Monthly Archives: November 2014

If You Give a Cat a Lollipop…

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I still have leftover Halloween sweets/candy. Last night I was sitting in front of the fireplace, my Siamese boy Lokii on my lap (as always when fire is nearby), and I had a rare hankering for sugar. I displaced Lokii long enough to grab a Chupa Chup lollipop (or sucker, whatever you call ’em) from the kitchen, and returned to warm our mutual arses in front of the lovely fire.

Lokii – being a feline stomach on legs – wanted to know what I kept sticking into my mouth. So I let him have a sniff.

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He was interested. The flavour was strawberries and cream, after all.

Most of us have heard that cats cannot taste sweet. So I wonder what, exactly, made him want my sucker so badly? What did he think it tasted like?

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Because he loved it.

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He looks like a demented Orc from the Lord of the Rings films.

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Nom nom nom!

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The Man Who Talks to Cheese.

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Hubby has been cooking this evening. He’s now making dinner, but earlier it was a low-carb pumpkin bake thingie.

After his earlier effort, he is now well into his habit of talking to things that aren’t able to answer.

Shall I type up some of the nonsense he is saying? Yes, yes I will:

O M G, W T F, B B Q! (Yes he said each letter)

Well, I’m talking to chicken now, brilliant! (This is because I was teasing him about being the Man Who Talks to Cheese)

Nothing for cats! (He’s cutting up raw chicken; we give the good bits to the cats and whatever is left to the dog)

Spotty, watch your little paw, fucking hell cat! Spotty! Fucking hell dog-cat-whatever-your-name-is.

Not much for kitties but I’m working on it.

Shhh, I’m coming (whispered to Lokii who also never shuts up) shhh, bits for kitties… Shhh

Oh it’s gonna be less than…oh (garbled) seven minutes…it’s okay. Shhh, coming. (I think this means he heard me light a smoke, which takes me 7 minutes to finish. It was oddly silent so he could hear the lighter spark)

Just wait, alright? Coming. (To Lokii, again) shhh.

Spotty watch your little paw, I’m cutting stuff. Heeeeeeeeee. (Very unmanly giggle)

Fuk fuckit.

That’s my fucking hand, you idiot! Sure didn’t the baby Jesus tell you not to bite the hand that feeds you? Sure no he didn’t.

More for cats, nearly gone…

Alright Spotty that’s it, I’m not going through all this goop. A little more. Oh, Spotty! You want more? That’s it, that’s it. (Calling for the dog) Neko! Oh Spotty you want more? There is no more! Here take that, for fuck’s sake cat! Here.

I’m not spending the evening cutting up human food for cats! Okay Mrs (me), any time you are ready! (Because I’m in charge of the sauce part)

Hope you enjoyed a little glimpse into what it is like to live with a man who talks CONSTANTLY.

Love you anyway, iDJ!

I Am Gunna Do Something Crazy-Fun…

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I have just committed to WALKING ON FIRE next Thursday.

Yep.

I think the first time I saw someone walk barefoot on hot coals was on one of those early-eighties TV shows, That’s Incredible! or maybe Real People. It was probably some “Indian Swami” who laid on a bed of nails for his next trick. I always wanted to know how walking on fire was done – and in less than a week, I’m going to find out!

I am inordinately excited about doing this. Been 43 years on this rock without someone saying, ‘Hey, want to firewalk with me?’ You bet your bippy I jumped at the chance.

My awesome Canadian friend is the one who asked, and so far I am the only taker. Would you walk on fire, if given the chance?