i have not been able to write since early may when i heard about children being taken from their parents at the border.  my claws came out and i could not retract them, which means my efforts to type resulted in getting said claws wedged into the cracks beside the keys.  i typed F U over and over and over and couldn’t get to C K.  so i gave up.  and then i trimmed my nails.  and now i’ll gnaw my toes off if necessary to say what i need to say, which is what the hell is going on in this country?  have the testicles of the entire gop ascended in unison?  why has no one rebuked the traitor in chief?  i’ve heard chatter that putin must have something on trump that keeps him in thrall, and that makes me wonder what trump has on republican senators that they refuse to say anything about the colossal betrayal of our nation that happened yesterday.  i think of the young people in uniform that are risking their lives for our freedom; does their sacrifice mean nothing to the president?  and what about the patriots that have already given their lives; our brothers and sisters, our fathers and grandfathers?  did they die so our democracy could be abused and dismantled in the first two years of this president’s term?  i think of the hideous rhetoric that has been used during trump’s campaign and since the election; rhetoric by his supporters and by his detractors, how we have become so terribly divided since 2016 and all because each and every one of us loves our country and wants to ensure its future, and yet yesterday, mr. trump pulled down his pants and took a big shit on all of us, because he thinks the lying, murdering, fascist leader of russia is more reliable and honorable than his own intelligence community and his own people.  trump has betrayed everything we stand for as a nation, regardless of our politics, and unless he is stopped now, the madness will continue and ours days as the land of the free and the home of the brave will end.  wake up, y’all.  this shit is real.  мяу черт его

well, it happened. splurge had his “procedure.”  he left the house a growing young tom with all the verve that a tom cat has, and he came home with no verve at all.  the kid is verveless.  now, i know from my own experience that what’s gone won’t be missed, but when he shook off the anesthesia and realized that counting his assets would not take any time at all because there was nothing left to count, he fell over in a faint.   the shock was too much for the kid.  i suppose we’ve all had a lot of shocks lately.  porn star and president, loud-mouth lawyer admitting what 45 denied, epa chief with no understanding of the “p” in epa, two koreas melding into one, evangelicals supporting satan, police legally lynching black men, asylum seekers turned away at the border, etc., etc.. no wonder there’s a volcano erupting in hawaii; the earth has had enough of this bullshit and is taking matters into her own hands.  i nearly faint every time i read the paper!  so it’s time to get to work.  i can’t exactly participate in a march on d.c. since i’m not allowed outside.  i’ve written plenty of letters to my senators, but they don’t deign to answer.

clearly the time has come to seek the help of a higher power.  i encourage you to join me in requesting  intervention by the god of your choice.  i’m not asking mine to put anything back the way it was.  as i’ve already said, sputum will be fine without his jingle bells.  i’m talking about upheaval along the lines of the cleansing of the temple.  i’m talking about justice, mercy, humility and god-like love for all of god’s creatures.  i’m talking about how it should be, not how it’s been.  so friends, i’m talking to my god, and i hope you will talk to yours.  we need a mighty big shoulder against this wheel.  purr, y’all.

i learned something this week.  we’re in what’s known as the windy season out here in the wild west, and when i say windy, i mean winds that can knock a human clean over.  on thursday and friday we had a genuine wind storm that blew so hard and so long and shook the house with such force that we all thought we were on our way to oz.  (note:  order ruby slippers post haste)  what i learned is that if you’re not careful, the wind can blow your heart away.

the gal and dog went out early thursday morning for dog’s doodahs, and found five sparrow chicks on the ground beneath their nest.  gal scooped them up quick and put them back in the nest.  then she checked on them an hour later and the nest was empty.  the middle of howling gale is no time to be tiny with feathers, and the gal assumed that they had blown all over the yard.  she spent all day looking for them.  she even got dog to put his nose to work in the search, but all she found was disappointment.  then she got on the interweb and looked up baby sparrows and learned that these chicks were at the age to leave the nest.  the site said, “leave them alone, the mom and dad know where they are and will take care of them.”

and that’s when gal smiled and lost it.  “ah ha!” she proclaimed, “i was worried for no reason.  nature is in charge! and that means that mr. and mrs. sparrow must be able to track the chicks even though they are wind-tossed like milkweed seeds.  and somehow the parental sparrows will be able to protect the chicks from the myriad predators in the yard and sky who know where to look for a meal of flappy-snacks.  and somehow nature has a plan for keeping those tiny peeps warm through their first night out of the nest when the temperature drops to 30 degrees.”  gal seemed relieved as she watched the parents bustling everywhere until the sun went down, then she came inside and declared, “nature sucks.  mother nature is a bitch who doesn’t care who lives or dies.  those chicks left the nest like lemmings going off a cliff or whales beaching on the sand.  they aren’t ready to be out of the nest, but mother bitch damn nature threw a switch in their brains and without asking any questions or packing an overnight bag, they leapt into the open maw of uncertainty.  what the hell!  and now momma bird will lay another clutch and start it all over again.  shit shit shitty shit shitterson!” she cried.

i didn’t know what to say.  nature isn’t pretty, and i should know; that was my world before the gal brought me inside and taught me to eat kibble instead of mice.  heck, when i brought her the hind quarters of a rabbit for her birthday last year, she nearly fainted.  was i supposed to call a florist?  bake a cake?  i did what nature taught me to do, and i was mighty proud of that gift.  my poor gal is sweet as clover, but she has a warped sense of how things work outside the walls of the house.  out there, no one is safe, no one is special, food is food even when it’s still alive, and wishing it were otherwise won’t make it so.  evenso, it was a rough week for us all, because now our kibble has been replaced with rice puffs and tofu tots.  yeeeesh.  purr, y’all.

generally speaking, when you hear the term “new normal,” it means something is wrong and there’s nothing you can do about it.  it means life has taken a turn towards suckiness and it will likely stay that way until something radical happens.  as previously reported, a bit of suck appeared when this canine came to live with us. 
he loves to study how fast a cat can move and how high a cat can jump and how long a cat can survive on top of a kitchen counter.  despite his sweet face, he’s rather presidential in that he seems to be experimenting with us most of the time.  just when we think we can relax for a moment, he springs into action.  the gal assures us that he’ll settle down eventually, but she can’t say how long eventually will take.  so we wait.  and wait.  and wish for a new new normal in which the valleys are lifted and the mountains made low and the puppy behaves.  purr, y’all.

the pup has been here two weeks tomorrow and it feels like we are living in a rock tumbler.  i get that he’s a puppy and puppies run around and chase things, and god knows the gal bought him a truck load of toys to fetch and chew, but this woofer has some crazy notion that a cat is a toy.  the femmes fatales have got the ability to slow him down by simply not running from him, but lordy are they dim.  he bounces in their direction and they move like they’ve been shot out of a cannon, which is like shouting, “come and get me!”  and don’t you know, he’s happy to oblige.  if they’d watch how i handle him, they could stop burning all those calories.  I don’t run; i don’t even walk fast.  i just give him the look.  you know what i’m talking about, don’t you?  it’s that face that says “don’t even.”  the face is meaningful because his first day here he acted like he wanted a piece of me and i gave him one–a scratch with the sheath of one claw sticking out of his forehead.  the gal had to dislodge my little gift, and to my surprise, she didn’t scold me.  she scolded the pup for running into my paw!  since then, pup and i have had an understanding.  i’m a little worried about Sputnik, though.  he’s the same age as the addition, and he really, really wants to play, but pupster is twice his size and soooooooo  enthusiastic that Spit always winds up in trouble.  i keep telling him, “use the claw, kid! use the claw!”  sometimes you have to decide how much you’re willing to risk for a friendship BEFORE you introduce yourself.  purr, y’all

damn damn damn.  i said too much about the president and guns and stupid people and now i’m being punished for it.  i’m not sure who is in charge of said punishment, but they delivered this week.  on wednesday morning, my sweet gal marched out the door alone  and came back in the afternoon with a friend on four legs; four legs attached to the body of a dog.  actually, to call this critter a dog is being generous.  he’s a puppy, for pete’s sake, with floppy ears, big green eyes and absolutely no manners.  he doesn’t do his doo-da’s in the house, thank god, but he thinks cats are for chasing, all food is dog food, and the lap that i love is available to him.  i’ll admit there was a time when i thought i needed a dog to protect me from our feline femmes fatales, but we’ve worked through our differences and the canine fantasy disappeared like kibble from a dish when the puppy gets to it before the cat.  however, the gal’s interest in a dog stayed put.  it looks like he’s destined to be a member of the family,  but i swear i’m not going to let this baby dog spook me.  i was here first, and in the pecking order of our little universe, that makes me the boss.  but i’ll say this about that; if a puppy is punishment for speaking my mind, i’ll risk speaking it some more, to wit the president is a f—ing dipshit, as are all the dangerous crackers with whom he surrounds himself.  ok, i feel better now.  purr, y’all.

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if i didn’t love my gal so much, i would open the door and walk out.  humans suck.  they think they’re special because they walk on two legs and have opposable thumbs.  they even think that these physical features have made their brains bigger.  give me a f—ing break.  if thumbs are so special, why are hands so destructive?  why are hands used to kill?  it takes an index finger to pull a trigger, but that finger needs a thumb to hold an AR-15.  God gave cats four legs so we can run fast.  God gave us claws so we can mark our territory, climb trees, catch food, and defend ourselves.  but there’s not a cat alive who would use those claws to hurt for the sake of hurting.  i suppose God knew better than to give people claws because God knew they would misuse them.

i know i’m sticking my nose into human business, but i’d really like some answers.  why do so many humans think they are superior to other humans?  why do so many humans think they have a right to own weapons?  why aren’t those clawless hands used to help people?  why aren’t those clawless hands used to solve problems?  why aren’t those clawless hands used for good instead of evil?

i’m keeping my eyes on those kids in florida that are talking back after the massacre at their school.   in spite of the horror, they’re using their hands for good.  they’re putting their hands to work to demand that elected officials stop their stupid prayers and do something constructive.  those kids don’t have claws, but they do have hands that stir up hope, and those are hands worth having.

Spit just got home from a visit to the vet.  he got some big-boy shots and cuddles from his girlfriend, Ashley.  she’s human, but he thinks details like that don’t matter.  she loves him and he loves her and therefore they should get married.  i can’t wait to see the kittens.  as it happens, though, the gal and the doc talked about a couple of things that will need attention in the next month or so; surgical attention.  part of growing up means that Spat has sprouted a set of jingle-bells that look like young pumpkins, and bless his little heart, he swears the doc said she would take care of them!!  the kid has no idea what that kind of care entails.  i tried to explain it to him; that he’s going to take a nap and wake up a couple of ounces lighter.  i even showed him where mine used to be.  i told him he won’t miss them, he’ll live a longer, healthier life without them.  i told him that none of us are intact, and as a result, we are all calmer.  we don’t spray,  we don’t look for trouble.

then it occurred to me that the reason there is so much saber-rattling and chest-thumping coming out of the white house right now is because the comb-over king has not been neutered.  he’s sporting a double bolus that pumps bombast into his veins around the clock.  no wonder he swaggers like an over-stimulated rooster in the global henhouse; he’s poisoned with his own mancrap, and by gum, he’s poisoning us, too.  i’m calling the vet and changing Spore’s appointment with the scissors to a twofer.  i know the doc can “take care” of the kid AND our national nightmare with a couple of quick nicks.   i’ll need help getting 45 to his appointment.  any volunteers??   purr, y’all.

do you remember when you were a kitten and your people gave you a cardboard box to play with?  do you remember jumping in and out as if every time you landed inside you you might find something different?  do you remember the amount of noise your jumping in and out made, as though you were something huge and fierce instead of teensy?  do you remember pretending it was your very own house, curling up inside when you were tired and taking a nap?  do you remember hiding in there and launching yourself on unsuspecting human toes?  how bad-ass was that?  i don’t remember any of that because i spent my kittenhood in the woods, hiding under piles of leaves.  we weren’t allowed to make noise.  we could play, but we had to be careful not to attract the attention of a hawk or raccoon.

things are different now that i’m inside.  there’s Spelunk, and there’s a box.  if he’s not in it, he’s thinking about being in it.  watching him made me curious, and being a scientist at heart, i decided to try an experiment.  Splat was having a snack, and i got in the box.  he didn’t see me get in, and he clearly didn’t think that was something i would do.  blending perfectly with the dark interior, i waited.  he finished eating and sauntered over.  he jumped in, and i jumped out.  we collided in mid-air.  it was glorious, like a pair of bottle-rockets joined with one lit fuse.  he’s gone to take a nap now, and i’m plotting my next experiment.  now that i’ve proved cats can fly, i want to see how long they can remain airborne before returning to earth.  damn i love this box.