“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”
― Søren Kierkegaard
There’s a look on Titanescu’s face that sometimes brings to mind a tortured but not defeated soul. Perhaps a Russian writer after ten winters in a gulag, lasting twelve months each.
The enigma of cats, who do not judge but reflect: a throw back without absorption, and a convoluted intro to three shots I took at the Strybing arboretum. I really liked them, which is what I want to share…
The cat tower is one place where the kittoons play with such abandon, things verge on disaster.
We’ve had to anchor the thing to the book case with tethers after they managed to topple it a few times, and since then they can race up and jump down the damn thing as hard as they please. And boy oh boy, do they play hard.
Which always begs the question, exactly what is going through their fevered brain..? Judging by the way they slam that thing against the wall, you’d think they’re re-enacting “Earthquake“. Or perhaps “the towering inferno“…
“It’s out of control, and it’s coming your way. You got about fifteen minutes.”
Titan: “Ain’t nobody got time for that!”
Tito: “Sigh… That’s not the line…”
Okay, break everyone… The director of photography needs to point out that in order to get the “performers” in position, a laser pointer had to be used for their mark, and that even then, they would get distracted by the caw of a bird or the ludic possibilities of a speck of dust, because they have the attention span of a herd of gnats…
I’m just saying, it’s frustrating…
“The sprinkler valve’s stuck!”
How are they gonna get explosives up there?
Tito: “Oh they’ll find some dumb son of a bitch to bring it up.”
Jenny: “Hey..!”
Titan: “гогот! гогот! гогот!“
That, unfortunately, is about as much thespian dedication the director could muster from all three, so let’s cut to the obligatory love scene at the end…
It’s 5:43 a.m., Los Bastardos have been fed their gushy food and Thundercats are go!
They’re ‘go’ all over the place so fast, Scotty’s not sure if she’ll hold, Captain…. Roll back the clock a few hours, sometime after midnight. Titanescu was on the bed as usual, but this time on my side. That makes me toss and turn and generally screws up my sleep, but hey, what we wouldn’t do for our furballs, eh?
It must have bothered him at one point because he slapped a paw firmly on my leg and held it there for half a minute as if to say “Достаточно двигались!” (something like ‘enough moving about’ I think)
I figure he had the same look as the other day. You have to wonder, even as they do their little feed-me dance on the kitchen floor, exactly who’s the pet around here?
The Marshal has been annoyed with the neighbors lately. You see, Titanescu spends most of his evenings on the bed with us, and glares towards our front door whenever their baby can be heard or nails are hammered, like the other day.
Titanescu has paws of Russian bear
He is generally cranky, and can go from 0 to Pissy in less than two seconds but he kept staring at the window with a look that said: “Твою мать!”
And I made the mistake to reach out to pet him on the head.
It was like a scene from a bar fight: he spun round to stare at my outstretched hand with a pissed off look and smacked it with an audible “whap!”
Sounded like a handful of putty thrown hard against a wall, no sh*t. It echoed through the room.
Unfortunately for Rhuda-an, he was sitting on her chest as she started laughing.
When Titanescu gets mad, everyone needs to be real quiet for a while. Those guffaws pissed him off all the more and he snapped his jaws at her hand before rearing his head back, mouth wide open in the longest hiss I’ve heard since 1979, exhaling a cloud of fetid fish breath at her.
His lips curled, some spittle blew forth, some just dribbled out and it lasted so long he almost coughed at the end… Right in her face.
Because we couldn’t stop laughing uncontrollably, he jumped off and ambled into the kitchen with his weird walk, ankles together, feet kicking outward.
We followed him in there, but there’s one more thing about the old coot: when you piss him off, he shuns you. He turns his back to you and will ignore you completely. A little bit like this:
It took him maybe another 20 minutes to cool down enough that he could come back and be with us…
Recently, I wrote a post about aging gracefully (or not). Today is a bit of show and tell, with lots of photos to share what Dad and I saw when we ventured in the great, hot and flat outdoors… Follow us beyond the fold, because as Pinhead says, “I have such sights to show you…”
The Colorado Desert is a part of the larger Sonoran Desert
I know we’re maybe supposed to talk to the cats about catnip… But it’s too much fun and they’re all having a good time. Jenny in particular, likes to chew on her toys. Especially after I place them in the catnip jar and shake it…
Chew, hug and toss ‘em. This last time, of course, she farted when I reached down to pet her…
Socially, having a dog on whom to blame your “accidents” is a boon, but even if your cat is a flatuliste, things become a bit of a stretch.
Jenny makes a good effort of it, especially when I pet her. Hers linger like fog in an old horror flick. Me, I like to wait until an unsuspecting victim forces me to let them under the covers…
Wasn’t me..!
Tito usually jumps a few inches in surprise, then blinks it away…
My eyes are watering!
And Titanescu holds his nose best he can, plotting revenge by not burying his turds next time… “Băși!”
I remember mom telling me to act my age. It was really silly as she said that when I was two, five, ten and so on. The fact is, I WAS acting my age. Now, not so much. There comes an age where we have to be responsible adults and that’s understood. I see absolutely no reason to leave childhood joys behind though. If I had one, I could still entertain myself for hours with an Erector Set.
Men (and women) do not quit playing because they grow old; they grow old because they quit playing ~ Oliver Wendell Holmes
My dad, for one, has never lost his joy of playtime. He’s had to adjust a bit over the years and his toys have changed, but he still finds time to play. I had that confirmed when I went back home to the desert for a visit recently.
The ’70s… Roller skating, creepy-crawlers, bean bag chairs, disco balls, and of course, Earth Day… “Food of the gods” is pure 1970′s grade fun which wonderfully makes no sense whatsoever.
Loosely inspired by part of an H.G. Wells story, “food of the gods” begins with a cautionary monologue by the protagonist, Morgan (Marjoe Gortner), about the wrongs done by man against nature: “just let man continue to pollute the way he is, and nature will rebel”, his pop used to say…
Now, not so much. There comes an age where we have to be responsible adults and that’s understood. I see absolutely no reason to leave childhood joys behind though. If I had one, I could still entertain myself for hours with an 
