Barking Mad

Of Sailboats and Sighs

One of the Little Imp's favorite things to do is draw, be it with pen or markers, crayons or pencils; she loves to sit at the table whilst her mumma pounds away on the keyboard, and draw.

I was completely wrapped up in angst, anger, frustration and was venting like a mad woman, in a post that will probably never see the light of day, when I felt a little tap on my arm and heard the insistent, "Mumma, look, look Mumma, it's a sailboat!"  I was in the middle of a sentence full of expletives and was more than just a tad irritated that I was being pulled away from my rant to look at what probably resembled not so much a sailboat as a bunch of interconnected lines and squiggles.

Much to my surprise, when I looked up, this is what I saw...

 

It might be a little rough, but it is indeed a sailboat!

 

I asked her who taught her to draw a sailboat as I myself flunked Stick Figures 101 and she answered, "No one. I just did it by myself!"  She was very proud of herself and frankly, she should be.   I was swollen with momma-pride and beaming at my daughter's art work when all thoughts of anger and frustration just evaporated.  I pulled Imp into my arms, buried my face in her curls and silently shed tears of remorse over my irritation that she had interrupted the war of words  I was waging.  Here she sat, the entire time,  creating something that would wash away all that anger like a summer storm bathes the soul after a long arid drought.

I ran my fingers through her curls, raised my head and sighed.  Standing right in front of me with her big brown eyes, wild blonde curls, impish dimple and radiant smile, is the most important thing in the world. She's  a reminder that despite the things that inflame and rile me, here before me - the one thing that deserves my full and immediate attention...not some useless person that's upset with me that I made some mistakes on a stupid blog contest of all things that subsequently caused a little confusion,  for which I later  profusely apologized.

I'm human and as such, am imperfect. I have failings and shortcomings.  I struggle with these things on a daily basis and have come to realize that in the long run, as long as I'm doing the best I can and try and make things right that I have unintentionally screwed up, then little else matters.   

What does matter though is this child who stands before me.  She's really an incredible little girl who prompts me on a daily basis to focus on the things that are important.  Like sailboats.

 

Another Mystery Solved

When I woke up this morning under gloomy skies and the plap plap plap of rain drops, I had an inkling it might be another interesting day here at the asylum.  I just wasn't sure whether it would be interesting in a good way or interesting in a frustrating way.  Turns out, so far anyhow - as it's only 11:45AM, that it's been a bit of both.

I sat down to enjoy a bowl of crispy hay shredded wheat and was immediately jolted away from my breakfast by screams of outrage from the Little Imp. I thought to myself, "Dear Lord, what now?"  Another scream from the Little Imp followed by, "Godiva, gimme it back, right now or you hafta haf a time out!" made me move a little faster.  

I need to backtrack here for a minute to explain a bit of this story that, if you don't have, the rest won't make any sense. 

Usually around mid-morning here at the asylum, the Little Imp has a snack which typically consists of either fruit and cheese or fruit and a little baggie of goldfish crackers.  Lately we have really been going through a lot of goldfish.  It's almost as if Imp inhales them before I even hand her the baggie.  Several times in the last few weeks she's come running to me, telling me that her crackers are all gone but that she didn't eat them.  I've asked her, "If you didn't eat them, where did they go?"  Sometimes she says she doesn't know, other times she blames the missing crackers on her imaginary BFF, Ali. The thing is, when I ask her to bring me the plastic baggie so I can give her a few more goldfish, she always says that she can't find it.  Searches for the wayward baggies have proved futile on my part.  I made Imp promise me she wasn't eating the baggies too, to which she replied, "Mumma, don't be silly!"  Eventually I'd just chalked the mystery of the missing plastic baggies right up there with that of the socks that go missing whilst doing laundry.

As I was running down the hall to see what all the commotion was about, Godiva shot between my legs and had something in her mouth that she was trying to abscond with and not a moment later I almost ran smack dab into the Little Imp, chasing after the kitten.   I stopped the Little Imp in her tracks and asked her to tell me what on earth was going on?

"Mumma, G'diva gots my goldfish.  I gotta get 'em back! 'Scuse me please."

I turned around and sure enough, our littlest feline inmate here at the asylum was high-tailing it (pun completely intended!),  down the hallway and into the kitchen with stolen goldfish.  "Get her!" I yelled towards the Little Imp. 

Picture if you will, a 40 year old woman and a 3 year old little girl chasing after a 3lb kitten.  Godiva was bound and determined to keep her stolen loot! Someone was going to get hurt in this bizarre feline/human chase so I gave up. Once she darted underneath the coffee table I grabbed the nearest camera that was ready to shoot, which happened to be the point and shoot.  In other words, a camera not nearly fast enough to capture the feline pirate with her booty.  I did my best to try and get a couple of shots.

 

 

Trying to evade capture by jumping into a nearby paper bag...

 

Bound and determined to not give up her catch!

 

Eventually, after being swiped at when trying to take the goldfish away, the Little Imp agreed to just let Godiva have her goldfish.  Of course, once we'd stopped chasing her, Godiva gave up.  Of course she did!  It was no longer fun if the fat lady and the little girl weren't willing to make fools of themselves trying to run after a kitten the size of a shampoo bottle. 

Don't let her utter adorableness fool you...

 

 

...beneath that coco powder, fluffy beige fur, and blue-eyed exterior lies the heart of a thief!

So much for my bowl of shredded hay wheat!  Once the Little Imp had been given a fresh baggie of goldfish with implicit instruction to NOT SET IT DOWN ANYWHERE, I decided to return to my breakfast and was greeted by not so much a bowl of cereal as I was by a bowl of something that resembled mush. Did I mention I had poured the last of the milk over my breakfast?  

I wonder if the Little Imp would be willing to share her goldfish with me?

If Griffy Could Speak English...

...This is likely what you'd be reading had I handed the reigns of my blog over to Griffy.

ETA: Part I of this saga can be found here.

"Blog fodder.  That's all I am to this mere human who sits on her rotund behind and tap tap taps away at the keyboard.  Why else would she make me look so utterly ridiculous and turn me into the laughing stock of all the other feline inmates (and I do use the word "inmate" in all seriousness.), here at the Barking Mad Asylum?  No doubt if that barking lunatic, Casey, were still locked up here, he'd be having a field day with this one.  He was only a mere pup when she did this to me last year.

It was bad enough that I was condescended to at the torture chamber my humans call "the vets" and told that I would feel "oh so much better" and look "cutsie wootsie" with my new hair do. Barf!  I was forced to sleep and then my long and lustrous coat was all but ripped from my body.    To add insult to injury,  my human walked in to remove me from the torture chamber and proceeded to laugh hysterically when she saw me for the first time.  It was too much for regal dignity to handle.   I knew I must start plotting my revenge.

After being stuffed back into the dark, stuffy box and carried into a larger moving box on wheels (at least she gratefully turned on some cold air, I was all but suffocating in that damned box!), I decided to burst from my cramped confines and at least take my place in the box on wheels like a passenger rather than cargo.

I don't suppose she'll be using this again any time soon.

I made a slight error in judgement, for the box on wheels was already moving and I needed to secure myself so as not to go careening into the side of it, as my human most assuredly handles this wheeled box like a bat out of hell.  I positioned myself where she could not only see me in her looking glass, but where I could be sure she could hear my growls of discontent.  I was perched directly behind her and she was keenly aware of my presence, as she uttered several human words I have heard before when I leave her presents meant to let her know of my distaste for her actions.

When we arrived at the place my human calls "home", which I refer to as my holding cell, I could not wait to escape from the box on wheels.

I was feeling a bit peckish and stopped at a local eatery on the way into the house, to see about a quick bite.  Under the front steps there is a delightful little place where one can find chipmunks large and small, and the occasional mole.   As I approached the entrance to the dining establishment I could hear muffled giggles coming from my potential snacks.

Laugh now little chipmunks...later I'll be enjoying you with a side of grass.

Upon entering the asylum my younger sibling, Gracie sniffed me and then giggled.  Gracie darling, if you can't find your favorite stuffed mouse I suggest you look in the loo box.

Geronimo and Godvia were most annoying.  Godiva has deemed my once gorgeous tail, her new favorite toy.

One of the other female humans, upon hearing my return, made her way upstairs and one can only interpret that look on her face to mean that she thinks I am now disgraceful.

Go ahead and laugh humans.  Make yourselves roll on the floor with giggles and chuckles.  For it is I who will ultimately have the last laugh."

_____________________________

Yes, Griffy has kept good to his word and left me a little "present" this morning next to my bed.   I wasn't really surprised as he does this whenever he gets pissed off at one of us.  Our vet said it's not at all uncommon for cats to make themselves vomit in retaliation for a perceived wrong.  Over the years, Griffy has become quite proficient at this.  

I will admit to being a little taken aback when I initially saw him after his Lion Cut.  Last year they didn't give him "leg warmers", only little "booties" on his paws were left.  He still had the ridiculous poof at the end of his tail though.  If I'm being totally honest, I do tend to think he looks a bit silly...sort of like a feline fashionista who would not appear completely out of line walking down the streets of NYC's fashion district...on a leash.  And yes, I agree with Megawatt that he looks like a bobble head, or that he's got the wrong head on his body.   OK OK...he does indeed look like a feline version of Mr. Potato head.

I would have posted this last night but it seems the entire animal world (locally anyhow) is out to get us.  I don't know if Griffy sent out some sort of SOS in animal code, but one side of our home was sprayed by a skunk and we spent the better part of the evening and wee hours of this morning trying to keep from being asphyxiated by the stench that was slowly but surely making it's way through the house.

After last night, I wouldn't be surprised if PETA showed up on my doorstep.