Robbie as a young cat
I was at the vet’s for two hours yesterday while they tested this and tested that. This vet has been Robbie’s doctor for several years, so she should know what’s what.
Well, she didn’t think our cat was all that sick. Coulda fooled us! We were afraid she was dying. A bit of pain killer will supposedly do the trick. We are left wondering what the hell is going on.
I don’t feel like I’m heading into this day with a full tank of gas…
Experts! If we listened to them and never ate,drank, did, or thought of the things they say we should never eat, drink, do, or think–we’d be ghosts.
(If you start to feel oogy while looking at that cat picture, surely there’s a bunch of tests that you can take! Keep testing until you find out you’re sick.)
I wonder what it would be like, to follow all the expert advice you’ve ever heard. All of it.
Sounds like an essay contest in the making.
You’ll always know her by her white bib.
We were just about to go to bed last night when Robbie broke into a very loud seizure that lasted two or three minutes. Then she got up and walked to one of her favorite sleeping places and lay down. After some time spent soothing and comforting her, she seemed pretty much back to normal–and I didn’t have to make a midnight ride to the emergency veterinary hospital (which is always very hard to find at night!).
She seems all right this morning, so far… but let us have your prayers. Please! There’s only Patty and Robbie and me, everybody else in the family has either died or moved so far away, they might as well be on another continent. We need the love our cat gives us.
She’s 17, so we don’t want to put her through any severe and stressful medical procedures. Let her continue on the medicines she already has, and for the rest, rely on prayer and love and tenderness.
Please pray for us. All three of us.
Heavy rain on nine out of the last ten days: I can’t take it anymore. Would anybody mind if I eased up on the nooze today? Can’t take much more of that, either.
[Heads up! Why did the governor of Arizona “step down” for 15 hours? Why was every high official out of state except the treasurer? A very peculiar situation!]
Hmm… There appears to be a lull in the rain. Dare I attempt to smoke a cigar?
I think I’ll do that before moving on to Joe Collidge.
We are open to any kind of reader request that you can think of.
Once you go down there, you’ll never come back up.
I don’t know what you have to do to shake off certain publicists. They just won’t take NO! for an answer.
Here’s a publicist trying to get me on board for “Bible stories without God (see the original post from 2019, ‘Bible Stories Without God’)… after I’d already said no.
Sometimes I just can’t fathom the sliminess that’s out there. I don’t know why some of these people just don’t spontaneously combust. Obviously they have no fear of God. Is that due to evil, or to profound, bottomless stupidity?
I know only one person who ever had a pet badger (she’s probably reading this). I have no idea how to acquire a pet badger.
Here’s somebody rough-housing with his pet badger. Admire the badger’s control: the bites are all in play, no harm done.
You’re only old if Danny Kaye can’t make you laugh anymore.
I watched a vintage Kolchak: the Night Stalker episode last night. The monster had just killed a man. He’d been playing poker in a warehouse with his friends (the man, not the monster: the monster had no friends), and the monster got him when he got up to do something else.
Anyhow, there’s the police investigating it. “Yeah, poor old guy. Well, y’know, he was 72,,,”
Aaaah! Hold on there! 72? That makes him some kind living fossil?
One thing it does make him is… younger than me!
Great shakes, forsooth, and fap–how did that happen? I don’t look like any of those guys in the Kolchak episode… do I? (“He used to babysit for Phil Niekro…”)
(Quick! Do something sprightly!)
Patty has found us a Danny Kaye movie to watch this afternoon. It won’t put any pages back on the calendar; but it can probably make you not care.
I had a terrible night last night, and I wonder how long I’ll last today before conking out.
I dreamt I was alone in someone’s house–whose, I don’t remember, but it did seem familiar to me–tidying up the living room…
When in came the Grim Reaper, headed straight for me with his scythe. He had no face. Everything about him was in deepest black, even the blade of the scythe.
Wit you well, I let out a scream! More than one of them, I’m told. But I did scream my way out of that before something worse could happen.
What made me dream such a thing? Just the cumulative effect of a whole week’s worth of nooze? That’s the most likely explanation, I think.
(Gee, I’m already feeling kind of tired…)
If I were organizing a men’s softball team today, I’d make a rule: if you were in Little League, you can’t be on this team.
Dig this video of a Little League coach pepping up the kiddies for the game. If your dad, he says, ever told you the goal here is simply to play your best and have fun, then–I quote–“Your dad’s a loser.” Because, he says, the goal is to win: “make the other players cry.”
Dude, my dad on his worst day was worth 50 of you. I am so glad he–and my mother–decided to keep me out of Little League. It’s been my experience that organized sports, rather than bringing out anything good, turns you into an obnoxious little twerp. How many times have I seen that demonstrated in men’s basketball at the Y?
I was told I could play all day if I wanted, as long as it wasn’t in Little League. My mother taught me to hit like Harmon Killebrew. My dad played catch with my brother and me in the evening–after he came home from another strenuous day at the Ford plant. As the years go by, I’m more and more grateful to them for having the wisdom to let children be children.
This other guy–pffft! Begone, varlet.
Don’t tear your hair just yet–we’re looking for a solution.
Some of us–well, not me, because I’m at the other end of this line and I don’t see what you see–have been complaining about WordPress not posting your comments. I have contacted WordPress about this and am waiting for an answer.
Meanwhile, Phoebe thinks she’s got it figured out. You should read her comment on yesterday’s post, “Kitten and Ducklings.” If she’s right, the comments in question are merely being subjected to a delay and will appear in two or three minutes after being posted.
Trust me, the last thing I want here is posting problems for my readers. I’ve sunk from 300+ views a day to only 200 or less–which I think has been caused by algorithms installed by Big Tech to suppress Christian and conservative sites. I don’t need a lot of technological bumbling added to the load.
So please bear with us. We’re trying to get it fixed.