I Have A New Life Coach

Modern American society has broken down to the point that people have to hire mentors called “life coaches” to tell them the things their parents, other family members, or peers should have or should be telling them.

As you might know, gentle reader, my own parents are dead, and my stand-offish manner and backwater blog have limited me from developing meaningful friendships with peers and mentors who could guide me to bettering myself instead of spending time maintaining a backwater blog.

But not to worry. I have a new life coach.

All will be better after bacon and a nap.

Actually, I oversell it. Roark does not steal the bacon from the table; he licks it. But now he has discovered the pan in which the bacon is cooked and which sits on the counter with lots of sweet, sweet bacon grease in it, and he has, over the last couple of days, waited for us to sit down at the breakfast table before ambling over there, minding his own business, when lick, lick, lick.

All I’ve Got Are Cat Memes

I know, you come here for the incisive political coverage, gentle reader (well, reader of 2004, maybe, although the political coverage was about the same on the Mohs scale incisivity, but there were fewer blogs to choose from, so more bored readers chose MfBJN). But some days, all I have are cat memes.

With the five cats we have, it’s pretty clear that any cat picture I see, we will have a cat that looks like that (see also this).

So when I saw a meme on my cousin-in-law’s Facebook wall, I knew my cat had to respond.

Our newest cat is quite an eater. He came into the house weighing something like nine pounds, and now he’s twice that. We call him “Foot” although his chip name is Mercury because he is always where we are, at our feet, and often stopping. If you’re headed to the downstairs refrigerator or coffee pot, near his food, he will take up a position trotting ahead of you, stopping about every step to turn his head to see if you’re following, and when we get there, he’ll have a couple of bites.

Clearly, he still suffers from some sort of food insecurity even though he’s got two bowls of food to choose from all day long.

Other Cat Games of Nogglestead

You’ve already learned about the games that Roark and Chimera play at Nogglestead. “What about your other cats, Brian J?” you might ask. “Do they have any games of their own?”

Well, gentle reader, the answer is, “Yes.” For Isis, our mostly black cat, has not only a game, but an arena in which to play it.

When we fold laundry, we dump it onto the bed and set the empty basket on the bench at the end of the bed. And then it’s Game On.

She hopes onto the bed when she sees the laundry coming, and then jumps down into the Arena of Isis (which sounds like something the other Isis would have).

The game is to poke her through the holes in the basket while she tries to paw and bite the poking fingers.

Apparently, she loves it, because she keeps coming back for more.

Fortunately for her, there’s always more laundry at Nogglestead.

Wherein Brian J. Owes Jim Croce An Apology Instead Of Royalties

So when we make the change the linens on the beds here at Nogglestead, it’s game on for a couple of our cats. Roark likes to jump on the bed and chase his tail while we settle sheets and blankets on him, after which he will pounce out if we turn the linen so his head is near the end.

So today I had the bright idea that I would change both the beds in the master and the guest bedrooms at the same time. That way, when he hopped onto one bed to do his little game, I could go into the other room and put on a linen before he followed me in there. Then, when he hopped up onto the bed, I could go into the other room and put on a linen.

It worked, briefly. I got fitted sheets on both beds and a flat sheet down in the master bedroom, when an unexpected complication arose.

Chimera.

Now, Chimera plays a different game: He will lie without moving on the bed and let you completely make the bed on him. Then he will lie there under the sheets and blankets all day. Which is disconcerting, because I tend to worry that he won’t be able to breathe. But so far, so good, clearly.

So all chores were suspended for a bit until the coast cleared, but I did get a little song out of it.

Bed, bed, Howard Roark.
Beddest cat in the whole dang house.
Bedder than Chimera is.
Sweeter than Athena, too.

My beautiful wife claims that the third line is not in rhythm, but I insist because Chimera lacks a hard stop, the Chimera is really sounds like three syllables instead of four.

I would claim that I am a poet, but she is, too. And although she has more magazine appearances than I not counting college journals, I have more earnings from poetry so far than she does ($100 for my poem in There Will Be War Volume X puts me ahead of a lot of poets in lifetime earnings) and more full length poetry collections (one) than she does, so I argue from authority.

Not a Safe Space

I’ve discovered, as I comb through the archives from the earliest days of this blog, that I used to post more cat pictures. I also used to get hundreds of hits per day. Coincidence? Let’s try it out.

Here’s a picture of Chimera, one of the second generation, pawing at one of my Christmas presents right after I hung it on the wall:

Silly cat. A minute ago, this was blank wall. Now, he’s looking to see if there’s a wall safe behind this particular picture. Clearly, he does not know much about the installation of wall safes.

Galt Protests

Here at the Noggle household, we’ve moved pretty much to LCD monitors for our various workstations, and the transition is not without its victims:

Galt atop the eMac

The cats used to love to climb atop the nice warm CRT monitors to nap. Now, this eMac is the last remaining CRT system in the house, and Galt vows to defend it.

Not Like Herding Cats At All

Check showtimes near you for Yuri Kuklachev and his Moscow Cats Theatre:

In the current Cats Theatre show, Kuklachev makes a hilarious initial entrance. Standing in a small, low wagon, he is pulled on stage by a cat walking on its hind legs. The production’s lone dog, also on its hind legs, pushes the cart from the rear.

When Kuklachev steps out of the wagon, the dog hops in and is pulled off stage by the kitty.

A 75 minute show of cats trained to do tricks. How can a culture that can train cats not dominate the world?

Feline Conspiracy Continues Apace

Tristan, the Emperor

Emperor Tristan I reports his plan for feline domination is continuing as scheduled:

  • Despite jingoistic propoganda to the contrary, cat scientists have beaten dogs to the secret of hypoallergenic pets:

    Cats produce a protein, FEL D1, that is an exquisite allergen for some sensitive individuals, meaning contact with a kitty results in streaming eyes, sneezing and general unhappiness on the human side of the relationship.

    In an effort to bring cats to the cat-challenged, Allerca, a San Diego-based biotech planned to harness gene silencing techniques to develop a breed of cat that did not express FEL D1, thus creating a hypoallergenic cat. Allerca announced their plans three years ago, [sic] and started collecting deposits from allergic cat fans, but have now decided that their plans to use RNA interference were taking a back seat to a more traditional breeding approach, albeit one that uses genetic testing to select individuals that express low levels of FEL D1.

  • Cats are working at the highest levels of the entertainment industry to infiltrate reality television:

    The fur really could fly on TV’s latest reality entry: It stars cats. Ten felines, picked from animal shelters nationwide, will live in a New York house to vie – a la “Big Brother” or “Survivor” – for a grand prize, in this instance an executive-level job with Meow Mix cat food.

All hail the wisdom of our feline overlords and get them bowls of Fancy Feast now!