Here are some very funny pictures of cats doing what cats do…
1. The Full Situp
To achieve the full situp, you must begin with the genuine intention of exercising your abs and promptly fall asleep midway through the task. This position is extremely advanced and not recommended for amateur sleepers
Late last April, I let my dog out into the backyard to do her “duty”. I saw a feral cat run into my slightly ajar garage door. Of course, my dog, Mollie went running after the cat and I followed. I did not want some male cat “marking his territory” in my garage!!! Together, Mollie and I were going to get rid of that intruder!!!
As I walked into the front of the garage I was met with hisses and screeches!! I had visions of this cat jumping for my throat in my own garage!! At the same time, I noticed that Mollie was honed in on something near the rear of the garage. I edged past the hissing cat to investigate what Mollie was so intrigued by.
The bar-b-q had been strictly Flavia’s vision—a dream, if you will, of a cul de sac where neighbors were no longer isolated in their self-absorbed worlds; where people were simpatico, drawn to one another by a sense of shared identity. So, what did they now have in common, that they’d lacked before? Well, they had participated in what Flavia earnestly hoped would be a summer tradition. She’d birthed the idea on her own, and resisted Oliver’s borderline negativity and refusal to “co-host”. And she’d fearlessly approached each of the homeowners, inviting them to come—and to bring anything they wished, to supplement her menu. She’d shopped and cooked; set up card tables with an arrangement of colorful napkins and tableware, and pitchers of ice tea and lemonade. Aside from the two neighbors who were on vacation, everyone greeted her invitation with enthusiasm—and it had been the loveliest of July afternoons.
Geez-la-frickin-wheeze—when it rains, it comes a monsoon. Oliver had never been plagued by stress-related symptoms. He’d smoked since he was ten; ate whatever he damn well pleased; and slept when his engine quit on him. Until the heart “episode” two years before, he hadn’t considered the fact of his mortality much—and though that should have been his wake-up call, he’d ignored the recommended adjustments to his lifestyle. He wasn’t a worrier—chasing his tail about troubles was a waste of energy and time, better spent on productive, creative projects. It took a fair amount of aggravation—car trouble, unexpected bills, the rare family emergency—to rile his mellow personality. However, in life there’s always the small print, a possible exclusion—a “but for”. Flavia—“Betty Crocker- of- the- cul de sac”—had just become that “but for”, that monsoon in Oliver’s otherwise balmy existence.
And now for a comedic break…
We always knew there was something sinister about squirrels…
Neighborhood Hazard (or: Why the Cops Won’t Patrol Brice Street Anymore)