A group of deer came up the other morning and since they rarely show in good light I grabbed my phone for a few pictures. If you look closely you’ll see the same doe sticks out her tongue ….
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Twice.
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That’s just rude.
Lord Dudley Mountcatten was completely uninterested in the visiting wildlife and slept soundly on the couch.
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When I die? I totally want to come back as a cat. These creatures never have insomnia.
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He roused for a moment when he heard the click of the camera…
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And then decided nothing the human was doing was worth disturbing his nap.
While I enjoy a sweet treat as much as the next girl, and am seriously pro dessert…
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The word dump tends to take a little bloom off the rose for me.
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Lord Dudley Mountcatten. He tries to hide, but isn’t very good at it.
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A very clever use of faucet handles to be sure. And now that I think about it, a spring flower that even my dastardly woodchucks couldn’t eat.
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Facebook. It’s annoying… but still the best way I know to keep up with old friends. And speaking of old, this was my FB memory from the other day. A photo of me and the hubs in the French Alps many moons ago. Yes, I was rock climbing in flip flops. Oh to be young and stupid again..
I’m not a hot tub type of girl. The thought of sitting in a warm bucket of water, pruning up with friends is not high on my list of preferred activities. And while the idea of free floating ray shaped cleansers is compelling….
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The idea of a scum covered pool of my bff’s exfoliated skin hasn’t changed my mind.
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One of our local grocery stores is now posting trivia. How fun is that?
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A combination of Scotch and Amaretto? I’ll refuse it and take my chances. Blech!
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The fact that there are people who will buy this product instead of just picking one up off the ground makes my head hurt.
I think we’ve established Lord Dudley Mountcatten is not your average rough and tumble feline. For a cat we rescued from a shelter… who had been found as a stray wandering the streets, he’s quickly adapted to the finer comforts life at Casa River provides. And while he loves to go outside in fair weather? The winter walkies are proving troublesome.
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There are shoveled paths all around the house, garage and barn but this furry numbskull plows through the snow instead. And when he does? He shakes and shivers and mewls pitifully.
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Which means my husband (the man with an infinite amount of patience for the cat but not his wife) has to pick up his Lordship and deliver him upon a path.
I came home from the grocery store the other day and found this:
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A bird viewing platform assembled by the husband for our slightly spoiled but quite adorable cat.
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Consisting of one dining room chair and a filthy, covered in cobwebs, paint stained step stool from the garage.
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Lord Dudley Mountcatten was quite pleased with it. I would have been more pleased had he washed off the 10 years worth of dirt the step stool had accumulated in the garage.
Have you ever given any thought to spaghetti? It’s not my favorite dish, but the husband loves it so I have to cook it more often than I’d prefer.
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Now I can’t stop thinking about all that back and forth. Ridiculous, no?
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Lord Dudley Mountcatten was cackling up a storm the other day. And no.. my windows are not normally that dirty, but the poor cat was positively drooling.
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That little red bitch is such a tease.
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The mere mention of Baby Shark has set that awful tune playing in my head again. If they’re going to roll out another equally as terrifying ear worm? We’re all doomed.
Another attempt at winter cat walking was made this week. The husband bundled up against the chill and Lord Dudley Mountcatten happily donned his harness for an excursion into the wilds of our backyard. All was proceeding nicely …
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Until we opened the door and the cold air hit his pansy ass feline self.
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At which point he turned tail and jumped right on the heating pad.
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His Lordship is most definitely a fair weather beast.
The husband and I stopped into a local seafood place the other day for a drink and a bite.
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The bartender whipped me up a few fabulous Snowy White Cosmopolitans…
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And somehow we got to chatting about cats. A few cocktails in I was talking about putting the harness and leash on Dudley and told the bartender that as soon as I said “walkies!” in my best falsetto… he came running. She looked at me oddly, so I explained the origin of the term.
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Barbara was a British dog trainer who had a show on PBS in the 80’s. When I mentioned her name, the bartender didn’t have a clue. Which is when I apparently insulted her by saying “You remember that show”. I truly thought she would, because ya know… we looked about the same age and she had previously commiserated with me about hot flashes. Turns out she wasn’t my age, not even close and she was less than pleased I thought so.
It was then that I realized I had broken the age old drinking rule… never piss off the bartender.
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It’s a good thing she’d delivered my crab quesadillas before my I let loose my poisoned comment.
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But clearly we’ll never be able to go back to this establishment. Which is a shame because it was a fun place, complete with an “I prefer my pets” love meter sangria dispenser…
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And an outboard motor kegerator.
Me and my big liquored up mouth. It will never learn.
🥴
Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
River's world..... 