Bob Dole (my cat, not the ex-candidate for Vice President) has been coughing for about a week. I admit I didn't give him enough hairball remedy, but thankfully he, somehow, managed to hork this bad boy up.
Okay, it's gross, but you have to admit it's impressive, too! In all the years of discovering hairballs, I've never seen one this big.
So now, my dear readers, I challenge you. Can your cat blast a bigger hair hunk? You've got a week. You can't "make" a fake hairball with your hands or in photoshop. You need to include a ruler next to said hairball so we can see how long it is. It's gotta be the real thing. Also, include a photo of the cat who did the “horking.”
To enter, you must email a photo of the hairball w/ruler and photo of the cat who “made” it to: firstname.lastname@example.org by Friday, April 23, 2010.
Prizes? Hey, do I look like I'm sponsored by a major corporation? I might have a Furminator or a box of Catnip Tea I can toss your way. Is it great motivation for you to send in pix? Heck no. Is bragging rights worth something to you? I think, YES! The winning hairball will be posted right here on CiCH, along with a photo of the now somewhat less hairy cat (if the owner provides one).
So stop cleaning up those messy hairballs and get out your camera, first!
Note: open to anyone who has a camera, a cat and a cat who just puked up a hairball. Please DO NOT HARM or otherwise induce your cat to vomit. I mean, really, do I have to put that in writing?
There's nothing like the excitement of packing up and going on a road trip with your beloved. The promise of the open road. Leaving your troubles behind you. The enjoyment of discovering more about the world around you, and yourself, while you're at it.
And...there's nothing like the threat of not going on the trip at all, just when you've finished packing and you need to load the car. But wait, first you must have a HUGE, blowout fight over the fact that you're stressed and short-tempered (because you don't want to leave late) and not being very nice. Okay. Let's have a big fight for two hours, so we can be certain to leave as LATE as possible, so the 660 mile drive will end around 12:30AM instead of 7PM! Great.
There's nothing like battling through CT, NY & NJ, followed by an endless drive across Pennsylvania. I swear that state GROWS while you drive it. All the up and down, curvy roads, the rain, the truckers who tailgate and the insane f-cker who almost hit us.
Yet, somehow, with all this, there's nothing like being able to find a way to work it out, to get over your petty/not-so-petty-but-you-don't-want-to-admit-it crap and attend to the task at hand. You make the 660 mile drive. You get to the hotel late. You eat a cold sandwich and pass out cold on the big, cat-less bed. You wake up to a new day, full of possibilities.
You awake to the purr of a garbage truck dumping something outside your window. You might be fearful that the shit storm is going to happen all over again, but you have that hope that today will be different. Today will be different! And if not, the trip was already worth it.
We made one stop yesterday, other than bathroom breaks. I scored a really cool 1950's lamp for my living room at the Atomic Warehouse, so that's good, right?
More from BlogPaws, life in Columbus, Ohio and The Sam & Robin Smackdown Show, soon!
Cupid does not care for me to read while I'm having one of my visits with her. She also likes to make sure she rubs her ringowrmy foot all over my book, my pants and anywhere else her rear left leg can reach.
In a way, I was grateful to her for interrupting my reading. I took it as a cosmic approval that the book sucked as much as I feared and I really shouldn't bother with it. I'd forced myself to read up to page 100 because the author is a famous, fancy-pants, but I just didn't get it. The story had too many back stories and not enough “forward” story. It just annoyed me. It annoys me to even write about it. I wanted to slap him and declare; “GET ON WITH THE F-ING STORY, will ya?!”
Who is the author, you ask? I can't say. It would be unprofessional of me to reveal HIS name because HE wrote something that was made into a crappy mini-series AND he won a Pulitzer for one of his novels. And he lives in Maine. And his latest book is about Cape Cod. That's all I'm sayin' and NO, I do not think the book was “FUNNY” as I've seen others declare.
He wrote about getting crapped on by a seagull. That is NOT funny. It's especially not funny if you're traveling in Scotland, with a family you just met, and a giant flying rat craps down your arm, in front of two young children, who are suddenly shocked into silence because they have good manners, but whose eyes are about to pop out of their heads because they want to laugh so badly. They wait for a nod of the pooped-upon to let them know it's all right to laugh their asses off, while you try to swab away the shit storm on your sleeve.
See? It's funny when I tell about MY experience of being pooped on, but in this book eh, not so much. Plus, being pooped on is just a few lines of a bigger story. It's not going to win anyone a SECOND Pulitzer, 'cause if there was a Poop Pulitzer, well, stand back because I would surely win it!
I just received a lot of four vintage postcards illustrated in Germany by Mainzer in the early 1900's. These cats getting into all sorts of mischief, but they're also really bizarre. There's a cat who looks angry that the other cats are in his yard and he's got a DOG with him for protection!
More postcards to come! Wait 'til you see the smoking themed one!
I love this part of the description: “No batteries required - powered by wishful thinking.”
If only it really worked. Also, it's missing buttons for: “Don't PEE There!” and “Quit Bugging Me, I'm Not Going to FEED You Right Now! (Not sure that would fit on a button, though.)
Will, not one to travel alone, has decided that he needs to bring two of his buddies with him when he comes to Connecticut this weekend. Strange that he didn't ask me about this first, but just invited them along. Who am I to say, “No” to cute, fluffy babies? I cannot say “NO”. So...
...please welcome our latest, busted out, but NOT from a Kill Shelter-we're just helping Dr. Anderson out...Pip & Squeak (at least that's their names for now until I come up with something better).
These cuties are not sisters, though they sure look like it! I don't know much about their story of how they got to Dr. Anderson. I just know they got vetted and tested and one is spayed and one is not and that's good enough for me. I am so READY to get my hands one some kitten! Woohoo!
I think I've had a two week break from fostering. I like having time for other things, but I hate going into the foster room. Opening the door and not having kittens come out to see me or to get blasted in the face by the acrid stench of "clean me NOW" kitten litter pan...well, it just touches anyone's heart to conjure up this Hallmark image. Really, I miss fosters and fairly soon I will have SO MANY of them, I will be in a really bad mood or really happy or a mix of both (most likely).
So tonight I leave for the CWA Conference! I'm super excited, not ready, nervous and tired. I hope I figure out how to do a good "pitch" of my work so I can get some PAYING writing gigs. I hope I have good hair. I hope that when I see Dr. Kevin "Hottie-Cutie-Pants" Fitzgerald tomorrow night that I chose the perfect outfit to get his attention and undying love forever or for at least one really good, memorable night. CWA President, Amy Shojai, I hope to GOD you didn't read this. I'm sure you are far too busy preparing for our Conference to read my tiny Blog that no one but about 7 people read a day. Really, don't read this. If you're reading this than stop, before it's too late and I make a total ass of myself before I meet you.
They said if I could keep him restrained for five minutes that should do it. Who were they kidding?
Two seconds in and my right bicep had already endured multiple lacerations. I was convinced my left eye was in imminent danger. I should have put a shirt on before attempting this. In fact, safety goggles were probably in order. How could an otherwise docile 8 year-old be so strong?
Four seconds in and I wasn’t sure how much longer I would last. This is what I get for skipping Total Body, I thought to myself.
Angel caught mid-air bouncing from my lap onto suspecting kitten, Tweetie, below.
It's official. I'm a cat toy. I have the claw and bite marks to prove it! My skin, all over, is starting to look like drunken etch-a-sketch drawings. I feel like a human pin cushion.
Oh but they ARE SO CUTE, right? That makes up for it?