Sunday, December 31, 2017

Chasing Tail

At some point before I awaken each day, I must be moving my arms out from under the blanket because what wakes me is Sneezy making biscuits on my bare skin. She always manages to find that one little place that isn’t covered. If I draw the arm back under the covers, she switches to the other arm. Today, as I lay there enduring the torture, I wondered why we call our sheets, our blankets, our bedclothes -- covers? Is it because they cover the bed, or because they cover us? Maybe subconsciously we relate it with undercover, which covers a variety of secret activities like reading with a flashlight, or playing with snakey.

Ideas on the subject of covers were going off faster than paparazzi flashbulbs in my brain, one after another. The timing was right, the play on words so delectable I tasted them. This post would have you ruining keyboards. I got up, let the cats out, made coffee, let the cats in, the husband came home hungry, there was dinner to make, the dishes to clean up, cats to let out, cats to let in, and by the time I sat down to write – poof. It was gone. How freaking annoying.

This happens to me all the time, most often when I’m in the shower, or out in the garden. It happens in places where my brain is engaged in something that doesn’t require concentration, and somewhere, way underneath, there’s a little wiggle, and the wiggle worms its way to the surface and breaks through the concrete. The idea hatches full-blown, and all that’s required of me is to write it down before it wriggles its way back to the netherworld. But of course, there’s no pen handy. I will run in from the garden, my hands covered with soil and manure to jot down the gist of an idea, but I will not run through a chilly house, soaking wet with hair dripping. I have limits. What really ticks me off is when I’m writing gangbusters and my husband comes in to tell me about some dumb thing he’s watching on TV (especially when it’s a commercial), and breaks my concentration. Like now.

Do you remember the last good idea you had, where you were, what you were doing at the time, and what caused it to disappear?

I am particularly annoyed today because it was the best idea I‘ve had in a while. I’m in edit mode, not writing mode. I’m desperately trying to get the chapters in my novel flipped back and forth between past and present, while weeding and pruning with what I’ve learned from Miss Snark in the past few weeks. This has been going on long enough and I want to start querying again before the paranormal trend dies and becomes the ghost of Christmas Past.

I can sit and read someone else’s work, and what needs to be fixed is clear as brand new contacts to me. When it comes to my own, I might just as well be sunk in a mud bath with tea bags over my eyes. I think I am not getting the whole “this is set-up” business, especially when no one will be running through my story with a flaming coiffure.

I feel guilty when I don’t visit everyone else’s blog, or reply to comments, and I must take time to go vote on Miss Snark’s blog, since I participated in the Crapometer this time. I think I owe her at least that much. Before I know it, the clock will strike midnight, and I will have lost another day. I will edit until three, okay, five o’clock, ignoring the e-mails popping up in my box, and the ones already open and shouting for my attention before I crash and burn to sleep the morning away. Then I will somehow manage to allow my bare arms to sneak out from under the covers and rouse to find Sneezy making biscuits on them. I will tumble out of bed, start all over again, and not accomplish a damn thing.

Want to Play Smoke?

Anyone want to play Smoke? If you are new here and unfamiliar with this game, see this post.

One question at a time (especially you, Eric, who always wins), but not one question each. Questions and answers appear at the bottom of this post.

Y'all run over to Corn Dog's and watch her video on Sunny California before you get started here!!!

Aaron took some gorgeous photos after the ice storm in upstate New York. I'm posting my favorites here, but you can see more on his blog.

Do you see the "ghost" face?

Ice-covered fence

Frozen Berries

I love the colors in this one!

Questions and answers to the game will appear here. Other comments will be in the comment section.

I am a deceased European.

If you were a language, which language would you speak (I mean, be)(heh)?

Smoke: La langue de amour et aventure amoureuse!

what era are you?

Je vivre ère Le Monde du éclat. I was born around the turn of the 20th Century.

If you were an alcoholic beverage, shared among good friends gathering by the fireplace on a cold night, which would you be?

Smoke: Louis XIII Cognac.
Undoubtedly the world's finest, this exceptional Cognac has always been a favorite in the world of politics, fashion, and art. Rémy Martin Louis XIII uses only grapes from the Grande Champagne region which guarantees its unique, exclusive quality. It is blended from eaux de vie, some more than a century in age, then it is aged in 'tiercons', barrels that are several hundred years old, in a cellar set apart for it alone. Louis XIII has been created by three generations of cellar masters to be, simply, the highest quality Cognac available.

ERIC: If you were a body of water?
Smoke: La Seine River, of course.
LITTLE BIRD BLUE: If you were the pile of a carpet, how would you feel beneath bare toes?

Smoke: I would feel like fur. Nothing compares to the soft fur of a bear, no? Grizzily or polar bear will suffice. They are nice for making love, too, no?
Oui. (I think I misread the question. I suppose a better answer is that I'd probably feel trampled on.)
LITTLE BIRD BLUE: If you were a literary subgenre, which would you be?

Smoke: Literary Fiction

LITTLE BIRD BLUE: If you rode a schoolbus, where would you sit (like, w/the bad kids at the back, or the do-gooders up front, or what)?

Smoke: There were no school busses when I was a child. I did without many things, but I think I would have sat up front.

TATTIEHEID: If you were a song?

Smoke: I am Liszt's "Liebestraum," Nocturne No.3

MISTY: If you were a dessert?
Smoke: I have been dessert to a few wealthy men, but I could never eat dessert. Au contraire! The woman's body must be slim, her hips slender. Breasts are gauche and of the pauvre. Clothing looks so much better without them. The body should be free and unencumbered. Away with corsets!

If you were a specific part of anatomy....

Smoke: I would never be a specific part of the anatomy. My job is to make each part sing, to have fun, to be elegant, in an understated way.

If I was a letter of the alphabet, which letter would I be and why?

Smoke: I'd be a C. I like C's. They have a certain panache. And, as an added bonus, now that I've thought about it, if I were a number, I'd be No. 5.

What do you look for in a lover?

Smoke: Money, and his willingness to give it to me. I couldn't run my business without it, nor live in the style to which I've become accustomed. It's very important in my line of work to exude an aura of luxury and beauty (and to smell exquisite).
TATTIEHEID: It's Coco Chanel. You gave too many clues at the end. :)

Smoke: We have a winner. Very good, Tattieheid!

(Wish I had a prize for you. Sorry. Usually, the winner takes the game to his or her blog, but so far, none of the winners have a blog. So there you have it.)

Coco Chanel Aug 19, 1883 - Jan 10, 1971

"A woman should be two things: classy and fabulous."

I just saw this article about Chanel in the news.


As I sat watching the State of the Union Address tonight, and heard Bush call for energy reforms, I realized our nation owes me a debt of gratitude. Would you like to know why? Of course, you would. It’s because gas prices are falling. And the reason gas prices are falling is because we’re using less oil. And do you know why we’re using less oil? It’s because Bessie is laid up under the carport, and I haven’t needed to put any in her for a while. In case you didn’t know, if your Jeep has an oil leak, it’s just an indication that ya still got some.

I wanted a Jeep since I was three years old and my grandpa held me on his lap and let me drive his. He worked the pedals and I got to steer. 

Back about 1989 or so, I lived in Colorado, forty-five “summer” miles (winter miles are longer) from the place where I worked split shifts. My ex worked at the same place, but he worked the graveyard shift. When he got off work, he would come get me, drive back and drop me off, and twelve hours later, would return to pick me up. We only had the one car. One day he fell asleep somewhere he shouldn’t have been, and was six hours late picking me up. When he finally got there, I drove home, and when we arrived, I made him get out. I drove away in his car. That’s right. I drove away and never went back. I sold that car and bought another car, which led to another car, and eventually, to my Bessie.
Jimmy Puckett came to help us get out of the mud, and he got stuck, too.

Bessie turns eighteen this year. She doesn’t have air conditioning because she doesn’t wear a hardtop. She thinks her little bikini top is so much sexier. She’s a teenager; what can I say? I got Bessie in Vail, where summer temperatures average seventy degrees on a summer day. A week later, I moved to Phoenix, where summer temperatures make the deep fryer at Mickey D’s seem like a polar ice cap. I see James Goody coming with my Darwin Award now.

Bessie has had an adventurous life. She still brags about the climb to Holy Cross City, and the one where she high-centered on top of a mountain in a deluge, where she struggled for three days to free herself, only to slide sideways down the mountain, and be stopped by …TREE! Woo hoo! What a ride!

She has 200K on her, so she slacks off about every other month or so. She’s undergone a trainy transplant, a brain transplant, and has received a couple new clutches. She traded in the crappy carburetor that came installed for a shiny new Weber. Just about every part of Bessie has been replaced at least once, except for her engine.
A couple years ago, I spent a thousand dollars for some major surgery she needed. Then something else went wrong, and she laid up in the bed for weeks until I ran out of every bit of food and toilet paper I had in the house and had to rent a car just to go shopping. I changed her fuel filter and fuel pump, but neither were the problem. She had to be carried home piggyback. I got online and researched her symptoms, and listened to every motorhead with a suggestion. Except Johnny. Johnny is one of my oldest friends, and he's a bit of an expert, having worked at Coleman-Taylor Transmissions for a coon's age. But his suggestion was the same one he's been giving me for years. "Get a new car." Shoot, Bessie was only sixteen then. Here it is two years later, and she’s still kicking. Sort of.
I ignored Johnny, as usual, and changed Bessie's parts with the frequency of a teen-age girl dressing for a date, hoping she'd find something she felt beautiful in. We finally found something she liked, and made a short trip to the video store. As we were pulling in the lot, about to park, a small pick-up truck backed out from our left, without looking, and wham! He hit Bessie broadside, right in her driver's door. Of course, I was outraged at the idiot's appalling assault, and jumped out to see how badly she was hurt. Then the nitwit driver got out of his truck and - he seemed like a really nice guy. As I was getting his insurance information, I read "Jeep," and "'89," then I really saw his truck for the first time. A Jeep Comanche, the same age as Bessie. I imagine to her, that's the equivalent of tall, dark, and handsome.
Justin, that was the driver's name, mentioned he worked at a car dealership, so I figured he probably knew a little something about cars. We talked about the new engine he just put in the Comanche, and he knew to the tenth how many miles the old one had. He fixed the break in the flare over Bessie's wheel; it really had only come apart, and snapped easily back into place. The black paint from his bumper turned out to be nothing more than rubber, which pulled off like a band-aid, and the dent on Bessie's cheek was really not much more than a hickey. I think she liked it.

The Comanche was a little worse. He needed a new bumper. I'll bet it wasn’t easy to find, even if the guy did work at a dealership. 89 Comanche's are fairly rare. I thought Bessie was in love, so we decided to settle amicably by forgetting about it. But you know what? He never called her like he said he would, and I think it took something out of her.
She’ll get back on the road again one of these days. If you see an old red Wrangler with a bikini top that sounds like a Harley with a lawnmower chasing it, honk and wave to us.

Is Your Pet on a Lifetime Diet of K/D Now???

Is your pet now on a lifetime diet of k/d? Have you looked to see who manufactures it? Go look right now, and then call your veterinarian and tell him you are outraged that he’s supporting the very company that poisoned our pets!
I don’t want to sound ungrateful for my vet, because he did save Sneezy’s life (so far), but now I feel betrayed, and very, very afraid. The assistant at my vet’s office told me, “But it’s not on the list.” There were other brands not on the original list that are on it now. How do I know the next can I open won’t be just as poisonous as the original food that killed Catfish and sickened Sneezy? How do I know the can Sneezy already ate isn’t tainted? Is it possible that k/d is tainted as well, but there are no reports of it making pets sick or killing them, because they're already sick and no one will attribute it to k/d? At the very least, to prescribe food made by the same company is a huge conflict of interest! We should all ban together and insist our veterinarians pull all Menu Foods from their supplies, and find alternative foods – or only take our pets to vets who will! 

I’m waiting for a call back from my vet now. I want to know what’s special about k/d that it helps my cat’s kidney failure, and then figure out if I can incorporate it into food I cook for her myself. If anyone’s pet is on a different kidney diet – one not made by Menu Foods, please let me know!

Okay - the vet just called and argued with me about it, so I will pay him what I owe him and will be looking for a new vet. If anyone in the Memphis area has suggestions, please get in touch. btw, he said the kidney diet is low protein, so if anyone else plans to cook for their pets, that's what we need to keep in mind.

Update in 2017 - the vet was Horn Lake Animal Hospital. I would NEVER take one of my pets there again! I've tried almost every single vet within ten miles and the best, in my opinion, is Stateline Animal Hospital on Guthrie over by Baptist Desoto Hospital, off Airways.

Menu Foods Menu Foods Menu Foods Menu Foods Menu Foods Menu Foods Menu Foods Menu Foods Menu Foods Menu Foods Menu Foods Menu Foods Menu Foods

Three Years Ago Today

Three years ago today at 3 p.m., one of the best things to ever happen to me took place. My phone rang.

I was busy rectifying an astrological chart on the computer, concentrating deeply in order to juggle dates, the position of thirty or more planets, signs, and houses, and trying to keep them all in the air simultaneously. I answered anyway.

“Guess who this is?” a man asked.

I knew, even though I hadn’t heard his voice since 1979, but thought my ears were playing tricks on me. I’d been looking for him for more than two years. “Who?” I asked, and held my breath.

“It’s Mike.”


“Where are you?” he asked.

I told him I was home.

“Where is home?”

I gave him the information, in case he was coming over.

“Meet me in ten minutes.”

What?!? There I sat, in my flannels, not a stitch of make-up on, hair barely combed, and after twenty-five years, he wanted to see me in ten minutes? I flew out the door. Damn straight, Skippy. I wouldn’t have missed the chance for anything in the world.
On my way to the designated meeting place, I tried to pinpoint the last time I’d seen him, and couldn’t. That information is long gone from my brain, but Mike is unforgettable. He is one of the men I spoke highly of the other day, one by which I still measure all other men; a knight in slightly tarnished armor.

I didn’t have to know when I’d seen him last to picture him perfectly: he’d been wearing bellbottom blue jeans, a gauze shirt, and had a bandana tied around his head like a sweatband. That was his uniform. One day he cut off the ponytail that reached halfway down his back, and gave it to me. He's in my Rain Coming video. See if you can pick him out.

Imagine my surprise when I pulled into a parking space, my door opened, and there he stood, looking like he’s just stepped out of
Tombstone. Cowboy up, baby! Just like with Ronnie (also in the video), whom I’d gotten to see five weeks prior to that, we had a long nostalgic conversation about the good times we’d shared, the friends we’d loved and lost, and the damage it had done.

Mike dated Bobbie Jean, the Virgin Queen, for a while. Since I knew them both so well, I didn’t feel rude asking what went wrong. He gave his head a shake and laughed. “I could not get up that girl’s skirt,” he said. “I gave up.” It’s kind of odd that they each ended up marrying their respective spouses twice.

“I’ve never known a closer bunch of friends in my life,” I told him.

He got the expression of nostalgia in his eyes that had become familiar to me by then, but his was different from the others’. His was more accepting. “God, we were tight, weren’t we?” It seemed he couldn’t believe how much so. “’Til the end.” 

Hearing him say it again made me smile. I was glad he was still a kindred spirit. I’d caught up with a few of the others of our group, but there were still a couple missing. I asked if he knew where Beau is (he’s in he video, too).

“No idea. Geez. You know what I remember most about Beau?”

“I remember cruising around in his car one night. Him, and Bubba, and me. We might have been on our way to the bar, I don’t know. We came to a red light, and another car pulled up next to us. All of a sudden, Beau threw it in park, reached under his seat, and jumped out holding a tire iron! I thought
oh shit, because the other guys were out of their car by then, and they were four big guys in overalls.” He raised his arms to indicate their size. “Redneck to the bone. I looked around for another tire iron or something, ‘cause I knew we were fixin’ to get our asses kicked.” He stopped to take a drink of his beer.

“What happened?”

“Bubba got out. You know that karate move where you swing around and kick your leg up and chop with your hands? Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeya! You know? Bubba didn’t know a bit of karate, but he made that move and that sound perfectly. Those guys got back in their car and drove off so fast, I’ll bet they got whiplash.”

It was amazing to see Mike again. He filled in even more of the puzzle I’d been trying to complete all those years, and shared a heartbreaking secret he’d been keeping. He’s such a good guy; he gave me permission to tell all in my novel.
I don’t know where he is today, but I hope for a second he remembers the good time we had that day, and all the days in the years past.
Bubba Mac

Miss Snark Hangs Up Her Stilettos


Sneezy is showing the same symptoms as Catfish and now I know why! It's the cat food! Dog food, too. Check to see if your pet has been poisoned!

CLICK HERE!!! AND HERE!!! They've known about this since December! Click here.

I just left Sneezy at the animal hospital where she will undergo dialysis for the next two days - if she survives. If your pets show excessive thirst, or are peeing where they shouldn't, they've probably eaten some of this food. If they aren't showing symptoms, but you know they've eaten the food, DO NOT WAIT to take them to the vet. GO NOW. The sooner they can be treated, the better chance they have of surviving. By the time you see the symptoms, their kidneys are already shutting down. Just like us, they cannot survive without them.

If anyone hears of a class action lawsuit against Menu Foods, I want to join. Please contact me. And if any of you Menu Foods people show up here, look at the post below to see what you've done.

My cat died and the other is fighting for her life Menu Foods Class Action Menu Foods Class Action Menu Foods Class Action Menu Foods Class Action Menu Foods Class Action Menu Foods Class Action

Educate Yourself for the Sake of Your Pet

I hate being the bearer of bad news but the prognosis for your surviving pet isn't good. You are now the caregiver for a very ill patient. You need to educate yourself on what your pet needs from you now. I'm sorry I don't have dogs, so you'll have to scout that information on your own.
Click here to go to the best site I've found about chronic renal failure in cats.

Click here to go to a site that is all the recall help you need in one place.

Click here to go to the support group for all who have lost a pet.

Click here to add your pet to a register identifying geographic clusters of deaths.

BEWARE OF WHAT YOU CHOOSE TO FEED YOUR PET NOW! Hill is manufactured by Menu Foods, and so is the Wellness brand.
Menu Foods recall class action menu foods recall class action
menu foods recall class action menu foods recall class action menu foods recall class action

Goodbye Catfish


?/?/2001 - 3/14/2007

Rest In Peace

I Love You

! March 16 - it would break y'all's heart if you could see this. I guess Sneezy has decided Catfish should have come home by now. She's out in the yard calling him, wandering around looking everywhere for him, calling and calling.


This is the most recent information I have - letters from the attorneys:
Thank you very much for posting. I apologize for being brief in this email but we in the midst of preparing to file a nationwide class action suit in federal court today. Please let us know if you would like to be included as one of the named plaintiffs. If you do we will need information including your pet’s name, breed, symptoms, treatment and evidence re: purchase and consumption of the tainted food.
Michael David Myers
Myers & Company, p.l.l.c.
1809 Seventh Avenue, Suite 700
Seattle, Washington 98101
Telephone (206) 398-1188, ext. 101
E-Fax (206) 400-1112

That mail was followed by this one:

Good afternoon,
If you are receiving this email, you have a pet or pets who have been affected by the contaminated pet food that was recently recalled. You have also posted a comment about the loss of or injury to your beloved pet(s) on the blog of an attorney who is a member of the network. cannot guarantee that blog comments will be read by attorneys, so I would like to ask you to please take a moment and fill out the appropriate contact form located on the right side of the blog on which you commented - most likely here:
or here:
You may also be sure your inquiry is routed properly by clicking the general contact form here:
As a pet lover myself, I would like to express my sincerest condolences during this difficult time and thank you for taking a moment to use the proper form to contact an attorney for a free consultation and protect your legal rights.
Angus Hinson


The North vs. The South

My friend Cecil One Foot sent this to me:

The North has Bloomingdale's; the South has Dollar General.

The North has coffee houses; the South has Waffle Houses.

The North has dating services; the South has family reunions.

The North has switchblade knives; the South has Lee Press-on Nails.

The North has double last names; the South has double first names.

The North has Indy car races; the South has stock car races.

North has Cream of Wheat; the South has grits.

The North has green salads; the South has collard greens.

The North has lobsters; the South has crayfish.

The North has the rust belt; the South has the Bible Belt.

FOR NORTHERNERS MOVING SOUTH . . . In the South, if you run your car into a ditch, don't panic. Four men in a four-wheel drive pickup truck with a tow chain will be along shortly. Don' t try to help them; just stay out of their way. This is what they live for.

Don' t be surprised to find movie rentals and bait in the same store ... do not buy food at this store.

Remember, "Y'all" is singular, "all y'all" is plural, and "all y'all's" is plural possessive.

Get used to hearing "You ain't from round here, are ya?"

Save all manner of bacon grease. You will be instructed later on how to use it.

Don' t be worried at not understanding what people are saying. They can't understand you either. The first Southern statement to creep into a transplanted Yankee's vocabulary is the adjective big ol', truck or big ol' boy. Most Yankees begin their Southern influenced dialect this way. All of them are in denial about it.

The proper pronunciation you learned in school is no longer proper.

Be advised that "He needed killin," is a valid defense here.

If you hear a Southerner exclaim, "Hey, y'all watch this," you should stay out of the way. These are likely to be the last words he'll ever say.

If there is the prediction of the slightest chance of even the smallest accumulation of snow, your presence is required at the local grocery store. It doesn' t matter whether you need anything or not. You just have to go there.

Do not be surprised to find that 10-year olds own their own shotguns, are proficient marksmen, and their mammas taught them how to aim.

In the South, we have found that the best way to grow a lush green lawn is to pour gravel on it and call it a driveway.

AND REMEMBER: If you do settle in the South and bear children, don't think we will accept them as Southerners. After all, if the cat had kittens in the oven, we wouldn't call ' em biscuits.

Send this to four people that ain't related to you, and I reckon your life will turn into a country music song 'fore you know it.

Your kin would get a kick out of it too!

Menu Foods Class Action Update

This is the law firm I'm going with because they actually got back to me. I've already spoken with two very nice women named Adrienne and Isabel. If you aren't represented yet, why don't you get in touch with them?

260 Peachtree Street
Suite 1601
Atlanta, GA 30303
(404) 419-9500 -Voice
(800) 641-0098 -Toll Free
(404) 419-9501 – Fax

You may also want to read the following posts:
Goodbye Catfish

Princess Sneezy

Sex Kitten

Our Pets are Being Poisoned

Educate Yourself for the Sake of Your Pet

How to Help Your Surviving Pet

Is Your Pet on a Lifetime Diet of k/d Now?

menu foods class action menu foods class action
menu foods class action menu foods class action menu foods class action menu foods class action menu foods class action menu foods class action menu foods class action

Be Careful What You Wish For

… for you will surely get it – in spades.

I wanted a kitty to keep Sneezy company. Remember the cats from the house behind mine that I told you disappeared after a thunderstorm, and finally showed up again a few days later? One was pregnant. Then she wasn’t. She was spending all her time at my house, and didn’t seem to want to go home any more, so I put food out for her. Today, four little wild cats showed up in my back yard, and they look just like her.

I named one Ghost. She is the meanest little thing, white as a snowflake, except for a patch of gray on her butt, and her tail. She hisses and growls, and spits and scratches, and bites and carries on like a poltergeist (05/28/07 - Ghost finally got over it. She's very sweet and loveable now).
Another one has been named Shy. She’s white with gray patches all over. She's the runt, and the other kitties don't play with her (05/28/07 She wasn't getting enough to eat, so I had to bottle feed her. The poor thing was starving, and chewed the nipple right off the bottle in about two minutes. She's doing much better now).
One is an explorer. I’m thinking of calling it Columbus, but that may change when I discover its gender. He's roly poly chubby, and the fuzziest of the four.

The fourth one looks just like Shy, except she has a white tip on her tail. Her name is Champ, for the sister of one of my husband's friends, a little girl who wears a baseball cap backwards, and loves sports.

I put down a glass quiche dish with a fish dinner in it for them, big enough that they can all eat simultaneously. Mama Cat ate every bite, so I gave them more. A few minutes later, I looked in on them, and all four were up in the dish, chowing down, with Mama Cat supervising. They are in my house, protected from Old Yeller – the yellow feral cat that hangs around sometimes, all the neighbor’s dogs, the weather, and anything else that gets kitties (05/28/07 - The last time I saw Old Yeller, he had a huge patch of skin hanging off his neck. That's been quite a while ago, and I think he went off somewhere and died).

I went to the neighbor’s house to let them know the situation, and they said it isn’t their cat (a likely story). I cannot keep all these kitties, and I will not take them to the shelter. In addition, I have a black kitten on hold for me as soon as it’s weaned. And another neighbor is trying to get me to take a yellow and white kitty they adopted, and decided they don’t want. I can't take it! To top it all off, Sneezy doesn’t like any of them.

Now I'm off to wish to win the lottery.

Goodbye Buckwheat. Rest in Peace



May 6, 2008 - February 9, 2009

Hold me, squeeze me, hug me, kiss me, love me, pet me, tickle me; do it all again.

Tickling Gloves

I wanted my first post in more than a year to be more significant than it's going to be. Maybe I will ease back into this.

Anyway, this is just an observation, based on my stats: I could make a fortune selling gloves to people who have tickling fetishes. I had no idea it's so widespread.

According to, the verb "tickle" is defined as: "to touch or stroke lightly with the fingers, a feather, etc., so as to excite a tingling or itching sensation, to titillate or to poke some sensitive part of the body so as to excite spasmodic laughter. " The term that's being Googled, Binged, searched for in a Dogpile, or sent crawling with 80Legs, is "tickling gloves." doesn't have a definition for those.

It does have a list of other suggestions, however:
There's the SW Tickle, which I thought might be a special southernwriter tickle, but no; turns out it's a Southwestern-based group of tickling fiends. There are also tickle drawings which led me to learn that tickling is an art in Japan. Who knew? There are suggestions for videos, female tickle clits, um, clips--I was curious to know if that meant soft porn videos or pinching devices--belly tickles, tied and tickled, tickle toons, tickling feet, tickled pink, tickled to death, and clips of tickled celebrities, which have nothing to do with picking up an Oscar.
Apparently, everyone is into this. I still remember that when I met my husband's grandfather, he said, "tickleyourasswithafeather?" and at the time, I was sure I had misunderstood him. Turns out when he repeated it, he'd said "particularly nasty weather." Or so I thought.

Back to gloves.
if I were going to be tickled by someone wearing gloves,
I think I would prefer those thin, lint-free gloves photographers use.

They have a light, wispy kind of feel to them.

I can picture opera length gloves under certain circumstances--like who's wearing them-- but the heavier the fabric gets, the creepier it becomes. White dress gloves remind me of clowns, and that just gets weirder from there.

Worn by Marines in dress uniform however, might put a different spin on things ....

Leather is too scary for me. That's kind of OJ-ish, or serial killerish. You might be different (and if that's what you like, you are different). Your child in mittens could be very sweet, but by saying that, I put us all in danger of attracting pedophiles here. Go home; this is not that kind of blog.

Wait and see. Someone will steal this idea. Maybe the person whose entrepreneurial fancy it tickles will create gloves with feathers sewn into the fingertips.

Punk Kid Admits Stealing My Cat

P.S. This kid is easily recognizable because this is the only shirt he owns. He wears it every day.

Poetic Justice

The guy with his shirt up is not the punk. The punk is the one on the cell phone in the video. The shirt guy is a punk, too, but probably not a cat-stealing punk.

How To Help Your Surviving Pet

Disclaimer: I am not a veterinarian. This advice did not come from a veterinarian. It came from another writer whose pet has been surviving chronic renal failure for the past six months.E sent me a wonderful e-mail yesterday full of helpful information about kidney failure in pets. Her beautiful dog has been surviving kidney failure since last October, so she has some experience with the problem. From what I’ve been able to find in my research, I agree with her, but she has also enlightened me about a medication that could help. Be sure to ask your veterinarian about prescribing it for your pet! First, she says she’s learned a great deal from a mailing list she belongs to, called “K9Kidneys." Much of what they talk about would be applicable to cats, too. And there may be a feline analogue. The address is:

Regarding low protein diets for animals with kidney failure: Research is now showing that the most critical element to limit is phosphorus. Low-phosphorus, bio-available protein is necessary
for kidney-failure animals, because without it, they develop muscle wasting. Egg whites are the best low-phosphorus protein source. Cook them lightly. I offered some to Sneezy, but she wasn’t impressed. I’ll have to become creative to get some down her, I suppose.

Phosphorus binders are essential to prevent the phosphorus the animal does ingest from being absorbed. If your pet's calcium levels are normal, a calcium phosphorus binder will work. If her
calcium is also high, plain dried aluminum hydroxide gel is the best phosphorus binder. Tasteless powder. Mix with food.There is a new probiotic supplement on the market called Azodyl.

Make sure your vet knows about it! She said she doesn’t know if it does all the company claims it does, but when her dog was given three weeks to live in October, she started him on it, and he's still with her, although he's having a bit of a rough patch at the moment. We all wish him well, right? Positive thinking is so important! Or, she suggests giving your pet organic live-probiotic-culture yogurt as an alternative.

She adds that subcutaneous fluids at home can be a big help. Your vet can help you set up to do it.
She also recommends the site I told you about a couple days ago:

I asked this writer if it was okay for me to share this information, but I haven’t heard back from her, yet. I can’t imagine she’d say no, and I believe it’s important to get help for our pets as quickly as possible, so I’m going ahead. She can yell at me later if she wants. If / when she says it’s okay, I’ll tell you who she is (and hers is a name you’ll want to remember, because her book will be on all the best-seller lists as soon as it's published.)

Menu Foods Recall Class Action How to Help Your Surviving Pet Now
Menu Foods Recall Class Action How to Help Your Surviving Pet Now Menu Foods Recall Class Action How to Help Your Surviving Pet Now Menu Foods Recall Class Action How to Help Your Surviving Pet Now

Classifieds - "Kittens, Free to a Good Home" Needed

I need a new kitty. Sneezy misses Catfish, and she’s lonely.

There were some other cats, four, I think, that must live in the house behind mine, who were here constantly up until we had the thunderstorm last week, but now they seem to have disappeared. I shudder to think what may have become of them. I cannot go to the shelter and look for them, because if I found them, I would have to adopt them. I could never take one or two, and leave the others behind. I simply couldn’t. Nor can I afford to adopt them all, much less feed them, and pay for their vet bills. The good news is that the shelter in my town is a no-kill shelter. People who discard their pets like yesterday’s newspaper irk the shit out of me. When I adopt a pet, it’s for life, come hell or high water.

I’d like to get a solid black male, like Catfish. Someone told me the other day that Sneezy will know the difference.
Ya think? I didn’t know whether to laugh or be annoyed. I’m pretty sure when the term “dumb animal” was coined, it’s because they can’t speak, not because they aren’t smart. In many ways, I think they’re smarter than we are. I’m certain none of them ever voted for Dubya Bush.

I checked bulletin boards and the paper today for “kitties, free to a good home,” but there were none. I couldn’t believe people want from $20 to $$$ (hundreds) of dollars for a cat, when normally, you can’t give them away. It’s why I had Sneezy spayed before she ever had a litter. God bless the animal shelters, but I can’t go there. It reduces me to tears. When I fantasize about winning the Powerball, the first item on my list of things to get are all the animals at the shelter, and round-the-clock employees to help care for them. Of course, I’ll need a big ol’ plantation to house them all.

So anyway, if any of you in the Memphis area have friends who are trying to give away kittens, and they have a solid black male, would you please let me know? Sneezy will love it to pieces.

P.S. There's an update about low phospherous diets and binders in the comments here. Hopefully, there will be an update about Azodyl next week.
low phospherous binders Azodyl low phospherous binders Azodyl low phospherous binders Azodyl low phospherous binders Azodyl low phospherous binders Azodyl
UPDATE May 7, 2007: I ran into Matt this weekend. He's the vet tech who's sharp as a tack and truly cares, and he looked into Azodyl for me. He said it works well for animals with chronic renal failure as opposed to acute renal failure. So while it would not have helped Sneezy at the time she ate the tainted pet food, it will help her now. This is worth asking your vet about.

Someone came here by way of a Google search with the term "chronic renal failure cat makes clicking ticking sound." I know nothing about that, but I'd like to, if anyone can clue me in!

Thursday, June 29, 2017

Can Anyone Identify This Furniture?

I know, this is a strange post, but this furniture is bugging me. I need to know what it is for a story. Can anyone identify the maker of the furniture in these photos?

The red upholstery with the gray horses has stuck with me all my life.
There was more furniture, all blond, but not cane. Heavy pieces, but minimalist in design. I'm searching for a photo of that furniture, too. I think it may have been a forerunner of the modern style that developed in the 60's.

(I like this photo because in a year or two, the world would be on the verge of Beatlemania, and nothing would ever be the same again.)

Since you came all the way here expecting a real post, sorry--it has been a tough week--I will, at least, tell you something amusing.

My grandmother, who was visiting for Christmas, took these pictures. The top photo was taken first. Then Grandma had my older sister get up on the table for her picture. Did you catch that? Her picture. Where was my picture? The entire family was in the previous photo, so it couldn't be my picture. I was in the background. My sister was front and center in my picture. And I wasn't about to let her get away with it. When Bossy realized I was behind the curtain, she had a screaming hissy fit. We have continued that same rivalry all our lives.