Historical February 1999 article. Dates, prices, services and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
December 1998 – Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Pinky Pinky Pinky Pinky Pinky Pinky Pinky Pinky Pinky Pinky Geiler. Oh, hello, reader. You caught me thinking as I lie here in my tray (bien) next to the computer trying to find my winter muse. ‘Tis NOT the season to be jolly.
There is a most horrific cold outside and I am stuck stuck stuck stuck inside. Everything annoys.
I have stood at the door all evening and asked repeatedly to be let out: Every time the door opens, however, there is this polar BLAST aimed right for my delicate nose..
It burns my resolve immediately. Itty warned me this was coming.
When She unpacked the straw witches for Halloween, Itty said he recognized the smell of barn and it was time to batten down the hatches and dig in for winter.
He said he wasn’t counting on the down comforter’s always beings there, good fortune being unreliable in. his experience.
He said we had better eat up too and once again he began to swell. Every time the bowl was half full, he would stand near it and cry.
It was the durndest thing. You would think that after last year, when he desperately tried to prepare that cardboard box on the back porch as his cat’s winter house in About September, he would have realized that in this joint the worst thing that happens in winter is BOREDOM.
I mean no action, no exercise except running the stairs and chasing the featherstick, even in the face of supreme temptations.
For instance, they put up this tree inside. (It’s a real tree. What’s it doing in the livingroom?!) It smells really good and is covered in deliciously tantalizing objects for catminton, but They say “NO!” every time I or Itty take a wellplaced swipe at one. What’s the point of that tree? And She put some candies in a delicate dish.
Each piece is wrapped in some very nice, shiny foil. Itty picks it out ever so gently, knocking nothing over or down, but still She has a cattitude about that. “NO!” she says all the time about taking out the candies and chasing them all over the living room.
I mean, what’s up with that candy?
We need exercise here?
We are fence climbing cats, garage roof jumping cats, wood pile climbing cats, bug chasing cats. One can’t just take such cats as we and pen them up like that and expect a Christmas tree to remain inviolate, a candy dish to be untouched! Have they gone round the bend? Same story with bows on fancy dancy packages, cool streamer things, easy to dislodge and throw into the air.
But “NO! Leave the packages alone,” She said. It’s not like Itty and me have been unsupportive of Her Christmas planning. We’ve been there for all of it. We’ve paid a dog’s rapt attention (what else have we got to do?) to every detail, from the first shopping bag’s being unpacked to scotch tape and scissors and placement under that tree.
For our appreciation and participation, all we’ve been is chastised. We’ve had to go down there after hours to get involved, wait until They’re sleeping . . . Even now, I’m having to feign disinterest to get Her to even write this.
She wanted me to write about cat talk, you know, meow and all of that. Can you imagine?
This time of year?
When I’m stuck, bored to tears, burdened by boundaries of all sorts and not to speak of it? Itty says chill about the chill.
He says just sleep it off like he’s doing. That makes me mad. I’m sick of his cheerfulness, frankly, his purring and chattering and looking happy all the time. Bah! I’d like to chase a humbug. Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Pinky Pinky Pinky Pinky Pinky Pinky Pinky . . . .happy new year. . . January 1999. (Addendum) I got a red puff for Christmas!
We had a lot of company which I did not particularly like, but it was interesting.
I spent Christmas Eve under the dining room table hissing at a two year old. . . who hissed back!
After those children left, I worked out on my jungle gym (the slats of the tall bed) and waited for Christmas morning when I got that good puff. I’ve been out in the snow since.
I made a complete reconnoiter.
It was cold, wet, and everywhere.
Then the Mister put a very soft towel in my tray bien and I confess to satisfaction. Home seems less stressful. Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Geiler Pinky Pinky Pinky . . . Pinky . . . Pinky . . . zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, February 1999.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times1999_02.pdf, printed page(s) 5; PDF page(s) 5.
