Last month, when Will Smith slapped Chris Rock at the Oscars, it was a perfect, if exaggerated example of how victims of bullying see their fate. The bully assaults you and then gets an award and a standing ovation. The victim is left wondering, what about me? What about right and wrong? Why does the bully matter more and why doesn’t someone stand up for me?
…Cats and changes go together like roast beef and cotton candy. Like peas and M and Ms. Like Skittles in soup.
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Life is a whirlwind, my friends. Down goes the food bowl, I clean it out and a new one magically appears. Same routine, different postal code. I’m one lucky feline.
…Greetings from Port Stanley, my little diggers! I’m officially a beach cat now. Also, I’m a bit overwhelmed after all of the excitement. Oh, I have tales (and tails) to tell.
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When you’ve moved as often as we have in recent years, you learn to temper your expectations. Live in the moment. Perfection is unattainable. Something is bound to go wrong. Roll with it or lose your stomach lining!
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My dearest friends at HGTV, with whom my parents spend a large amount of time, I need your help. Once I explain the problem, you can decide which of your expert hosts can assist. Someone should be dispatched immediately to our country home to stop this madness!
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This week finds me quite disappointed, my little treat chompers, As Packarama 2021 continues, not one box has been left out for my amusement. Every box is built, filled, labelled and set aside. What’s a curious cat to do?
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Greetings my little lucky charms! We are about six weeks away from no longer being country bumpkins. Port Stanley isn’t exactly the city, but it’s got a lot less corn and a lot more people. Today I want to share with you Mother’s philosophy: If something is too difficult, it’s not meant to be. As the moth-catcher of this family, I’ll have to agree. It’s much easier to wait for the moth to come to me, than to try to go to the moth.
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Greetings my little dumplings! Yes it’s me, your friendly supermodel furball, Miss Sugar. I’m coming back out of blogger retirement to share the craziest story of my life (so far).
…So here we are, on a 2/3 acre parcel of land, surrounded by hundreds of acres of farmland. We haven’t heard a siren. When someone drives down our road, it’s an event. We’ve seen deer and I’m sure we’ll see other critters in time. Our nearest neighbour isn’t near at all, so we have this place wired (and wireless) for monitoring and security.
…Truth be told, these acres are brown right now. The feed corn that surrounds us is almost ready for harvest. The soybean fields a little further away came down this week. It was fun to watch the combines come in and get to work.
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Today, and for the rest of this week, I’m going into reruns, in order to free my mind and soul (and fingers and knees!) for the task ahead of settling into our new/old home. If all goes as planned, as you read this we are watching the unloading of our first shipping container of possessions. So, please indulge me as I share my most-read posts from the last few years.
…We were lucky to get this apartment. I held out because I had an instinct that we’d get it, against the odds. It’s owned by a short-term rental company whose various units across the city are almost always booked up.
…I’ve been busy, dear readers, applying my fur to every square inch of this generously-sized apartment. The carpet is a cat-hair-hiding beige, but there’s also a large, dark rug to roll on. It is my personal goal that eventually each piece of this rented domicile will experience the joy of my spiky hair.
…My usual sense of careless joy deteriorated into a sense of ennui the likes of which no feline before me has ever had to endure. But, dear readers, I am nothing if not resilient. Things seemed to improve and my disposition experienced a boost along with them.
…We lived there for only eight months. Not since the early days in my career have I moved again so quickly. And back then, I had few items of my own. It’s a bigger deal to move these days. When I picked up some boxes, an employee at the store said, “I moved once. Never again”!
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There is nothing left in this house except the things that belong to me. My scratching post that looks like a bent toilet brush, my basket of toys and brushes. Best of all, my fuzzy, puffy pouf and of course, my food. I must face the fact that we are camping now. The furniture upon which I leave my fur is now but a memory. These humans cannot be reasoned with. Take note of my facial expression. This air mattress has no give!
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My world is upside down, and not just because my belly is in the air in hopes of inspiring a tummy rub. The humans previously referred to as Father and Mother are nearly unrecognizable. They run past me in a blur of cardboard and crumpled paper, muttering to themselves and each other about not forgetting this or that. But the ultimate horror befell me this week. An occurrence so frightening that I dared not even consider its possibility. I will never get over it.
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