We’ve often written about how helpful our cats are. They take their household duties seriously, and none more so than Damian. Living in an artist’s live/work loft has given him many opportunities to offer his input and assistance.
When he was a wee lad, his main duty was to do a close-up inspection of paintings in progress. He did this by running full speed across the floor, leaping onto the easel, and scaling the painting until he ended up perched on top of the canvas. He was always quick to point out the newly-formed scratches and claw-holes that he found. Now that he has grown into his full 20-pound glory I try to discourage this type of inspection, but with his rigorous work ethic he is not easily dissuaded.
Enter the new scratching post! I found this pristine deluxe perch at a yard sale –a steal at $5!– and happened to put it near my painting area. Damian loves it, and it lets him examine my canvases at close range, and, best yet, even while lying down.
He still gets excited about his work:
And often offers unique perspectives in his critiques:
Maggie helps too. Her forte is wood-carving. She’s working on reshaping this stepstool:
Wildfires in Santa Cruz
On a more serious note, you may have heard of the wildfires in the hills above Santa Cruz. Town Cats, a no-kill shelter, is taking donations to help the Taj Meow Animal Sanctuary, which was completely destroyed in the blaze. Please click here if you can help.
[Courtesy of Melissa, who found this item in a $1 bargain bin.]
Me-arrrgh! Here be pirates!
Archy declined to participate in the festivities.
Please note, no cats were harmed in the photo shoot, except for maybe their dignity.
And in case you are wondering, it is a one-size-fits-most foam hat. Kind of an upside-down and reversed tennis visor, if that makes any sense. Or a rally hat.
Madam, I must reply to your assertion of last week that my three very fine cats, to wit, Archy, Maggie, and Damian, have “quirks”. I must point out that they are not guilty of this so-called quirkiness; they are merely asserting their individual eccentricities. Nonetheless, since etiquette demands an answer to your post, I will endeavor to paint a quick portrait of some of their more endearing qualities.
Archy:
1. Archy has a habit of forming lasting relationships with pillows. His longest-lasting, and most tragic, affair was with the lime-green faux fur pillow known as Brigitte. Brigitte had a difficult life, having been orphaned at an early age and raised in a convent by heartless nuns. She ran away to Sweden, where she survived as best she could until she found a job with Ikea, and moved to Emeryville, California, and from there to my house. While Archy proved to be fickle in his affections, Brigitte remained true, to the point of sacrificing herself in the search for Archy when he went walkabout in 2006. Archy has since developed a relationship with the less flamboyant but no doubt more comfortable flannel-covered pillows on my bed.
2. Archy will do anything to get a taste of the treats known as “Temptations.”
Maggie
1. Maggie also has a love interest: fleece-on-a-stick. She loves loves loves fleece-on-a-stick, to the point that if I cruelly refuse to play with her constantly, she takes it in her mouth and drags it along after me, pausing occasionally to drop her amour and meow pitifully: “Please play!”
2. Maggie is practicing to be a saint. She does this by rolling her eyes heavenward, much like the paintings of Murillo or El Greco. She believes rolling your eyes is all you need to do to become a saint…and since she is a divine kitty, I suspect she’s right.
Damian
Ah, Damian…so many eccentricities, so little time. Here are two.
1. Damian likes beer, but is scared to death of beer bottles. If I am drinking a beer, Damian will sneak up and lick the beer bottle or glass, thoroughly cleaning it to the last drop. Blow into the beer bottle, however, and the deep hooting noise will send Damian running, literally shaking like a leaf.
2. Damian wants to be a hairdresser when he grows up. He loves hair, and if given the chance, will grip your head in his giant paws and groom your hair right down to your scalp. He has been known to leap across the room onto the shoulders of complete strangers to give their hair a good working-over (not the best way to charm prospective collectors when you are having an open studio!).
Now my conundrum: I am not a blogger, do not have a blog circle. Who to tag next? I will leave that to Sarah-Hope.
In response to a bidding war between Steven Spielberg and Ron Howard for the rights to their life stories, Melissa and I have been considering appropriate casting of actors to portray the cats. Here’s what we have so far.
Archy:
We’ve had no problem thinking of actors suited to playing Archy. The only problem is that they’re all dead, so they may not be current on their SAG dues. Archy feels that Rudolph Valentino would do him justice and could capture the seductive charms he so devastatingly employs on throw pillows. Melissa and I (with a different perspective on his—ahem!—pillow-wooing) feel Maurice Chevalier might be more appropriate.
Beatrice:
Yes, she’s beautiful (and affectionate in her own let-me-keep-you-at-a-healthy-distance sort of way). But she’s also skittish, vengeful, and difficult. We know the perfect actor: Christina Ricci.
Maggie:
No doubt about it: given her woozle-y ways Maggie simply must be played by Queen Latifah. Who else could do her justice?
Damian:
Once you’ve seen him in action, you know there’s only one actor who can capture the energy, the intensity, the ridiculosity that is Damian. We’re holding out for Will Ferrell, and will settle for no-one else.
Penny:
Finding the right actress to portray Penny may be challenging as she’s such a complex personality. With people, she’s tender-hearted and cautious, but goes all lovey-mushy once she decides there’s no threat. With other cats—well, as far as she’s concerned, the threat never goes away. She’s ever-vigilant, alternating between cowering beneath furniture and near pyrotechnic displays of the ancient (and deadly and noisy) art of opera-fu. Having given the matter careful consideration, we’re pretty sure recent Oscar-winner Tilda Swinton is up to the task.
Sparky:
This calls for an actor with range. Yes, he needs a pretty face, but he also needs to be able to portray everything from leonine repose to why-would-the-neighbors-get-a-kitten-when-they-have-me-to-entertain? uncertainty. We know just the actor. He’s played a caveman, an archaeologist/adventurer, a hunky gardener, a 1950s naif, a district attorney, and more. Our candidate? Brendan Fraser.
Who know what our lives will be like once filming is underway? We’ll be overwhelmed by stylists and entourages and relaxation specialists and specialty chefs who know a thousand ways to grill a goldfish. But if Sam Lutfi comes knocking? We’re not opening the door.
Recently, Melissa sent me a postcard with this admirable sentiment…
And on the reverse…
Top to bottom: Penny, Sparky, Beatrice, Damian, Archy, Maggie. I can assure you that she has achieved a remarkable likeness in every case.
When the weather gets cold, Maggie and Damian snuggle.
Sometimes there is a bit of too-vigorous ear-washing and things go all to hell, but the lower the temperature the less frequent the squabbles.
Archy, on the other hand, doesn’t care how cold it is.
He will not be snuggling up with Maggie or Damian—even if his home gets as cold as Lambeau Field during a Packers play-off game.
And now, I must write up the last handout for my 10:00 class. With luck, I’ll be able to sneak in a few rows on my new knitting project once that’s done.
Melissa and I celebrated the holiday a bit late, on Saturday, instead of Thursday. We also celebrated simply with a roast chicken, black-eyed pea and veggie salad, pineapple couscous, and a pomegranate for dessert.
The cats celebrated in their own way—particularly when they got the leftover fat and organs from the chicken. Each of them had much to be thank Bastet for.
Bea was thankful for what hadn’t happened every bit as much as she was thankful for what had: another year gone by without me murdering her—though the fact that I haven’t done it yet doesn’t mean she’ll let her guard down. She also has a whole list of things she’d like to be thankful for, such as Penny getting struck by lightening.
Sparky gave thanks for the stick end of his feather-on-a-stick toy. As far as he’s concerned, the feather is pointless—but the stick is a source of endless amusement. He also gave thanks for the bipedal “kittens” next door who love to play with him and are willing to trail a stick along the ground for hours on end so he can pounce, pounce, pounce. Finally, he gave thanks for the delight that is puff-in-the-catnip-canister, which he can kill-kill-kill, only to have it retreat back into the canister and be resurrected a day or two later for more kill-kill-killing.
Penny gave thanks for a home that is not a drainage ditch.
Archy gave thanks for soft things to knead against, like the feather comforter; the lycra-covered, stryrafoam-pellet-filled pillow shaped like a baseball; and Melissa’s basoomas.
Maggie was thankful for babies (aka hair ties) to tote about and give swimming lessons to, as well as the oddly lick-able television remote.
Damian felt he had the grandest thing of all to be thankful for: that he is himself. What could be better?
If I am a sucker for anything, that thing is tea—especially all the lovely bites that make up a ladies’ tea. Give me teeny-tiny sandwiches and itty-bitty cakes, and I pretty much lose myself in a miniature-foodstuffs ecstasy. Since my birthday is coming up, Melissa and I, along with our friends Martha and Sim, headed over to Lovejoy’s Tea Room in San Francisco.
Sim opted for a curried chicken pastie and scones, while Melissa and Martha and I had the Queen’s Tea, which is a never-ending extravaganza of deliciousness: the requisite teeny-tiny sandwiches (I chose cheese with chutney and chicken with asparagus); green salad; slaw; fruit; scones with clotted cream, lemon curd, and jam; crumpets; shortbread cookies; and to top it all off, petit fours (I chose an orange and bitter chocolate one); and tea, of course.
We were seated on a lovely pair of divans facing one another and nibbled and sipped and sipped and nibbled and chatted away until we’d worked ourselves into an honest-to-goodness tea-coma of satiety.
After that, it was back to our respective homes for afternoon naps.
Originally, Melissa and I had planned to go hear a program of Vivaldi concerti at Philharmonia Baroque tonight, but she woke up from our nap with a sore throat and fever, so we opted to stay home. We had tomato soup and leftover ham salad for dinner, then curled up together while she read guidebooks about walking tours in England (we’re hoping to take my mother along with us on one in another year or two) and I copied out recipes from her assortment of cooking magazines. At the moment, we’re imagining a walk along Hadrian’s Wall—though we have plenty of time to dream up multiple itineraries before we go.
It’s too bad we missed the Vivaldi, but I can’t imagine we’d have enjoyed ourselves any more at the concert than we did cozied up at home.
P.S. It’s now Sunday morning, and much to my chagrin Melissa has pointed out that I failed to mention the cats’ excellent contributions to our cozy evening at home. They sat beside us (Maggie), curled up on our laps (Archy), and launched repeated missions to scale us as though we were the Himalayas (Damian). Our evening would have been much less satisfactory without them.
Melissa calls this shot “and the lion shall sit on the bookcase with the lamb.”
Yes, it’s one of those rare moments when a household’s worth of cats find themselves able to all just get along.
* * *
Now, by “why I am insane” I do not mean “this particular thing has just driven me over the edge.” I mean “here’s proof if you still feel you need it.” I finished my second sock yesterday. So what did I do? I cast on a shawl.
But I’m not completely insane. It’s not an elaborate, lace-weight shawl. It’s a sport-weight shawl from Alison Jeppson Hyde’s Wrapped in Comfort. If you want to see the pattern I’m using, click the “view more images” button on the link—my shawl is the off-white one in the upper right corner. Because I am apparently incapable of reading and following directions, I’m not knitting mine in sport-weight, but in Noro Transitions color 1 (go Little Knits!), which is a bulky yarn. I started out on U.S. 10.5 needles and have been moving up every ten or so rows, so I’m now to the largest lace pattern and am going to switch to size 15. The entire shawl as written is worked in less than 50 rows—I finished row 28 last night—so even if I decide to lengthen it, I should be done before the weekend.
And then I must get back to the Origami Cardi—but I needed something new to help me build up my stamina for more of the same.
Cat Book Mom’s blog led me to a site that generates Peculiar Aristocratic Titles. Because I know who the real aristocracy are chez moi, I immediately generated titles for all the cats. Some of the results took several tries (for whatever reason, Maggie in particular kept getting these titles that just were not right), but we are quite pleased with the final products.
Archy: My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is
Most Noble and Honourable Archy the Inchoate of Ofsted in the Bucket Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title
Maggie: My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is
Reverend Countess Maggie Gloriana the Glutinous of Piddletrenthide Under Booth Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title
