Casper's Advice

Casper, is a sociable fellow. If I'm in the kitchen, he hangs out nearby, in the family room. If I'm sewing, he strolls in, tail aloft, and curls into a ball on a stool by the window, killing two birds with one stone---sunshine and company. Or, if I'm working on a quilt,he'll position himself, with a languid stretch, in the middle of it.[He thinks I make them solely for that purpose.] So,it's a no-brainer. If I'm on the computer he's right there at my feet, snoozing away companionably, or frequently, in my lap, having a blog read right along with me.

In this way he became aware that there are kittens out there. At Isabelle's, to be exact. So for the past week he's been giving me no peace. He wants a shot at being a guest blogger. What can I say? This animal is my roommate, friend, confidante, cuddler, and comforter. It would be churlish to refuse. Without further ado, here's Casper,cat extraordinaire.



"Greetings Bloggers! She [who must be humoured] thinks I'm suddenly interested in blogging. Not so. Blogging makes me yawn. But, sitting on her lap recently, I caught a glimpse of some very fetching kittens, which made me sit up and pay attention. I am of the opinion that kittens get way too little advice from grown up cats,and I would like to rectify that situation for Sirius and Cassie, by giving them the benefit of my own experience.

People like to think they own us cats. They even think they can train us. Harmless myths. Ones you might want to play along with in the interests of keeping them happy. Just as long as you never forget that it is you who own them, and you who need to make sure that they are properly trained.

The most important things in a cat's life, I'm sure you will both agree, are, food, comfort, grooming, playtime, comfort, clean litter, comfort, more food, and the biggies, relaxation and sleep. Oh, and in case I forgot to mention it, comfort.

Food is essential. Without it you will never grow into the lithe, graceful, creatures you are meant to be. You should establish at the outset, that you will not settle for just any food. Make sure they provide you with a varied diet. If, every time you come to your dish, with a great hunger on you, and find there the same boring old dry food, be brave. Stalk away in disdain, even though you feel faint. This will worry them enough that they will go to the store and fetch something new,with which to tempt you. This behaviour should be reinforced, perhaps by a little reward, such as, after you have partaken of the new delicacy, climbing into a lap, and purring appreciatively. They will be charmed with you and will know how to respond the next time you turn your nose up at the offerings in your dish.

Early in your life with your people you should ascertain which are the most comfortable chairs and claim them as your own. This may take some perseverance, but the results will be worth it. The first time he comes home from work and finds you curled up in his favourite chair, the man of the house is likely to be grumpy, and perhaps even go so far as to shove you off. By acting injured and hurt by this ungentlemanly behaviour you can win other members of the family to your side. Enough "Poor kitty!"s and "How could you Dad's," and you'll be well on your way to ownership of that chair. Of course you don't want to alienate him altogether. After all, he is labouring under the illusion that it is his house. It might be best to try to work out a compromise wherein you share the chair.


People are naive. When they are new to cat co-habitation they have no idea of what fun we can have with ordinary things. Lace curtains, fluttering in the breeze, for instance, are there to be climbed. The tantalising wiggle of yarn, as the lady in your life works on her knitting, is an invitation to a romp, with the aim of getting deliciously tangled in it. We practice our hunting skills by capering after the shadows cast by sunlight on walls, and by stalking every bug who has the temerity to crawl across the carpet. Paper sacks from the grocery store make the greatest hiding places. And boxes. Insist that they keep a variety of boxes around for you to play hide and seek in. Likewise baskets. Who can resist an adorable kitten curled up in a basket? However, they should be of high quality, not those substandard objects sold as "cat beds." Settle only for the handmade variety..... They'll buy "toys" for you, but feel free to ignore them. It will finally dawn on them to put a little creative effort into your toys. A feather, for instance, can provide hours of enjoyment. And who would want a store bought "mouse" when a much better creature can be achieved with some good quality fur and a piece of string?

Sleeping arrangements are another thorny subject. My own mistress has a very comfy down comforter on her bed. My favourite place to sleep at night is on this comforter, exactly where her feet are. Which makes her cranky, so I am sometimes forced to move, temporarily, to another part of the bed. I just wait until her breathing sounds deep and even. Then reposition myself, if not on, then right next to, her feet.

If, when morning comes, your people are not rising with sufficient alacrity, you can approach the problem in one of several ways. My own first resort is to approach the sleeping head on it's pillow, find the nose, and give it a gentle nudge. If this doesn't work, repeat, a little more forcefully. But proceed with caution. They tend to be difficult to reason with before they have that first cup of coffee. If you're still not getting the desired results, remove yourself to the door of the room, and yowl piteously. Just be ready to dodge flying slippers. Persistence again, is key. You will soon have them dancing to your tune.

One last thing worth mentioning. It's okay to love your people. As long as you do it with dignity. No dog-like slobbering please. And remember to maintain an air of mystery, like me......


.....just to keep them guessing.

Well bloggers, this has been exhausting, but I felt I had a duty to kittendom.I may not have covered everything, but I've made a start. Happy romping,Cassie and Sirius, and please let my mistress know if you have any questions. I will be available again right after I take my afternoon nap. As I mentioned earlier, blogging makes me yawn."

There you have it folks. From Casper's mouth to the kittens' ears. Who knew he would be so long-winded? Cassie and Sirius probably dropped off for a nap after the first paragraph. But it'll all be here on the blog when they have questions.......


Postscript: A comment from Thimbleanna sent me scurrying to her blog to do some intensive snooping. Got caught up reading, and so was taken by surprise when I scrolled back some more---to her June 26 th. post and there looking out at me was a gorgeous relative of Casper's! Scruff, by name. Go check it out. I swear I had no idea! Great minds indeed!

Gadabouts at Large

"Now Molly," she said on the phone. "Don't be getting carried away with too many plans for gadding about!"

"But Rise, darlin'," said I. "What better excuse for intensified gadding than a visit from one's Little Blister? Wouldn't want you trawling all the way from the Ould Sod to these here sunny climes just to be bored out of your mind!"

"No danger," says Rise. "Boring would be good after the pace around here lately. In fact, boring would be blissful," says she.

For so many years we were sober and responsible. And suppressed our gadding instincts. In order to better raise our children. And not ruffle outlaw feathers. And not cause chins to wag. Or eyebrows to be raised. Or neighbors to be scandalised. Or rumors to be spread.

Now our children are raised. Its over, almost, except for the worrying. Time for the fat lady to sing. For corks to pop. For the fun to begin. Those gadding instincts will be denied no longer. And gadding is much more fun when you have a co-gaddee with whom to gad.

We've already gadded off to Miami in the rain. And met up there with a new recruit. And conducted for her a gadabout seminar. Wherein we imparted to her the finer points of gadding. Towed her along to the beach at Naples for in-field training. She aced her exam.

From there we gadded to the sun drenched gardens of Sarasota. Our gadding shoes are getting a workout. And loving it. They've spent too much time in the closet. They're intoxicated by the airing they're getting. We have to lock them up in the evening so they don't go gadding off into the night without us.

More gadding to come. We'll keep you apprised.

HRH the Queen

.......Interim quilt for little grandson........





........Appliqued cat and flowers in the bushes.....




....Mystery quilt. Started in Belgium; quilted in Minnesota; mysteriously neglected for several years; finally bound and finished in Florida.




....Scrappy star quilt. Bonus Beantoes at no extra charge....


HRH the queen invites all her loyal subjects to a rare event--a display of Finished Projects. Lest ye look upon her, based on her last post, as a lazy, good-for-nothing layabout who never finishes anything. An FP being one of the rarest sightings in the realm, she trusts that you will be suitably awestruck. After you have viewed the display, and oohed and aahed appropriately, you may come to the throne room to kiss the royal hand.

In related news, a carrier pigeon has just arrived from Tir na nOg to inform that the Lady Rise [Of Riseoutofme fame] will soon be arriving for an extended visit. And she will be bringing her whip. Sewing machines will buzz,scissors will snip, needles will fly. Watch for many more projects to reach completion. Oh dear....I think I feel a fainting spell coming on.....


Postscript to loyal subjects: Don't look for too many pictures in future posts here. As pretty as they are, the stress of uploadage [my own word--like it?] is too much. I have aged a decade since I started this post and wept hot tears of rage and frustration. Each picture took f.o.r.e.v.e.r. to get on here, and I could not get the pictures where I wanted them[obviously not at the beginning of the post].Also, I do have more than four FPs but uploadage being so molasses-like, I didn't think I'd live long enough to upload more than that. Oh well... I have once again worked my magic [or would that be 'evil spell'?]on our computer. The ladies at the library are thinking of providing me with my own bed over there. The computer master [OC] is off in northern climes. And would prefer anyway that the wench, I mean queen, was on her knees scrubbing the royal water closets and floors than writing nonsense for the edification of imaginary loyal subjects. And so,henceforth, it's back to the stress-free written word. I'm going to go lie down now.....happy viewing---IF I can get the bloody thing to publish.

The Flylady Cometh

After a few long, meandering posts recently, my Inner Nazi barked one morning, as I passed him in the living room "Genug! Kein blogging mehr! Wir mussen das Haus sauber machen! Wir mussen auch die Weihnachten Ornamenten to put away....Gott in Himmel! Still with the Christmas ornaments?"

"Ja, ja," I mumbled as I shuffled onwards. I hadn't yet had a cup of tea, and if it's co-operation you're looking for mister, don't get between me and the tea kettle at eight a.m..... He drew himself up to his full six foot two and curled his lip at my comfy, ratty robe. He himself looked very smart in his uniform, brass buttons winking in the early morning light. He was dressed to the shiny, laced up military boots. I was wearing my slippers. Handsome he was, in that Germanic, blond, blue-eyed way, but what a hatchet face! Come on, I thought. Could you manage a smile? Or at least allow me eine Tasse Tee zu haben?

He gave an involuntary shudder and I smiled with satisfaction. "Yes," I said. "I am perfectly capable of inflicting even worse damage on your language, if you don't move aside and let me make some tea."

The Inner Nazi was activated by the Flylady. Interest in the Flylady came with the usual New Year determination to finally, this year, get it all in one sock.

So now...........

My sink is so shiny I've taken to wearing sunglasses in the kitchen. [They look especially fetching with the ratty robe and slippers.]

My laundry basket is empty.

My kitchen drawers are organised. The YS came home for the weekend and couldn't find a blessed thing.

I've been boogie flinging all over the place.

One 'hotspot' in the bedroom was a neat pile of notebooks from pre-blogging days. Another was a collection of newspaper clippings. Articles of interest and inspiration, interspersed with recipes to try....someday. Referred to by the OC as my "history notes." One sample from the pile was titled "Fresh Year, Fresh Start", a detailed list, room by room, of what one needed to do to get one's home and one's life in order. The date? December 27 th. 2003. It got flung.

Die Ornamenten sind weg.

Between the three of us, we got a lot accomplished. When the IN started moving towards my sewing room, I cut in front of him, but the FL got there first. My cheeks burned with shame as I stuttered about my plans for a clean sweep in there, and some big-time flinging, and the merciless turning of hoses on hot spots......I just wasn't sure where to start was all...."Baby Steps," she chirped enthusiastically.

The IN has gone to the mess hall now for some chow. I hope he stays there. The FL has fluttered off to pester some other poor soul. She'll be back tomorrow. [Just please, have mercy and don't bring him with you!] So here I am, at twilight, limping at last to the computer. I come to you from a shiny sink, an empty laundry basket and toilets you could drink from. Now may I blog?

Blogging Comes to the Funny Farm*

*The Funny Farm is the real estate between my ears.

This time last year I had no idea what a blog was. When Liz, my DD, started one, I wrinkled my ancient nose, cocked my ancient head and said "Eh? What's that you say? A blog? What in tarnation be that?" Patiently, she tried to explain. But, as they do in the face of most technobabble, the eyes of the Ancient One glazed over. So, steadying her voice and trying hard to keep the I-don't-have-time-for-this-crap tone out of it, DD sweetly told me to just type in http://notinyourear.blogspot.com and all would be revealed.

Well.

Lights came on all over the Funny Farm that night; rocket ships roared into the wild blue yonder; the farm band broke out in celebratory oompah-pah, oompah-pahs; fireworks razzle-dazzled into the heavens above; a choir of angels sang over the oompah-pahs; all the denizens of the farm jigged and reeled in ecstacy over the fields, and a strange glitter came into the eyes of the Ancient One. A tiny seed had been sown.

It has been mentioned on these pages before how slowly the penny drops down here on the farm. For a full six months I hogged DD's blog. And waxed poetical in her comment box. And pompously opined on every subject she raised. And generally acted the buffoon. Until, one day in mid-July it dawned on me. Mommy needs her own blog.

Because the particular brain cells required for setting up a blog do not live on the Funny Farm, DD wasn't out of the woods yet. With patience and grace and the "assistance" of her smallfry, she set the whole thing in motion. Kind of like getting a kid you know can ride the bike up on it, steadying her for a moment, then giving her a tremendous shove to send her careening off down the hill.

The Ancient One was exhilarated by the wind in her hair as she whizzed over hill and dale. The denizens of the Funny Farm were intoxicated by the fresh air whistling through the ears at the farm boundaries. But elsewhere in the kingdom there was disgruntlement . Down in neighboring Curmudgeonly Hollow mutterings were heard about "this blogging nonsense". Horror was expressed by the youth of the region at the thought of mother, the technologically challenged one, taking over the computer, twiddling buttons at will, and generally increasing the chances of crashes and freezes and such. It was hoped it might just be an ill wind that, given time, would blow over.

So the Ancient One blogged her way randomly through July, August , September and October. She was really starting to enjoy herself. Then NaBloPoMo came along and transformed her from a casual blogger into a rabid blogmaniac. It began to look like the ill wind wouldn't be blowing over after all.

She is holding fast. Nobody will be prying her ancient fingers from the blogbike's handlebars anytime soon. She craves contact with intelligent life forms; more than can be provided in a five minute phone call..... She regularly casts blogbottles upon the waters, and hopes someone finds them on another blogshore, and sends them back with a friendly "Ahoy!"

At first I told myself "I'm doing this for me." Right....... But truly, I am. Because I love to write. I love what happens when I sit here, clueless, and start with a tiny germ of an idea, and it grows, and from the din and clatter of the farmyard, I mold and carve and shape something coherent. But most of all I love it when I throw the bottle out there and it strikes a chord with someone, touches a nerve, tickles a funny bone. I love it when I connect. And that's why I blog. So thank you DD , for bringing blogging to the Funny Farm, and for pushing your ancient mother down the hill on the blogbike. Wheeeee!

Mary Had a Little Blog

I love coffee. I love that it kicks me awake in the morning. And I love NaBloPoMo. I love that it makes me do what I want to do anyway---write---and no procrastinating. But too much of either gives me the jitters. Got my post done late last night. Was about to hit publish when " glug....", horrors! my post disappeared. Once I'm done and ready to hit that P button, we're only five minutes away from me having no recollection of what I wrote. I had to work fast to catch the coattails of what I'd written before it galloped off into oblivion. I like to think of this phenomenon as my brain's way of decluttering.......Some, however , say it's CRS syndrome. Can't Remember......yeah, that's it.
So I wondered if I might give my brain a rest tonight and recite some nursery rhymes. How about

"Mary had a little blog, oops, I mean lamb," or

"Mistress Mary, quite contrary, how does the blogging go? " or

"If you should see a blogophile, don't take a stick and poke him," or

"Little Jack Horner sat in the corner, writing his blog on the sly..." or

"Little boy blue come write your blog," or

"Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard to see if her blog was there,"or

"A diller, a dollar, a ten o'clock blogger,
What makes you blog so soon?
You used to blog at ten o'clock
But now you blog at noon." or

" Little Bo Peep has lost her mind
and doesn't know where to find it;
Leave it alone and it'll come home
Dragging her blog behind it." or

'Three blind mice, three blind mice,
See how they blog, see how they blog;
They all ran after NaBloPoMo
But wrote, sad to say, too slow, slow, slow
Did you ever see such a show, show, show
As three madly blogging blind mice."

I think I'll go to bed now. And in the morning I'll be having tea for breakfast........with tranquilizers.

According to Webster's ---
Addiction: enthusiastic devotion, strong inclination, or frequent indulgence. Obsession: the act of a devil or a spirit in besetting a person or impelling him to action................any questions?