones were keeping up, not whether they were safe.

Going back means revisiting past church cat Toms - this entry in particular, written after J.D. Salinger's death when Tom, firmly believing he is as good a catcher in the rye as anyone, takes an imaginary trip to the writer's home:

I met him years ago but I don't remember
how or when.

I do recall wandering a long, overgrown drive thinking how his crowd of admirers had turned into a company of weeds. But, that was the whole point. I stopped to take in the house on the hilltop. That, too, appeared left to its own devices.

You wouldn't think someone like me, short and covered in fur would have easy access to one of the greatest writers of our time and a recluse, at that. But, I did. All I needed was a doorstep.

"Well, what have we here?"

He unlatches the door to let me in. There are papers everywhere. Magazines. Books. One without a cover. I notice the door has a cat flap.

"Haven't seen you around here."

Mr. Salinger, I came specially to see you. I must discuss writing.

As with those who constantly converse with inner thoughts, he is in tune with mine.

"Write for the fun of it," he says, shuffling over to the cabinet. He wore his aura like a cloak.

What about recognition?

I knew this was a sore spot, but I had to ask.

"Well--" His voice became hesitant yet at the same time contained a vehemence restrained. "It's something you need as a writer but can't control it once you get it."


There were sardines now heaped upon a saucer with tiny white flowers in a blue border. As I ate, I thought about what he said. It was true. If I became famous, it would change everything, every part of my life. I picked up the last crumb of fish.

It can still be enjoyable, can't it?

I looked up. He had left me alone.

I turned the corner and entered a cozy area filled with ever more papers, books, and pillows in dazzling, reflected light. My famous author and benefactor was absorbed in his work. There was a calm, as if he were some creative sculptor absorbed in the modeling of his own imaginative clay.

I turned to leave.

"Write for the joy," I heard behind me.

I smile as only a cat can, with backside for emphasis, a gesture to which he can undoubtedly relate.

Rest in peace, kind sir. The sardines were delicious.

(from January 30, 2010)