As long as some of us are talking about cats, I’d like to share this with you. It’s a true story. Honest.
My cat Buster, a big orange cat, was sitting up on the cabinet, looking out the window. His sister, Missy, was on the floor, washing herself. I was concerned for Missy’s weight; so I said to Buster, “Yo, Buster! Look how fat your sister is getting. She needs some exercise. Why don’t you jump down from there and chase her up the stairs?”
And that is exactly what he did.
You can’t tell me your cats don’t understand you when you talk to them. Well, okay, you can tell me that–but I won’t believe you.
I took down our Christmas tree this morning and put all the ornaments away. Then vacuumed. It’s a big job, and I’m pooped. But then it’s an even bigger job to set it up. Why do we do it?
First we put on the lights. We use lights from the store Grandpa had in the 1930s, and they all still work. Then there’s a ton of ornaments to put on. Each and every one of our ornaments has a story: they’re a kind of history of our family. They bring vividly to mind the people we’ve loved, and good times shared with them. You might wonder what a Christmas tree has to do with the birth of Jesus Christ Our Savior. But God ordained the family, God loves the family, and it’s one of those things that His Son came to earth to save.
I put the tree out on the curb with a prayer that this past Christmas will continue to work throughout the year, powerfully drawing our hearts to Jesus Christ Our Lord: Amen.
Yesterday it was some jerk parked right in the middle of Main Street, creating a traffic jam, while he went into a store. There were no parking spaces open, so he just left his car in the middle of the street.
Betcha anything he’s a liberal.
And P.S., you’ve gotta watch your step around here now, because some other schmendrick is walking his our her big dog all around other people’s yards without cleaning up the creature’s enormous feces.
Sometimes writing about current events just wears me out. For refreshment, I turn to God’s handiwork.
Behold the woolly mammoth, as painted by the great Charles R. Knight. This was the first prehistoric animal I fell in love with. I used to dream about them. A truck would sound its horn at night, out on Route 1, and I would think it was a mammoth calling to the other mammoths.
And I don’t know why, but somehow I conceived the notion that my Aunt Betty, the nun, had the ability to obtain for me a mammoth of my own, and I used to pester her about it. Give me a break, I think I was only five years old. Poor Aunt Betty. She made me a little toy mammoth out of some kind of fur. Well, she tried. If I still had that toy, it would be among my treasures. But not as great a treasure as she herself would be.
When God restores His whole creation, I’m sure there will be mammoths once again. And we will enjoy them with our loved ones.
So who says Artificial Intelligence is really just artificial stupidity?
We received today a computer-generated reminder from Greetings.com that today is my third birthday. Wow, 65 years taken right off the top! Imagine if they could do that with your weight, too. I just can’t wait till we all have the ability to hook up our brains to a master computer somewhere and all of us be just as smart as whips. First our cars, then our missile defense system, and finally our brains.
So how are people coping with day after day of off-the-charts cold weather?
At our local supermarket today, a fight almost broke out. We didn’t see what touched it off, but the whole big store could hear it. A rather large customer claimed he’d asked an employee a simple question and got a snotty answer, and next thing you know, it was hellzapoppin. Assistant managers came running. Other customers tried to pretend they didn’t see or hear the fracas. “You wanna knock me out, you punk! I dare you! Come on and try it!” And so on. In fact, some of the dialogue was so heated, you literally couldn’t understand it. Anyway, two managers escorted the employee back into the meat department–good idea, he might cool down there–while a third tried to soothe the customer, who didn’t want to be soothed and kept up his rant for several more minutes. We suspect he really wanted a fight and was disappointed not to get one. And one more misplaced word, by either party, and there would’ve been two men rolling in the aisles amongst the eggs and yogurt.
A fellow customer gave me a sad look and muttered, “So much hate!” But I think it was more the weather than any other cause. Cabin fever, you know. Around here, the temperature hasn’t climbed anywhere near 30 degrees since before Christmas.
Draw your own conclusions from the incident. I will only add that we shop at that store at least twice a week, have been doing so for years, and until today have never seen anything like this.
“Thewhiterabbit” requested this one, and I’m glad he did. I was going to save it for tomorrow, but I feel the need of Christmas cheer, just now. Ach, the news! And on New Year’s Eve we had no heat here in our apartment, with the landlord saying it was our fault–aah, never mind. Just one of those little things that can get you down.
Well, it helps to remember what Christmas is all about–forgiveness of sins, redemption, and eternal life. We can only get those things from God… and He has taken care of it.
See that tiny black fuzzy thing attempting to nurse Boo, the obliging pit bull? That’s Jax as he was when my stepdaughter first took him in–the huge black cat whose picture I posted yesterday. In case you were wondering, Boo hasn’t gotten any smaller. Patty wanted you all to see this: after all, a lot of us prayed for this kitten, and you’ve seen how he’s turning out.
Remember that sickly little kitten my stepdaughter adopted, not yet a year ago, who needed a rare blood transfusion to stay alive? We all prayed for him, the rare blood was discovered to be readily available, and he was fine. She named him Jax.
Here he is with his big sister Boo, a pit bull who foster-mothered him; and if he keeps growing, he’ll be as big as she is! I mean, this cat is huge! And not done growing yet, he’s not yet a year old. Just eight months, in fact.
I wonder if he’s part liger.