Tag Archives: toys

We call it ripping.

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Or rippin’ for short.

I’ve heard people call it the zoomies, but I can’t quite wrap my tongue around that.

Whatever the nomenclature, it’s when your pet goes spastic and starts tearing around the house like a whirling dervish. For Lord Dudley Mountcatten it happens every evening around 7:00. He starts to twitch, gets a wild look in his eye and he’s off. Sprinting across the living room, down the hall, bouncing off a wall to the second hall, up and over the bed, across the top of a chair, back down the halls, through the kitchen, ending under the dining room table with a toy.

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Last night it was the blue feathered whale and as you can see, he was having a grand old time.

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Wish I was that limber.

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I’m not sure why he has a fascination with furniture legs…

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But when he’s in rippin’ mode he always wraps around them to play.

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Cats.

They be crazy.

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And the poop keeps coming.

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Why is everyone so obsessed with poop these days?

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How bad do you have to be to find one of those in your Christmas stocking?

Yes, the classic emoji has its uses …

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But does it need to be flung in a mini slingshot? No. Even with the added incentive of 3 free flying feces.

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Thanks for clearing up the fake versus real controversy. Those outstretched arms and googly eyes might have come from Uncle Harold’s commode. He always was an odd duck.

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I’m going to go out on a limb and say English is not the ad copy writer’s first language. But hey… poop is universal.

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Random photo dump.

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A cat and his mouse is a beautiful thing.

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Lord Dudley Mountcatten hasn’t caught a live one in quite a while but he does enjoy sleeping with his toy version.

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On a recent trip to the orthopedist I began wondering if he has voodoo doctor credentials.

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Crystal bones are made for throwing.

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Note to self…

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Buy bigger bird bath.

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Even he has no explanation for those ugly things…

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A little of this.. and a whole lot of nothing.

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This is an aerial shot of my little Maine town and I dare you to say it’s not a beautiful place to live.

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This is Lord Dudley Mountcatten and he’s a bit of a goober.

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He could tuck his tail beside him, or move farther down the window to accommodate its length…. but does he? No.

Because he’s a goober.

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Our neighbor and his two teenage boys came over last weekend and ended up at the man cave pool table. Poor kids, my husband and their father were both telling them how to play and they couldn’t have been more confused.

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Does Lord Dudley need a Princess Leia donut hairdo wig?

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The answer is no.

But his mother is seriously considering the Storm Trooper catnip mice….

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Because, come on… what’s not to love?

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Cosmopolitan Hell … part 2.

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Because this month’s issue was extra horrible and requires two posts.

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Sorry Cara, but I definitely don’t want to hear all about your sex toys.

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Golden penis syndrome. If nothing else? Receiving this gift subscription has made me aware how utterly out of touch I am.

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As if you men don’t think your wands have magic powers already. Geesh.

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Interesting demographic there. All in the south except one town in Massachusetts. Wonder why…?

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No, I didn’t tear that article out and I didn’t tuck it under my mattress. I did give brief thought to sending a copy to Monica Lewinsky… but alas, I think that ship has sailed.

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In honor of the Olympics.

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*Warning- this is really just a Dudley photo dump and has little (okay, absolutely nothing) to do with the Olympics*

I love to watch the Olympics, sometimes with Lord Dudley Mountcatten by my side. So with that in mind, I bring you…

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His Lordship’s favorite event is the feather ball toss.

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He practices daily.

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And is in gold medal contention for his bat it under the couch and then howl until the human recovers it routine.

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If looks could kill?

Ouch.

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Nice squashing form!

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No, I’m not through taking pictures yet.

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Caught in mid swipe…

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Time outs must be taken for fly hunting.

And then?

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A nap on the ball.

Athletes be tired.

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Worst. Dog. Toy. Ever.

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In fairness to my dog loving readers who must cringe at the plethora of cat posts on my page … here’s one for you.

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Wondering what your next birthday or Christmas gift to Fido should be?

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Mr. Poops. Because you can never go wrong with a morose black turd.

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No need to thank me. The thought of Mr. Poop happily squeaking his way through your house is all the gratitude I need.

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A new toy.

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The husband came home with a new toy last weekend.

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And before I knew it or could grab a good before picture…

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He’d trimmed an unruly hedge.

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And moved on to the next.

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These bushes can get out of hand quickly, and I trim them every fall. The husband always gave me Hell for bringing the trimmer in the office and cutting from an open window, but it was the only way I could reach. He ranted about how dangerous it was, how much of a mess it made…. and for years on end told me it wasn’t necessary.

You know where I’m going with this right?

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Yes.

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Once again I was proved right.

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And trimming through the open office window commenced.

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But the shrubbery was nicely shaped so I didn’t rub it in.

Well, not much.

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Random tidbits

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Read the following listing carefully.

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Possibilities of seasonal views. Which means – From your heavily wooded lot, in the dead of winter when all the trees are bare, if you stand on the edge of your bathroom sink and crane your neck to the north? You might see a tiny section of ice covered pond water.

Technically they’re not lying, but still.

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Lord Dudley Mountcatten loves his toys. He loves them so much he shreds an average of one a week.

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It’s a veritable catnip mouse slaughterhouse around here.

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That sums it up nicely.

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Do I need that?

Now that you mention it… I might.

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This sounds like the perfect summer cocktail.

Cheers!

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