For some reason, Claire Trevor resisted boxes until I put a bag in one. Go figure.
For some reason, Claire Trevor resisted boxes until I put a bag in one. Go figure.
Our old pal Milo is back. His human, Stephanie, took this swell picture. I like how the chair back mimics Milo’s ears. Well done, human.
Claire Trevor is one of those cats who gets into everything. Unfortunately, there’s never a camera handy when she tries to climb into the dishwasher or walk across the dinner table. We’ll just have to settle for a picture of her on Dr. A’s purse:
PS: I know what a purser is. It has nothing to do with a calico cat on a purse. But when could I ever resist a pun?
My friends Tess and Charlie left New Orleans a few years ago. But they still have the Carnival spirit as you can see from their cat Whiskey’s interaction with some seasonal decorations.
The title is, of course, sarcastic. Dr. A laid out some clothes for her work day and Claire Trevor promptly sat on them. Typical.
Claire Trevor may have been a movie star but she made the odd teevee appearance. Here is one of *my* Claire Trevor’s odder teevee appearances:
Here’s something I said to her last night: Are you going to be a good kitty or yourself? The jury is still out.
It’s only been 5 months since PD passed away. He’s been much on my mind since his gotcha day was Twelfth Night, 2018. This is one of my favorite pictures of the giant cow cat:
Claire Trevor is relieved that 2020 is over. She’s wide awake for 2021:
Hi, people. One of our readers advised me to take a short mental health break from Freeperville, so I decided to post about something marginally less sad – pets who have passed on. So – let tribute time begin!
I’d like to start with Sunny and Kingsford, who were fast friends from the day they met. Sunny was one of those kittehs who thinks they’re a dog (and everyone who comes in the front door obviously did so just to pet him). He loved rubbing against your legs, especially when you were on the can. Kingsford was the charcoal-coloured polar opposite – the kind who would sit behind the back edge of the couch, and take a swipe at you as you passed. I picked him out of a litter that a friend brought over, because while his litter mates were hanging around in front of the records (remember records?) mewing, he was on top of the records taking swipes at them as they passed by underneath.
Here’s the not-so-dynamic duo. Sunny would get in the straw basket, and Kingsford would squeeze in next to Sunny and go to sleep :
Sunny succumbed to an infection, and Kingsford, ever the escape artist, sneaked out an unclosed door one day and never came back.
I also had a Bulldog mix called B.J. He loved to lie down with his nose in my shoes just so he could smell me all the time.
Cancer took BJ about 15 years ago.
When Barbara moved in with me, she brought a hound named “Moe” (for “more dog”). He had been looking for a father figure, apparently, and was just happy to have a man to pet him. I’d be at my computer, when a wet nose and furry muzzle would nudge under my left hand, and suddenly I’d be petting Mo Doggie.
He left us around 12 years ago.
Barbara also brought her cat, “Precious Kitty”. She WAS precious, ultra feminine, and carried her poofy tail over her head like a parasol.
Precious made it to the very old age of 16, and was always the mistress of the house.
And that brings us to Bailey Bulldog. He was a surrender from a family that didn’t want to take him in after their Dad died.
He came to us housebroken, leash and crate trained, and he loved to back up to you for bully-butt-pets.
Bailey died in his sleep at the incredible (for a bulldog) age of 15. He was a Very Very Good Boy.
Lastly, we had Brillo. Barbara met her at a Pet Smart adoption event, and this big girl (Scottish Deerhound, mostly) went up to Barb, lay down and put her muzzle on Barbara’s leg. And that, as they say, was that. I never saw the dog, just gave my blessings to the adoption, and was driving home the day Barbara had picked her up. I was on the phone with Barbara and she said “Sweetheart – she’s not the prettiest dog….” I took a deep breath, and then replied: “OK – how ugly IS she?” The dog’s shelter name had been “Purdy”, but I took one look at her with her outer coat fringe, and said “Brillo”. And Brillo she was, from that day forward.
That ugly mutt with the beautiful heart followed Barbara everywhere she went, and would proceed Barbara when she was coming toward the living room (looking over her shoulder to make sure Barbara was still coming). I told Barbara: “That’s your herald.” Brillo was the most loving dog I’ve ever met, much less owned. She loved everyone, and everyone loved her.
We lost Brillo to lymphoma two months ago, only a month or so after we lost Precious.
So – we’re now petless for the the first time since we met, 20 + years ago. It’s tough opening doors and not seeing a doggie or kitty on the other side. We’re now of the age that a puppy or kitten might outlive us, and we wanted to do some traveling while we still can. So – no more pets.
Barbara was thinking about volunteering at a local shelter, but I know how that would turn out.
Here’s the good part. They’re not really gone. They’re right here now, on the pages of First Draft. Nothing lasts forever, but the love we give to and receive from our pets stays with us. And this is where you come in.
Now, our wonderful furry friends are all still here with all of us, because you read this post.
I’ll see you good people next Monday, with Freeper reactions to the Electoral College decision.
This is the third time I’ve run this picture of Oscar and Della Street glaring at a faux reindeer. I never get tired of it.
I don’t recall if they pounced but they were certainly riled up. A dirty look from Della was no big whoop but Oscar used his large cartoonlike eyes to charm, not scare.
A holiday edition of the Friday Cocktail Hour will be online at noon. We need to start drinking early this year.
As the holidays approach, I’ve been missing the Krewe of Cats Named For Perry Mason Characters. This picture comes from Februrary, 2019. It features Della Street and Paul Drake in a space heater stupor on our old living room rug. Holy throwback catblogging, Batman.
Claire Trevor may be named for a film noir femme fatale but she’s a thoroughly modern cat:
Young Claire Trevor has a new toy. It’s a tuna that flops about. It flopped with her. I think I know why: We watched The Sopranos episode that had Big Mouth Billy Bass singing Take Me To The River, which gave her the heebie jeebies about fake fish. Nah, our cats have always preferred found toys.
We tried putting the fish on her and it still flopped.
Cats. Can’t live with them. Can’t live without them.
First it was announced that Champ and Major, the German shepherds belonging to the president-elect and future first lady Jill Biden, would roam the White House. And now, after an absence of more than a decade, a cat is set to also join the ranks of presidential pets, Jane Pauley of “CBS Sunday Morning” reported on Twitter on Friday.
In an interview with Fox 5 in Washington, D.C., Dr. Biden hinted that if her husband won the presidency, she would not mind getting a cat.
“I’d love to get a cat,” she said. “I love having animals around the house.”
The cat’s breed and name were not immediately available. Representatives for Mr. Biden did not respond to a request for comment on Saturday.
Literally one conversation in the car with Kick about who was voting for who and why involved which presidents had what pets, so you have no idea the stir this news created in my household. Even Thing One and Thing Two here approve:
Today on kittens do the darndest things: my friend Maureen’s boy Beanie sticks his head through a screen. He will forever be known as Screenie Beanie.
Claire remains a cat with issues. Her first person died and his family didn’t want her. She was closed off in a room for two months before being rescued. That neglect has led her to have trust and socialization issues. She’s made a lot of progress in her 3 months with us. She *knows* she’s in her forever home and that we love her. She still has biting issues to get over but we’re patient when it comes to cats. That concludes this brief progress report.
Here’s Claire worshipping the space heater beloved by Oscar, Della Street, and Paul Drake.
It won’t surprise anyone that I still miss Paul Drake. So does Dr. A. Below is PD’s gotcha day picture taken on Twelfth Night in 2018.
Today is Dr. A’s birthday. I’m not going to say how old she is since I’m older. BUT I can say that I’m a lucky man to have her as my wife and best friend. She loves me despite my flaws and I love her right back.
I almost made a Friday the 13th joke but instead I’ll quote Maybe Cousin Telly: Who loves ya baby?
The last word goes to Stevie Wonder:
One more Stevie Wonder song. The best version of Isn’t She Lovely:
Are you ready for the first picture of Claire Trevor with devil eyes?
This post takes its title from this Sparks song:
As I said yesterday, Claire Trevor was so unperturbed by Hurricane Zeta that I was tempted to make another Key Largo joke, but thought better of it. Instead I wrote that very long sentence.
Dr. A took the picture below when our friend Mother Mary came to meet young Claire. She came bearing gifts. What kitty doesn’t like catnip toys? They made her stretch with delight:
Claire Trevor came to us a timid cat. She’s getting more confident every day. She’s always had gorgeous eyes; second only to Oscar among Dr. A and my cats. Running second to the Big O is not bad at all.
The last word goes to another star of the Thirties and Forties: