Cats tell time with their stomachs, the laws of man be damned. Personally, this is one law I could see the last of with some pleasure.
How are Steve and his kitten doing? How is Lucky? Still being retrieved by Buttercup? Did you get a new minion, and are they performing satisfactorily? You’re supposed to keep us up to date on all the doings, and you’re falling down on the job.
I read an article in the NY Times a few days ago about a newly commissioned composition that had been yanked from the New York Youth Symphony program because it contained the Horst Wessel song. Out of curiosity, I looked it up on YouTube. And now I cannot get the fucking thing out of my head. I’m terrified that I’m going to start absentmindedly humming it in public and somebody is going to recognize it and think I’m a Nazi sympathizer. Arrrrrghhh!!!
Okay, now I’m confused. Do your cats prefer dial-up? And how does that relate to mealtimes, anyway?
Thanks for asking 
Steve’s kitten has gotten too big for Steve to drag up the stairs. For a while I’d hear a shuffle, thump, shuffle, thump noise as he tried. She loves him so let him try. Now he grabs her by the back of the neck and they run up the stairs together until Steve trips. That’s when I hear thump, thump, hiss, thump. I’ll bet he could go up the stairs better if he was watching where he was going.
They were wonderful window decorations for Halloween. Steve’s kitten would happily sit in the window (she’s black) and Steve (who is orange) would sit next to her all puffed up and look like a pumpkin.
For random people, not Dopers who know better…please don’t get cats for house decorations. They are living, breathing animals who need care and love.
Lucky has learned that if he escapes, he will get covered in dog slobber. How humiliating! Lucky has also stopped getting stuck in random places, probably because of the above mentioned dog slobber problem. Now he cuddles up next to Westley and scares the poor little girl into freezing in terror. Lucky is a very bad cat.
Snerts. Yeah, the time change messes with me as well. Sorry. I do think the cats like the high speed internet here better. It gives them more time to walk on my keyboard while I’m getting coffee.
Does Steve’s kitten have a real name, or is she only known as “Steve’s kitten”?
Everybody knows cats prefer cable to DSL. Much more fun to play with.
The coffee table will now be an end table, so it’s not a total loss. Yet.
Ha! I’ve got one of those, from my uncle. I think it went coffee table –> end table –> “futon nightstand” (too short for a full-sized bed).
My poor mom. Her best buddy told her last Monday she had pancreatic cancer, but the outlook was good.
Friday night she felt off, so went to the ER.
Died Saturday morning.
Just received word a guy I used to work with - a Mr. Rogers-type nice guy, always a good word to say in a crappy job - died yesterday from cancer.
Fuck cancer.
Not to quibble, but they are actually getting their food an hour earlier in the spring, not in the fall. Clock says 8am, it’s actually 7am (“spring forward”).
This is the first time in my memory when I have not hated the change to DST. I just get up when I feel like it. Just another way that being retired is great.
Sorry for your losses, MissTake.
That sucks.
Unfortunately, the notion of a good outlook with pancreatic cancer is almost an oxymoron. The five-year survival rate is about 4.5%, the lowest survival rate of all forms of cancer.
Basically, once they diagnose pancreatic cancer, it’s usually too far along, and in too many organs, for any really meaningful treatment.
Kid 1.0 just got over a bad stomach bug that caused him to miss 6 days of school. Yesterday he hurt his knee in a freak bounce house incident and as of this morning still can’t put any weight on it. I sent him to school on crutches and will take him to urgent care after school. Ugh.
Sorry to hear that, MissTake. And agree with the “Fuck cancer.”
I figured their Facebook pages must be loading too slowly.
Hating Pepsi Co. right now. They seem to be discontinuing 24-oz. bottles of Mt. Dew, which just happen to work beautifully for my needs. Those stupid little 16.9-oz. won’t work out well as far as calibrating my intake, and the 12-oz. bottles wind up with higher unit costs. Cans are not an option at work due to rules about open cans in the breakroom fridge.
It ain’t over till the last saw cut is made.
Library won’t let us alas.
Latest dumb ass on review of my book:
Hey Ms. “do the research” I have two girls and neither I nor my co-author have worked for the pharm industry. Sheesh. The little one is finally in preschool so I have some time to plot a second book. The other one is a honors student and ten times fucking smarter than you are.
Pain management sucks.
Did the legs get shorter with each iteration, too? (“Crooked?!? Dammit - shorten this leg a big. Still crooked!!! Oh, it’s *this *leg that’s too long now. Ok, that should be - dammit, why are you still wobbling? …” later, rinse, repeat, until you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of this.)
