Friday Follies - School Foto Fun

Awww, Grade 1 (I think).
Grade 1 photos are cute

Grade 2? 
Pigtails are still on trend.

Since I've started this blog, I've been having to go through old albums to find the appropriate photos.  I have really been enjoying this, and loving remembering a lot of good times - because photos are almost always about the good times, aren't they?

I still have my hairs set on end when I turn a page and find an exceedingly large school photo taking pride of place in the middle of the album.  Uggghh, do we NEED to remember how awkward I was?  Of course, going through awkward times and having hideous photos is a right of passage for all of us and quite frankly, they are part of who we are whether we like it or not.  Trust me, as you will see, most of mine are in the 'not' category! 

Grade 3, on the
slippery-slope to awkward.

I don't think I've ever spoken to anyone that said, 'Yeah, grade 6, that was a great yearbook photo! I really love it."  Grade 6 must be one of the most awkward times, although the teens are a close second, especially for boys.  Why did all of the boys look SO young in our high school yearbooks?  They don't look like men until they are in their 20's.  Every rule has an exception, and there was always one or two boys at school that grew faster (notice I did not use the word 'matured'?) and had full facial hair - not the wispy attempts that other boys had perched on their upper lip, like the old Eastern European nannas had.  Not surprisingly, these boys were the ones that we sent to get our beer for those regular weekend bush parties.

Grade 6...Ugggh!

While these posed snapshots make us cringe and everyone else laugh, they are great mementos of fashion, hairstyles and what was currently trending in glasses for those that wore them.  Primary school photos also give insight into what our parents thought was appropriate clothing to dress us in to be remembered ad infinitum.   What were they thinking?  In later school years, the are a good reminder of what WE thought was cool to be wearing for those photos.  What were WE thinking?

Grade 8 or 9

After all those years of posing sitting straight, shoulders slightly turned, head slightly tilted we finally get to the graduation photos.  Poised on the edge of adulthood, our faces were full of anticipation and hope, as well as relief at finally being out of school.  We looked forward to being treated like an adult (while still acting like a goose) and embraced our new-found independence (while still relying on our parents for housing, food and money).  At least we got proofs from our photo session and they blessed us with touch-ups (which would be called photoshop today...a much more appropriate phrase than touch-up).  Thank goodness for that, my face was a pizza at that age.  If only acne could have disappeared that quickly in real life....

High School Grad -
where did my zits go?

College Grad - All Grown Up

So enjoy those fat-faced, gap toothed and big haired photos - I'm sure that gawky kid still lives inside all of us.  I know mines still there - she rears her fuzzy head quite often and I have to remind her "Hey, I'm an adult now."



For more funny yearbook photos, click here or here.

 

 

 

 

 

Holy Sheet, It's Hard to Make a Bed

Let's get started

If you have a cat, you will know the difficulty and challenge of trying to make a bed.  Not only does it become a wrestling match for control of the bedding, it also becomes a case of deja vu as you have to smooth those sheets out over and over again.

There is no doubt about it, Purrkins LOVES making a bed.  If the crisp snap of a sheet being flung out reaches his ears through my dog-nose printed windows, he is at the door, meowing desperately to come in.  If Purrkins is already inside (which he normally is if I'm around - see previous blog on Klingons), I can hear the (in)delicate stomp of his jelly bean toes as he races through the house to the bedroom, launching his substantial body from the doorway to the mattress, sliding across like an eager baseball player sliding into home base.  Although slightly disappointed that my bed making activities are going to take longer than they should, quite frankly I'm seriously delighted as my feline friend and I have more play time together (this begs the question, who really is the Klingon?  I call it a tie.)

Look, I'm a tent.



Before I can get the fitted sheet tucked over the corners, the battle is on.  Claws out, tail swishing, he's propelling himself across the mattress, grabbing at the sheet. This is no innocent play for Purrkins - it's claws and teeth out, ready to kill the destroy.



Must. Kill. Finger.

Next is the top sheet.  A snap of the sheet into the air before it slowly descends to settle on the bed revealing a large, pokey, purring lump.  The moving mound has four legs up and a tail flicking back and forth like a drunk playing dress-up under his mother's linen.  I take this opportunity to flick his ears, poke his fatness and pull his tail as he flounders about trying to latch on to me.  Despite my superior size, wit and intelligence, I clearly have inferior reflexes, and am often forced to deposit small droplets and smears of blood on the freshly laundered linen as my flesh is pierced with great abandon.

Still crazy.

Eventually either Purrkins tires and toddles off to eat again as he has expended calories (at this stage his physique will only survive a 30 day famine, he must top up to 32 days) or I decide that I still have a lot of work to do and must get on with it.  Moving him is not always successful as he starts afresh, anointing the bed with cat hair and claw holes. There is one solution that almost always works.  Never underestimate the power of a laundry basket.  Purrkins loves a laundry basket almost as much as he loves making a bed.  And look, he likes to try and get my fingers through the holes in the side....I guess my work can wait for a little while longer - this cat needs to play.

Watch the videos below for Purrkins in slo-mo action and at normal speed (ha ha, if they worked - I'm so technological!)



 

Friday Follies - Treasured Tales and Winnie Wisdom



In our family,  reading is just a natural part of everyday life.  Our parents read to us from an early age, we watched our parents read every day and as we got older, we read before falling asleep every night.  As we got even older, we read under the covers with a flashlight until the wee hours or until we sternly got told to go to sleep.  As we got even older than that, we would still read after a night out on the town, only to have to re-read it the next night.  It seems that hours of ingesting alcohol aren't conducive to retaining what your read.

THE Dress!

One of my favourite books was Dean's Gift Book of Fairy Tales.  I'm not really sure who Dean was, but I loved this book - I think I loved the illustrations even more.  I used to stare at the pictures, thinking them endlessly beautiful.  In fact, I was pretty sure that Cinderella's dress at the ball was the dress I would wear to my wedding one day.  Unfortunately for me, this style of dress really didn't suit the beach wedding that we had.  I did see something vaguely similar in a wedding magazine though, but it was well out of my budget and a ridiculous amount to pay for something to wear for one part of one day.

The other thing that used to fascinate me was the depiction of the men in this book.  They were all very 'pretty', with flowing locks, feminine features and stunning clothes.  I think Dean was on top of the transgender revolution well before his time.



Beauty & The Beast .... The Beast that
looked like a girl

 

If you grew up in Australia, The Magic Pudding by Norman Lindsay was required reading.   Frankly, I found some of the characters to be a bit scary, particularly the pudding.  He was very angry, but I guess if everyone is trying to eat you and steal you, you'd get cranky too.  It's obvious that I had aspirations of being an artist like Norman Lindsay and added to his published illustrations....not bad if I do say so myself.  I'm not sure if that was meant to be a pudding, but it is a bit happier.



My contribution to the art

Another favourite is anything by A.A. Milne, most famously Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh.  I had a book of verse by A.A. Milne that featured both of those characters.  As you can see by the cover, I enjoyed colouring.  This book also has the most beautiful illustrations. 

Most people know this, but you can't go past Winnie the Pooh for a bit of down to earth advice, such as:

"You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think" Christopher Robin to Winnie the Pooh.

"You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you.  You have to go to them sometimes."

"A day without a friend is like a pot without a single drop of honey left inside."

"The things that make me different are the things that make me."

"Weeds are flowers too, once you get to know them."

"Don't underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all things you can't hear, and not bothering."

More art
on the A.A. Milne Cover

The values that Winnie the Pooh held tight in his heart are a great gift to little humans.  He was just a big sincere, cuddly bear with a massive heart and more kindness than you could ever hope for.  Although A.A. Milne felt considerable annoyance at the success of  his Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh books (despite many works of adult fiction and non-fiction, plays, screenplays and news articles), I hope parents continue to read the words of A.A. Milne to their children forever.  The messages are timeless and accessible.

For more Winnie the Pooh quotes, click here.

The original

 

 

 

 

 

 

Klingons on the Starboard Bow

One of my favourite terms is 'Klingon'.  We used to use it in our nightclub days to describe that particular breed of men that just won't leave you alone.  You know the ones - they try and buy you a drink, ask you to dance, follow you around - cling on to you and your group like you are the only life jacket in a stormy sea of desperation.

Manu of the deep, staring brown eyes

Now we use this term in our house to describe our needy pets.  My ever-suffering husband's Klingon is Manu.  Sometimes he is my Klingon, but mostly he is Shawn's. 

For those that don't know, Manu didn't join our family until he was about one and a half years old.  He came to us with some unknown (to us) behavioural issues and an incredible sense of insecurity. 

From what we can tell, he was not socialised well, had issues with men and was petrified of everything.  Worrying took up most of his time.  With lots of time, patience and love, we taught him (and us) to react to things differently.  If anyone raises their voice around Manu, he immediately retreats into a corner of the house and requires quite a bit of coaxing to come out.  This can be a problem as Chamois has responds to any type of discipline with disdain and does what she pleases. She gets yelled at a lot.  And of course we have cats and they are always being naughty, so they get yelled at a lot (with the same response as Chamois).  Poor Manu, he is a sensitive soul.

Please pet me and love me forever

Manu's confidence has grown in leaps and bounds over the years.  He has an insatiable curiousity for anything new and his beautiful face and soft brown eyes are more often than not full of smiles.  Of course, all of this confidence builds loyalty, and Manu is possibly the most loyal pet we have ever had.  But that loyalty comes at a price, and the price is that 90% of the time, if allowed, there is a large yellow dog attached to your hip.  If he is not by your side and under your hand, he is right outside that toilet door, waiting for you to exit and fill his soul with love.  He is a very, very large dog with a very large presence and very short apron strings.

While Shawn is blessed with his Klingon, I have mine, and funnily, enough, it's in the form of a cat (shocking, I know).  A lot of people think that cats are aloof and can take you or leave you, but I've never believed that.  Purrkins is the cat that proves that theory wrong.

If I am petting the dogs or rubbing Clawde's belly, my ears will soon detect a throaty meow and suddenly there is one fat grey cat rubbing my legs.  His purr will gets a squeak, like a rusty old wheel that needs some grease, when he is particularly happy.  For Purrkins it is never a vindictive jealousy, just a need to be included and be by my side.

My Klingon tricking me into thinking he's not an asshole

My Klingon also seems to delight in cleaning the house with me - I can't even do that alone.  The minute he knows that I'm cleaning bathrooms, he will sit at the door (if he's outside) and yowl until I let him in.  Then it's all rainbows and happiness as he rubs and purrs, purrs and rubs.  His joy is often so great at the prospect of me cleaning toilets that he jumps into a speedy run and skid around the corner of the room, tail straight as an arrow, saying 'Come catch me!'.  And I do - it works every time.  Seriously, cleaning toilets or playing tag with your cat, the choice is obvious!  Needless to say, housework takes longer than it should, but is much more fun that it used to be.

Purrkins' Klingon-ness (yes, I know that's not a word) is lovely though, because he loves to cuddle.  Whether I'm in bed or sitting at the kitchen bench waiting for dinner to cook, Purrkins is there, curled up in a ball on my lap, purring away with his feet pumping away making 'happy feet'.  He will often purr louder, look up at me while staring deeply into my eyes (just like Manu does with Shawn), make a big contented sigh and curl up again.  Several Purrkins cuddles a day are just what the doctor ordered.  Not that you have a choice - when Purrkins wants a cuddle, good luck changing his mind.  Even Shawn gets stuck with a Purrkins cuddle on a regular basis, allergies be damned.

Everyone needs a ball of cat in their lap

Although Klingons can be annoying, there is something reassuring about that kind of adoration and attention - whether you are out at the nightclub or at home with your family.

PS  Three of our four pets are rescue animals.  Remember - adopt don't shop.  Click on Oscar's Law in my Link List on the right if you need to know more about why don't buy pets from pet stores or online.

PPS I hope that it hasn't escaped your notice that I have elegantly tied in pets with Star Trek again.  Does anyone smell scrambled eggs and toast?

Friday Follies - Lies Are in the Eyes of the Beholder

An integral part of growing up is learning that perhaps some of what our parents told us was not, in fact, the gospel truth, but a big pack of lies.  I think most of us were told the most common lies, such as:

• Eat your crusts so your hair will be curly (bad example - I ate my crusts and voila!  Curly hair.)
• If the wind changes, your face will freeze that way.
• If you swallow an apple seed, an apple tree will grow in your belly.
• Don't swim for 20 minutes after eating.
• The dog/cat/hamster/rabbit didn't die, it went to live on a farm.
• No, you can't have any coffee, it will stunt your growth (okay, this one may have been true for me too!).
• Don't sit on the cold surface, you'll get piles.
• If you tell a lie, your nose will grow.

Then there are the cultural lies that we are all told about Santa, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. Those are my favourite childhood lies, I think they built a depth of fantasy into our existence as children and created a very special magic that once lost, is never regained.

When we lived in Wollongong, my parents used to tell my brother and I one particular lie when we went to the beach for picnics.  They very earnestly used to tell us that if you could sprinkle some salt on a seagull's tail, you could catch it.  Scott and I would spend hours with the Tupperware salt shaker, chasing the seagulls around the beach and park.  It took me years to realise (perhaps after quoting it as fact to someone else) that this was a big fat lie and had the dual purpose of keeping Scott and I away from Mum and Dad for awhile and using up some of our energy.

We were so proud to own a genuine Platypus Hunter

Some falsehoods were told with entertainment being the only purpose.  When we moved from Australia to Canada, our little dog Dofor (pronounce Doo-for) came with us.  He was a cute little guy - a black and white fox terrier poodle cross, with these gorgeous black patches on his eyes and a feathery plume of tail.  He was a great rescue dog from the RSPCA, and at the end of the day, just a mutt.  In those days, it wasn't as common as it is now to put your pet on a plane and fly it half way across the world.  Everyone in Canada thought that he must be a very special dog indeed.  And so he was....according to Dad.  Dad told everyone that Dofer was a purebred Platypus Hunter.  They would be very impressed and ask if he was any good.  Well, yes, said Dad, do you see any platypus in Canada?  All were awed by Dofor's skill.  Of course, Dofor's best skills were escaping from the yard and fornicating with the neighbour's dogs.....and humping our cat Fred.

I think I see a platypus...or the cat!

That's our Dad - a true artist in deception.  Especially when it came to his kids.  In 1976, it was decided that we were going to move to Australia.  I don't remember a lot of what went on around this decision as I was very young, but I did know that we had to find homes for our dogs and cat, and had to get rid of most of our possessions as it was very expensive to send things to such a far away location.  One Saturday morning, we got up, ready to watch Saturday morning cartoons.  Dad gathered us around and announced that we were leaving for Australia tomorrow.  I was horrified - our pets were still there, and we had no time to say goodbye to our friends.  Tears ran down our faces, panic struck at our hearts, and our child-brains could not comprehend any of this.  It was all too much.  Dad was kind enough to let us know - not terribly quickly, mind you - that it was all a joke, we weren't leaving quite yet.

Another of his classic lies was about my rabbits.  My brother and I were in British Columbia visiting our grandparents for school holidays.  One April Fool's Day, Dad called us to tell me that my rabbits had escaped from their hutch in the backyard and couldn't be found.  I was awash in tears and devastation, wanting to go home to help find my pets.  Fortunately he called back to put me out of my misery later in the day.  I can tell you that I didn't find it nearly as funny as Dad did.

If anyone every wonders why I'm a little touched in the head and may need therapy at some stage, please re-read this blog.  I think it explains everything. Cats aren't the only assholes, are they Dad?

 

Stories of Twitch's death were greatly exaggerated

Givers of Gifts

If you've ever had a cat, you know that they like to bring you gifts.  Often - very often - these gifts are not to our liking, however the cat is always extremely proud of its generosity.  The most common gifts that we get in this house from Clawde and Purrkins are of the rodent variety.  While I do appreciate the enthusiasm, I don't always appreciate the manner in which the gift is given.

Nip & Tuck, the ornamental cats. 
It's the glowing demon eyes that will fool you.



My two previous cats, Nip and Tuck, were the ornamental cats.  They were lovely cats, and cat-like in almost every way that they should be, except that they were useless at hunting.  My apartment in Edmonton had hot water heating and the pipes ran through the wall between apartments, so there was a very tiny gap around the heating in the wall between my bedroom and the neighbour's bedroom.  Not enough to notice if you are human, but an invitation to wander if you are a hamster it seems.

Unbeknownst to me, the neighbour's hamster had made it's way into my apartment through my bedroom, past my three cats (I had my parent's cat Fred living with me at the time.  Fred was quite old, so he is forgiven and is not included in this 'outing' of ornamental cats.  He was a great hunter in his day.), across the hall and under the gap into the linen cupboard in my bathroom.  In the very back corner I found a lovely little hamster-sized nest, full of fluff and all things 'nest-y' and a decent stash of dry cat food.  It was quite obvious that, like Rome, this hamster haven was not built in a day.

One morning while still in bed (let's face it, most likely hung over, I was in my early/mid 20's) I happened to look down and see the above-mentioned hamster running like the wind across the golden carpet of my boudoir.  Nip, Tuck and Fred were all having a lazy morning with me, as cats are prone to do, and watched that little fluffball run to it's cozy little nest.  It was definitely a hamster, a fat little black and white hamster. 

I managed to scoop the little guy up and return him to his rightful home.  I didn't know where he lived at the time, but my first hunch was correct.  As I scolded the hamster-mother on the dangers that her hamster had been exposed to, she looked horrified that it had survived the gauntlet of three cats, not just once but over several of these escapades.  I'm not sure why she let her hamster run loose - I'm pretty sure most people don't do that.  That's just weird.

Nip, the giver of toys

While Nip may have been a useless hunter, she still had part of that urge to gift me.  The gift was always the same.  When they were kittens, one of their toys was a stuffed mouse, complete with ears, nose, eyes and tail.  Named Miss Mousy, it became Nip's favourite toy and over the years lost all appendages and most of her stuffing.  It didn't matter what room I was in, Nip would utter the familiar cry of 'I have something for you!' and trot into the room, dropping Miss Mousy at my feet.  So treasured was this gift that I packed it up when I moved to Australia.  It was waiting for her when she got out of quarantine, and she still carried that thing around until the end of her days.  They are still together in that special spot in our backyard.

As I said, my current two cats are abundant gift givers.  As I lay in bed at night, I can often hear the particular meow that a cat makes when it has a particularly lovely present in it's mouth.  I then have to scramble out of bed to shut the cat door (you know, the cat door that they don't like to use, but LOVE to use when they have a treat for me).  Often I sleep through the announcement and wake to it being made very loudly from under my bed.  A quick rub of my eyes and a lunge for the flashlight are all I need to leap out of bed to try and remove the cat and/or gift. 

I can't tell you how many times I have woken up to this scenario, grabbed the cat (still holding on tightly with its jaws to its treasure), thrown the cat outside and triumphantly jumped back in to bed, only to be woken up 5 minutes later because I forgot to shut the cat door, and the cat has triumphantly brought me the gift once again.  Eventually I either remember to close all entrances, or I get hold of the little creature and dispose of it.

Believe me, Clawde has a particular expression of horror and disgust as he watches me flush his sumptuous little mouse down the toilet (it's good for our septic system apparently).  He probably wonders why I put his gift/snack down the hole were I put my wee!  We humans must be pretty gross in their eyes.

At the end of the day, all of these cats, and any future cats, give me the best gift of all.  Thanks Hesiod, Max, Fred, Purrcie, Nip, Tuck, Ginger, Clawde and Purrkins for being all things Cat, you have enriched my life more than you'll ever know.




Clawde and Purrkins taking a break from gift-giving.

Friday Follies - Slip Sliding Away - Winter Driving in Canada

Typical blizzard view

Driving in Canada in winter is now a distant memory for me.  Gone are the days of having to warm you car up for ten minutes before you actually go anywhere, scraping snow and ice off your car, and using an abundance of courage to navigate slick roads.  I now live in a land where air conditioning in your car is essential, and burning your bare skin on a white hot seat belt buckle is a right of passage.

I think if you grow up driving in snow, ice and sleet, you truly know the adventure of driving.  Sure, in Australia you can drive on the beaches and challenge yourself with 4 wheel-driving roads and parks, but you need to go out of your way to do these things, it's not a daily necessity.

When I grew up in Alberta, you got your learner's licence at 14 years old and your driver's licence at 16 years old (a fact that appals all Australians that I have met, but WAY cool when you are 14!).  You quickly learn that it is not only the winter roads that you need to beware of, but also the spring roads.  Spring roads are full of gravel that is put on the icy roads in the winter, and what melts during the day, freezes at night, so there is still often very slippery roads to contend with.  Not to mention the pothole dodging you have to do before your vehicle rattles to pieces.  The thawing/freezing routine makes minute cracks bigger and bigger, until eventually you can lose a small family, include all household pets and whitegoods, into a pothole the size of a moon crater.

In winter, there is no such thing as a quick trip to the store to get some milk (or wine).  You must first ensure that they are protected from the elements before running outside to start the car, turn the defrost on high, unplug the car, get out and lock the car while it is still running, and quickstep it back inside before flesh freezes. 

Once the car has been warming up for a while, it's back outside to scrape the ice off the car windows so that you can see, and brush off any accumulated snow.  If you try and cheat and leave the snow in situ, as you drive it slides off your roof to cover the rear window, and the windscreen becomes a flurry of snowflakes as the wind whips the snow off the front of the car. 

Digging out Mum's car on the acreage

Now that everything is brushed and scraped and cleared off, and you are ready to go.  It still feels like the inside of a freezer in your car, but the defrost is going full tilt and it has managed to battle the elements and defrost a small half-moon shape at the bottom of your windscreen.  Hunched over the steering wheel, you peer out of this tiny clearing, shoulder check through the parallel lines of defrosting occurring on your back window, and off you go!  The crunch of snow echoes in your ears as you reverse over a huge solid lump of snow and gravel and salty ice that has dropped off from behind your mud flap.

Winter fun

Navigating the roads is a challenge worthy of the Olympics.  You have to keep your eyes open for ice (unless it's black ice, which you can't see - that's always a fun surprise!), other drivers, the graders clearing the snow, trucks flinging gravel onto the roads to give the cars some traction, plus the other usual driving distractions.  As you approach the intersection, a gentle tap of the brakes to test the waters and see how icy it really is, and then a gradual application of the brakes will see you come to a gentle stop.  Unless you look up to your rear view mirror and see that the driver behind you has hit that patch of ice that you just avoided.  Bracing yourself, you see it all happen in slow motion as the driver gently nudges the back of your car and you comes to a rest four feet from where you were originally.  I can't tell you how many times this happened to me or did it to someone else.  No matter how careful you are, it's going to happen at least once.

If you are lucky enough to live on an acreage, as I was, you

A familiar position

also had to deal with roads that were not graded  or sanded regularly.  You had two tire tracks to follow in the snow (which is fun at night with your headlights reflecting off the crystal-like surface, creating glare) and if you got off those tracks and there was ice underneath that snow, you helplessly tried to steer out of the eternal skid as you slid gracefully into the ditch, dislodging snow banks and all the little mice that live in cosy tunnels underneath.  Once the engine was turned off, a peaceful silence cocooned you as you watched the snow dancing in the air, slowly settling on your car, like glitter floating in a snow globe. 

I never had a practical winter vehicle, but they were great in the summer.  Boy oh boy, could that Fiero spin like top on the ice.

Not my car but pretty much identical. 

 


Some biker chick

Cats vs Ageing. A Salute to Peri-Menopausal Women

The onset of menopause has been a hot (ha ha, hot, get it....'hot') subject amongst my peers over the last year or so.  We are all frustrated, tired and over it, and also horrified when we hear how long it can go on for.  The ones that have made it through to the other side look down on us with a special gloating that can only be expressed by a woman that has endured years of hot flushes, mood swings and deplorable changes to her body.

In salute to these women and myself - a club that half the population has belonged to, will belong to or currently belongs to - I thought a comparison to cats might help.  It might not either.  Go have a wine if it doesn't.  That does help.  I even got my doctor to tell me that.

1.  The Sweet, Sweet Satisfaction of Being an Asshole  Cats are assholes and as women, a lot of us spend a lot of time trying to please everyone and generally not be an asshole.  I've found with ageing that I actually really don't care that much what people think of me, and am much less tolerant of putting up with people's bullshit.  I am learning to embrace my inner asshole (maybe I should have tried harder to re-phrase that, it sounds nasty) just like my cats.  They seem happy enough, it must be okay.

2.  Choose Between Your Face or Your Bum  I have never yet, in all of my years, seen any animal, including cats, care about the size of their derriere.  They care about the size of their meal, the size of the fur-siblings meals, and the size of their beds (dogs) / boxes (cats), but not their bodies.  I once heard the saying that as women age, they need to decide if they want their bum or their face to look better - you can't have both.  If you are skinny and have little fat, all of the wrinkles and 'fairy dust' are accentuated and you can look haggard and older than you are.  If you have a larger sitting position, your face and wrinkles are plumped out nicely and you look younger than your years.  I have chosen my face (actually I didn't choose, my bum chose for me).  Now Purrkins and I will sit on the lounge and have a snack, congratulating ourselves on how fantastic we look.  Because everyone likes a fat-faced feline.

Fat Cat Confidence

3.  Do What YOU Want....Within Reason  Anyone that owns a cat knows that they pretty much do what they want when they want.  Again, they look pretty happy, right?  A lot of the responsibilities that we had when we were younger (children, trying to establish ourselves, etc) are no longer relevant.  Sure, we still have to be good people - basically (read #1 again) - but we can now focus more on what we want and what floats our boat.  Fortunately cats float my boat, so it's a mutually agreeable situation.  They also follow this principal - cats do pretty much what they want, but they still know who fills the food bowl, so they don't screw that up if they can help it.

4.  Dance Around the House and Forget About Anyone That is Watching  Some evenings I'm pretty sure my cats are possessed.  The start off by standing in the middle of the room and suddenly get this great attack of crazies and start chasing shadows.  Up and down the hall, up and down the wall, up and down my leg...there is no limit.  Watching them, you aren't quite sure if they are having a seizure or have some weird flea infestation.  It seems to be all in fun and before you know it, it's over.  They look at you with challenging eyes as if to say 'What??', find a warm spot, groom themselves and fall into a satisfied sleep.  We need to do that more.

 

5.  Hot Flushes  Cats like to lie in the sunny patch, we get hot flushes.  I know, I was reaching a bit on that one.

6.  Go Away - Come Back I Love You  Irritability and mood swings are another joy of this time of life.  I never knew the rage that I could be generated by someone just breathing.  Don't get me started on audible chewing.  I am positive that a jury would give me a high five for murdering a loud chewer.  Cats are a bit like this.  You can be petting them while they are upside down on your lap, all sweet with love and affection, and the next thing - BAM! - teeth sinking into flesh.  Or you can be quietly minding your own business walking through your own house and - BAM! - a little fat furry missile with pointy daggers on the feet jabs at your leg and disappears.  You need to be able to read the signs with cats and back away when their body language lets you know that the tides have changed.  Just like you need to do with a peri-menopausal woman. Just back away.  Slowly.  And it's preferable that you offer up a glass of wine and chocolates.