How’s that for a cool headline? Not very informative, but I don’t think headlines are intended to convey information.
Anyway, I can’t resist singing cockatiels, especially when they’re whistling the Imperial March from Star Wars. Rush Limbaugh used to play that whenever he had a story about American liberals responding erotically to Mikhail Gorbachev.
I’ve had cats who really loved certain smells. Vanilla, for instance. And York Peppermint Patties: Buster loved a whiff of one of those.
But here are cats rejecting various objects because apparently they smell real bad. Cats hate lemons; but we have no idea what a lemon smells like to a cat. They don’t seem to like the bouquet of toothpaste, either.
I have seen cats catch and eat birds. It’s one of those things that’s supposed to happen in nature.
But here’s a cat who only wants to take a nap, in spite of the barking dog, the loud TV, and several birds offstage. All of this he overcomes. But he can’t overcome the crazy dove who wants to coo at him, nibble his ear, and poke him with her beak.
How does this bird know the cat won’t–well, eat her? He has opportunities to put the bird away, but doesn’t do it.
“Biological machines hard-wired to behave in certain stereotypical ways”–Fap!
Now, Kitty! We humans put your squeaky catnip mouse in the cover for a reason–to keep it away from you. Because we’re tired of stepping on it! We know it’ll be perfectly secure in the cupboard because cats don’t have hands and anyway, we humans are, like, a thousand times smarter than cats…
What is this mysterious power that cats have over certain dogs? The dog is several times the cat’s size, and yet the cat holds all the cards.
I think this is an old dog with a very sweet nature–just what you don’t need, to roust a stubborn cat out of your bed. Please note that the cat doesn’t hurt the dog, just sort of shoos her away. Sportsmanship, of a kind.
G’day, folks, Byron the Quokka here! The quokka in the picture is Handy, the captain of Quokka University’s pick-up sticks team. Somebody’s giving him a twig. Handy sometimes forgets just what kind of sticks you’re supposed to pick up in pick-up sticks. The picture below is a reminder, in case he’s reading this.
Now, a lot of us thought we ought to join the NCAA so we could contend for an international collegiate pick-up sticks championship. But first we find out they want, like, a zillion dollars’ membership fee, right up front; and then we find out they don’t even have a pick-up sticks conference!
College! They don’t have pick-up sticks, but they’ve got Beyonce studies. Well, we guess Quokka U. is just going to have to blaze a trail, aren’t we? Our motto isn’t Ipso loquitur mannimota for nothing! Meanwhile, would you believe it, a newborn baby Quokka has been named Ipso! Let’s see Hambone University top that–even if they’re in the NCAA and we aren’t.
We’ve got to find some pick-up sticks teams that we can play against. They have one in Canberra, but it’s just a bunch of clumsy humans who get silly after 15 minutes of it.
If your town or school or college has a pick-up sticks team that wants to come to Rottnest Island for a match, please contact the Quokka U. Athletic Dept., care of Mrs. Wanda Nichols, Kookaburra Heights Caravan Park, Hellzapoppin, W. Australia.
These kittens are trying their best to stay awake, but some of them just can’t do it. This reminds me of my brother when he was little. He used to plead with my mother to let him say up to watch Route 66 on Friday night (he was crazy about the car, that old Corvette)–and three minutes after it started, he’d be sound asleep on the couch. Never failed.