Our cats Buster and Missy used to try to crowd each other off my lap while watching television (As Time Goes By was their favorite). Sorry, but my lap just wasn’t big enough for both of them. I’m happy to say they never got to fighting over it. But I was always afraid they would–and guess who would’ve gotten scratched.
Forget all that stuff about them being natural enemies. Domestication has it licked.
It’s natural for a kitten and a puppy to play together. Either one of them could always run away. And at the end they cuddle up for a nap.
We praise the Creator who gave us this.
Once upon a time my sister gave us a pair of white rats for Christmas. They were tame, affectionate, playful… with us humans.
But when it was bed-time and we turned out the lights, we would hear, coming from the rats’ aquarium, thump-thump-thump-thud-SQUEEEEEAK! And I’d turn the light back on, only to find the two little characters innocently sitting in the cedar shavings… as if to say “Fight? What fight? Who’s fightin’? We don’t know what you’re talking about, boss.”
At least they never hurt each other.
I can’t tell you how I miss our cats. It creeps up on you when you aren’t ready for it.
But I still like cat videos and I still love cats. If I ever get well, I’ll want some little furry character to cuddle.
As we move into Chapter DXXXII of her immortal classic romance, Oy, Rodney, author Violet Crepuscular challenges us with exotic prose. The chapter opens with a speech by Constable Chumley. See what you can make of it.
“Yon briggage hath a sawney plock, but ather skeel shell veck thee.”
Meanwhile, Lady Margo Cargo has found harpies squatting in her attic. “I want something done about it!” she expostulates.
“I’m kind of busy, old thing,” replies Lord Jeremy Coldsore. Egged on by the June Taylor Dancers, woolly mammoths prepare to assault the gates of Coldsore Hall.
Harpies also habituate the outdoors.
But wait! Mr. Pitfall is at the door, with a box of candy; he is Ms. Crepuscular’s suitor.
(All right, all right, I hear you! “What kind of candy?” you inquire. As if it was important! Well, I don’t know what kind of candy! I’m busy with these harpies.)
Mr. Pitfall will not be denied. He presses his ear to the letter slot and hears the familiar sound of Ms. Crepuscular ululating in her kitchen. (She is trying to imitate what she imagines to be woolly mammoth noises.) He knocks vigorously.
The Queen of Suspense looses a blood-curdling scream.
And then silence. (Isn’t that suspenseful! Wow!)
G’day, boys ‘n’ gulls! Byron the Quokka here, with another weekend of fabulous TV brought to you by Quokka University, where grade point averages go to die. Here are just a few of this week’s offerings.
Saturday
5:45 p.m. Ch. 42 MONGOLIAN BASEBALL–“Free” baseball
Tired of having to pay fees to watch a ball game on TV? Well, one simple package deal, for a mere 49 cents, will bring you all sorts of sports from the heart of Central Asia. Today: Kalgan Kippers vs. Ulan Bator Bashmaks. Losing manager gets thrown off a cliff! With Yin Chee Ching in the broadcast booth. (English translation extra charge, please.)
6 p.m. Ch. 08 DATING GAME WITH CROCODILES–Social Justice TV
It’s always so much fun to watch the look on a contestant’s face when he (or she) learns he hasn’t won a blind date with a gorgeous partner, but only a hard push into a swimming pool full of hungry crocodiles. Commentary: Some guy who identifies as Julius Caesar.
Ch. 24 MAGIC TRICKS FOR CLUMSY OAFS–(It means what it says)
Want to be the life of the party? The Great Scappini will get you there–with magic! This week: Scappini’s classic Disappearing Coccyx trick. This was the illusion that convinced Ingrid Bergman that there was a walrus in her bedroom. Important Note: Watch the whole thing, or you won’t get the coccyx back.
OK, that’s three of ’em–three TV shows that’ll have you talking to yourself. I love those magic tricks!
Byron the Quokka, signing off!
Springtime will be here before you know it, and that means… baseball! Little League Baseball.
The Little League organization in Foop Township, New Jersey, has decided to go all out this year for “Diversity, Equity, Inclusion.” Especially inclusion!
This year, for the first time anywhere in civilized countries, adults will be allowed to play against children in the Foop Township Little League. Wait’ll those ten-year-olds get a taste of Fireball Ronnie Ryan’s 90-mile-an-hour fastball!
“This was bound to happen, once they started letting men play women’s sports,” said Foop Township Little League Commissioner Wu Kazoo. “It’s like the nuclear arms race. If a rival team signs up some 30-year-old who used to play Triple-A ball, the other teams have to do the same or else get left behind.”
How many children will be able to keep playing against grown men? Amber Pooh, director of the Women’s Sports Collective, says, “Who cares? The kiddies will sit on the bench and cheer.”
Isn’t she afraid of grown men taking over women’s sports?
“Never happen!” she snapped.
Is that really you on Twitter (?), urging a safe workout for all concerned? Close-up of assorted fitness machines. (Is Twitter “X” now? I can’t keep track.)
Watch out–somebody may be trying to turn you into a fitness guru. I’d volunteer, if I could get across the living room without a cane.
I didn’t know birds could be playful–especially birds of prey, like this falcon.
But makes sense, though, doesn’t it? Every living thing was called into being by our Creator. And many of them He endowed with a sense of play.
Can’t teach a falcon to play chess, though. That pleasure He reserved to us.
I’m already running low on gas this morning, and I don’t need extra agita. Nevertheless, I find I’m short an episode of Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular’s tempestuous Victorian romance set in the jungles of Scurveyshire, in southern England.
We have a recent page of her diary, found abandoned on her coffee table. Here is what I would consider a revealing excerpt.
Feb. 28: I can’t go on! “So don’t,” says Mr. Pitfall, my neighbor. He has a passion for me that burns like something real hot, but I can’t think of what. He thinks I should have stopped Oy, Rodney at Chapter 531.
What to do, what to do? Mammoths at the gates of Coldsore Hall, warming up to break through the doors. Mr. Pudding has been eaten! And the June Taylor Dancers are on the warpath. Willis Twombley, the American adventurer who thinks he’s Sargon of Akkad, wants to start picking them off with his hunting rifle. I try to dissuade him: “It’s not on, old boy.” “Dagnabbit, Germy, that sure is dissuasive,” he replies. Then he shoots another one. Oh those Americans.
Meanwhile Mr. Pitfall is nagging me to run away with him. “This here passion of mine,” he said, “will make you think you’ve gone to Heaven early! Let’s start packing–do you want this Mandrake the Magician T-shirt? I once–“
And there it ends, only the one leaf torn from the diary.
I think I’ll go make mud pies.
