Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Where is Winchester?

Winchester has asked me to tell all his fans that he is mostly okay--

No, I'm not!

--but he has a chronic respiratory problem that keeps him under the weather. He's very quiet these days.

When I'm not having pill stuffed down my gullet.

You can read more about Winchester here.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Winchester Wins the Lottery

What's all that stuff?

Toys! I found them in The Writer's office. They were in corners and under desks and stuff.

Yeah, The Writer is renovating her office. The whole room is one big mess.

And she's one big grouch.

The Writer is having a hard time working in there. She needs order.

She's not a very good housekeeper. Look at all the loot I found.

You can't play with all those toys at once.

Watch me. First I bat the red ball, then I throw the white mouse down the stairs. Then I drop the green mouse in The Writer's Husband's shoe . . .

Didn't anybody teach you about sharing?

Why should I share? They're mine. Oh, no. Don't give me that sad no-eyed stuffed animal look.

[Ellsworth stares silently.]

All right! You can have this bald mouse. But only for ten minutes and then I want it back.

Never let it be said you aren't the soul of generosity.

Friday, March 5, 2010

Winchester Goes to the Dentist, Part II

You got a reprieve, you lucky cat.

The vet says my allergies are too bad right now.

Yeah, they can't put you to sleep.

Put me to sleep!?! What are you talking about?

Only for a little while--you aren't really going to open wide for the vet-dentist, are you? They have to knock you out. But you'll be better in a little bit and then you'll go back to the dentist.

You big meanie! Trying to scare me when I don't feel good. You ought to be ashamed.

Okay. I'm sorry--

Ah ah ah-chooooooo!

Thanks a lot! Turn your head when you sneeze.


Monday, March 1, 2010

Winchester Goes to the Dentist, Part I

Wiiiiinchesssster! It's tiiiiiime.

No! Nononononononono!

Stop acting like a two-year-old. Everybody has to go to the dentist.

You don't.

I don't even have a mouth, much less teeth. Today won't be so bad. The nice technician lady will draw blood--


--and look at your mouth and tell The Writer how many hundreds and hundreds of dollars it will cost to clean your teeth.

I hope it costs so much The Writer has to sell her car! Take out a second mortgage on the house! And she'll have to wear the same old clothes until they rot and fall off her because she won't be able to afford any more!

And then Wednesday you'll go have your teeth cleaned. Your teeth and gums will feel better and your breath won't knock over Bigfoot like it does now.

Wednesday, huh? Then I have time to run away and find a family that won't insult me.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Where's Winchester?

Winchester, as everyone knows, is not like other cats. Other cats love to get in boxes and grocery bags and hide. They like to sleep in baskets and even fruit bowls.

Not Winchester.

Winchester never, ever, ever hops in a box or a bag or a basket. He's clawstraphobic. When he has to go to the vet, it takes a small army to stuff him in his carrier.

So where is Winchester?

And what is that little black and white thing he dropped in The Writer's magazine basket?

heh-heh-heh. winchester the second.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

Winchester Goes Vintage

Hey, you know The Writer's sister?

Of course I know her! Patricia bought me from the toy store in Bristol, Virginia. Her grandmother gave her money and out of all the toys, Pat chose me. That was in 1955. A few years later The Writer found me stuffed in Pat's toy box--

I just asked if you knew her! Not a memoir! Sheesh!

[Black cloud of silence]

Oh, don't be mad. Listen, The Writer took a picture of the cat box her sister fixed for her cat George. It seems George decided to do his business in the TV room. The Writer's sister had conniption fits over this. For someone who has had cats all her life, this woman should know it's a cat's perogative to change toilet habits.

Still using the Word-a-Day toilet paper?

Yeah. Anyway, she finally broke down and put a litter tray in the TV room, but the sight of it offended her finer sensibilities. You know how The Writer has all these vintage suitcases all over the house?

They're all filled with books, magazines, DVDs, and photo albums. Don't even think about picking one up!

The Writer's sister has those old suitcases, too. So she put George's litter pan in a vintage suitcase! She can close the lid and not look at it. George goes in a vintage suitcase! Is that cool or what?

And now you want one.

The Writer can empty that nice British tan leather Samsonite for my litter box. It has a Lucite handle and is monogrammed.

Winchester, your "litter box" as you call it, is really a cement mixing pan. It's the only thing big enough for your--business. The Writer often wonders if a German shepherd got in your box by mistake.

That's not true!

Is too. So if The Writer wanted to disguise your cat box in a vintage suitcase, she'd need a steamer trunk.

[Black cloud of silence.]

Thursday, January 7, 2010

Winchester's New Year's Resolutions

Wanna hear my New Year's Resolutions?

It's January 7, Winchester. You're a week late.

I don't go by the human calendars or clocks. I use Cat Time.

Cat Time?

Yes, we cats devised our own calendar and clock eons ago back when we were worshipped in Egypt. It's a pity nobody treats us like the sacred creatures we are any more--

If you were any more pampered, you'd be in a coma. What's Cat Time?

Well, for cats all the days are same. No Sunday or Friday or Saturday. See, those days have certain connotations for humans. Go to church on Sunday. Payday on Friday. Run errands on Saturday. So we don't wake up with different expectations--no Monday blues, no Sunday night angst.

Did you swallow a dictionary?

The Writer got Word-a-Day toilet paper for Christmas. An informative and useful gift.

Okay, so you think up your New Year's resolutions a week later than the rest of the world because you're on Cat Time. Why bother having any if every day is the same?

You have to have goals. You, for instance, might consider changing out of that outfit you've been wearing for 46 years.

Never mind me. So what are your goals?

To get up at 4:30 every morning, stretch, and go dig the carpet so The Writer gets up to feed me breakfast. Then I use the cat box because one must remain regular. Then I'll take a nap until 10:00 when I'll go in The Writer's office and dig the carpet so she feeds me lunch.

Lunch at 10:00 a.m.?

I'm on Cat Time, remember? Then I'll take my afternoon nap on the back of the chair. Then I'll start bugging The Writer for supper at 4:00 p.m. She throws slippers at me to quit digging the carpet and I get my exercise. The best part of the day is evening. The Writer's Husband comes home and gives me treats. Then he drops tidbits off his dinner plate. Then I get my supper. Then he feeds me some of that other cat's food because I look pathetic. Then he gives me more treats before bed and, if I play my cards right, he'll forget about the early evening treats and give me extra.

Those aren't goals! You just described your gluttonous daily schedule (I've been reading the toilet paper, too).

Ah, here comes The Writer with my lunch. Right on schedule.