Tabby Tell All

Happy Day After World Cat Day!!
 I didn't say that yesterday. I'm sorry.
I was too traumatized by Tommy's paints....

Some of you wondered what the paints were for

Well, below is what Tommy did to a helpless terra cotta pot:

Yep. And Tommy got an order to make 20 of em

For this Writers' Workshop on Saturday, she volunteers for...

Tommy's never made 20 at one time, so this will be interesting.

Of course, I show my human a look of support as I inform her

I oughta be on a helpless terra cotta
Instead of some quote --

Tommy just says, "Oh baby Noir!" and mutters somethin'  
Bout ME not payin' her.... 

What do YOU think?

Stay tuned.

Friday is Tommy's Time!

Since Tommy feeds us, cleans our litter boxes, gives us treats (except when we look at the camera) and doesn't disturb us when she gets into HER bed--I decided to devote this day to Tommy--and probably the last time in a while, can't get her feelin all lioness on the savannah and all! And to be honest, she likes those pictures of us as itty bitty cats, so....

OK, I know it's Mother's Day on Sunday. Mommy has said to let her rest on Sunday. We can curl, but don't expect any baths that day. We're grown and we're on our own, she says. Drat. For Tommy, she says Mother's Day is a sorta bittersweet day. Tommy's not had her Mommy for a long time, since she was a young girlcat. So Tommy wrote something about that and turns out it's been published in local Dallas newspapers ever since 2004. That's before I even showed up, but nonetheless.

Because of Tommy, I'll post that writing here AND pictures of when Tommy was a

kitten. Just to get back-like this one. Tommy was a 9 week old kitten held by her Mommy.

Now Tommy's writing:

Another View

Years ago, avoidance of the greeting card aisle near Mother’s Day rivaled my loveless affair with liver and onions. Even as I rushed past the cards, the words, “To My Dear Mother,” screamed at me. As people did their best to pick the most perfect Mother’s Day card, envy, not blood, flowed through my veins. Did they know how blessed they were?

My mother died from yellow liver atrophy almost three months to the day after surgery. She was forty-three. I was thirteen. She was too young to die and I was too young to be left without a mom. Now it was just my dad and me. Even at thirteen, I wondered how we would survive. I hated that my mom never hesitated to spank, yet I would let her spank me a thousand times over if God would bring her back.

My peaceful world was gone. No more ‘girls only’ nights when my dad worked late. We’d drive as far as time and ice cream took us. Laughs and song filled the air. No more would I watch her put on eyeshadow and wonder if I would ever be as pretty.

Mother’s Day soon became just another Sunday without football.

For twenty years, I permitted my mom’s death to be the root of my stumbles. Life moved on, but I lagged behind. I somehow had to learn from her life so I could finally live my own.
I was sick and tired of being sick and tired of not being able to change the past. I had to embrace my mom’s death and move on. God’s word opened that door with Psalms 121 (NIV): I lift up my eyes to the hills-where does my help come from? I knew where to start.

Now, I no longer avoid the Mother’s Day card aisle. Like everyone else, I hunt for the perfect one. How can I not celebrate the woman who introduced me to A & W onion rings while she explained changes a young girl experiences are a celebration? I sign my card with love and tuck it away with the others.
Our life together lasted just thirteen years, yet was more valuable than rubies. My mother’s spirit dances within me every second, every minute, every day. I am truly blessed, for I know one day we’ll see each other again. Our laughter and songs will fill the air. Praise God.
©2008

And for your viewing pleasure....

Where's the treats??

Then I found this picture of Tommy with this girl and guy. The back of the picture says Debbie and Donny Osmond...WHO? Tommy wrote it was week after their wedding day--which was May 8, 1978. Since that proves Tommy is really old, I made the picture the black and white, just like all the others. Donny Osmond...? Hmm. Lots of teeth.

Happy Friday to all our friends!

Happy Mother's Day to all the Mommies!

Now Tommy is off doing that dance she does EVERY Friday--all is right with the world!

Saturday Site

Today it's about ME: Perry! The KING of this city jungle not the Cranky Ol Sour Puss which the kid cat Noir calls me. I am the handsome orange tabby or maybe you'd call me ginger tabby. I like orange because tigers are orange and got stripes---like ME.

Anyway Tom (that's what I call her instead of Tommy) had her get together with her litter of writer friends today. Came home all happy and excited because one of them is gonna be published in some book about chickens. No-wait, that's not it. Hmm. It's chicken soup! I like chicken soup. OK--wait. The kid cat Noir just told me: Chicken Soup for the Soul. Tom's writer friend wrote about being a twin. So? This cat Tom brought in had the kid cat Noir and three others. Oh well, Tom is happy for the writer, so I'll be happy for the writer friend too. I still like chicken soup. Does anybody write about that?

The kid cat Noir posts kitten pictures of himself. Hiss. I was here WAY before any em. Before they invaded MY space and MY Tom. So here's a picture of ME now and one when I was about the kid cat Noir's age. Just something about my pretty orange fur. When Tom took me to the doctor the first time, he said Tom would enjoy my disposition. I didn't know what meant, I was too busy trying to jump off the table. Tom says, through the years I've never bored her. Purr-fect felines are like that.

Speaking of bore, back to my picture. The yawn I have? Even tho I was a kid cat back then- I already ready knew something in the future would bore me to sleep: Noir.

How in the world can I be called cranky when I'm just honest?