Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Ellsworth and Winchester Spend New Year's Alone

Tomorrow night is New Year's Eve. Guess who your date is?

[panicked] Never mind about that about that ball-dropping stuff. Do you realize The Writer and her Husband are leaving us!!! For two whole nights and three days!

Yes, I know. They decided when they were at the Hope and Glory Inn in May they'd come back New Year's to celebrate the last few days of their 30th anniversary year. I think it's romantic.
I think it stinks! Who's gonna feed me?

They'll leave you plenty of kibble. It's not their fault you wolf down three days' of food before the door is closed behind them.

Look at what The Writer packed! Hazelnut Pirouettes, peppermint truffles, sea salt and onion potato chips, a Hickory Farms sampler box, mixed nuts, salsa, tortilla chips, cupcakes, caramel hot chocolate . . .

. . . and a darling chocolate bar wrapped in a vintage Bingo card, too pretty to eat.

My point is I'll be gnawing dry food and they'll be living high on the hog. Have you heard the weather report? It's gonna be icy, maybe even snow again. We'll probably get another 18 inches of snow and The Writer will have to stay in that fancy inn--


Don't blame me if there's another Donner party incident.

Winchester, I'm a stuffed animal. Unless you like eating 54-year-old cotton, I'm not much worried. Now tell everyone to have a happy New Year.

No! Why should everybody have a happy New Year when mine is starting off so crummy?

Then I'll say it: Happy New Year, everyone.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Ellsworth's Turn

Well, another year and I'm alone under the Christmas tree again. It's Christmas Eve, almost. Winchester is asleep, knocked out by his allergy pill. The Writer is fussing over her first-ever ham and fixing a nice supper. The Writer's husband is at work, but he'll be home soon. The presents are stowed in the vintage suitcases, ready to be opened tonight.

It's so quiet. Without Winchester nattering in my ear, I forget what real quiet is.

I like sitting under the pink lights of The Writer's pink tree. The rosy glow makes me feel peaceful. I guess that's what we all hope for this time of year--peace.

Here's wishing everyone a peaceful holiday. And, to quote The Writer's favorite Christmas song, "I Believe in Father Christmas," May your road be clear.

Have a wonderful holiday. Drive safely on clear roads to your destinations. And think rosy pink thoughts when you go to bed tonight.

Friday, December 18, 2009

Winchester's Christmas List

What're you doing?
Writing my letter to Sandy Claws.

Looks like quite a list.

Yeah, I'm doing my part for the economy so I put on a lot of high-end ticket items.

Self-cleaning Litter Robot, $300? Cedar Duplex Cat House with Porch and Deck, $479?

Gotta love a self-cleaning litter box. And I can entertain on the porch in the spring and barbeque on the deck in the summer.

Ruby Necklace designed by Dorothy Bauer, $80?

Well, red is my color.

Lotus Zen Cat Tree, $294?

To get in touch with my inner self. Ommmmm.

Oak Kitty Gym, $900?

I have to stay in shape, you know.

Winchester, you have thousands of dollars of stuff on this list! Aren't you just a little greedy?

It's only what I deserve.

At least "Sandy Claws" probably won't receive your letter. It's pretty late for mail to arrive at the North Pole.

Sandy Claws doesn't live at the North Pole. He lives in Christmas, Florida, where any self-respecting cat would live. Meowy Christmas!

Friday, December 11, 2009

Deck the Cat, Fa-la-la-la-la-la

Last Sunday The Writer wanted a "Christmas portrait" for her userpic on LinkedIn and her other blog. So she put on that ridiculous elf hat and rammed that too-tight jester collar around my neck and The Writer's Husband took pictures. I thought that would be the end of it.

You should know better by now.

I should! Yesterday when The Writer called me from a nice snoozy nap on her sweatshirt, I should have known she wanted to take my picture again.

But she shook the bag of Picnic Crunch Party Mix . . .

. . . can't resist my kibble of choice. [Sigh] Next thing I knew she jammed that Santa hat on my head. Then she couldn't decide if my right ear or left ear should peek out. She had on the weirdest slippers--with reindeer heads on them!

Those slippers were sent by a close friend. The Writer loves them.

Truth? I like rubbing my jaw against that soft red fur. ANYway, after we got done, The Writer asked me what she should do with this leftover pointsettia garland. I told her she should wrap herself up in it! Hee-hee!

Fortunately for you people don't always understand cat-talk.

Oh, she understood me, all right. "Deck the cat!" If I was bigger, I'd do some decking myself!

Don't be so grumpy. I think you look very festive.

I do, don't I?

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Winchester Loses a Friend

You're all by yourself. Want some company?

I guess. Short Stuff is . . . gone. That little black and white cat?

Xenia. Yes, she's gone. She was old and sick and it was her time.

I know. Sort of.

She hated you--for seven years, she resented every breath you drew.

I know.

She'd corner you in the dining room and The Writer would have to separate you two with the vacuum cleaner. Remember?

Short Stuff could run fast.

And you'd tease her by pawing at the other side of the door. Xenia would get such a big tail!

Looked like a Christmas tree! That was fun.

I don't really think Xenia hated you. She was here before you came and she wanted to be top cat.

I know . . . I miss her.

I do too. But she's just a thought away. Any time you remember her, you can be with her again.

I know. I think I want to be alone now.
This post is dedicated to Xenia, December 3, 1993 - December 7, 2009.