Della Street was outraged that a usurper took her place last week and was linked to by Crooks & Liars. The nerve of some people. One more dirty look and all will be right in her furry universe:
Robert Cray gets the last word:
My friend Carolyn recently adopted a young black cat named Lillian. She has a bed that is best described as meta. Here are two views:
Paul Drake caught a lizard recently. I confiscated it from him and put Mr. Lizard on the porch. It scampered away.
I did not take a picture of PD’s triumph but Dr. A took this snapshot of him by her lab coat earlier the same day. I guess I could have called this post Dr. Lizard, but I like making Jim Morrison references so there you have it.
We had a particularly chilly morning the other day and I came downstairs to find Slade cuddled up in the furry blanket we have for those days:
You say languid, I say liquid. Whatever you call it, Della Street is one relaxed cat in this picture. Note her pesky kid brother in the background:
Have a dreaming Slade:
In the interest of doing something different with a cat in box picture, here’s the view from above of Paul Drake in his natural habitat: a box.
Kick has strict instructions to never say the words fat, fatty, fatso, Stay Puft, lardass, nor sing I Love It When You Call Me Big Poppa at any people at all, but she is free to do all those things in the presence of Slade, who looks like he ate a pillow these days as winter approaches:
It’s not much of an act but Della Street and Paul Drake *are* lounging in this picture.
We’ve got this weird little space on the landing of our house that isn’t really good for anything except a chair, a bookcase and two kittums:
Tropical Storm Gordon was what New Orleanians call a shoo-shoo storm. It did not come our way but Della Street was ready. Here she is on her water bottle tower of terror:
Paul Drake is the king of eye crud. We clean the corners of his eyes at least thrice daily. That’s why we call him an Eye Rock Star:
The picture was taken by Dr. A and she suggested the title as well. Thanks, babe.
The Byrds get the last word:
These two psychotic dingos are my favorites. Seriously, at least ten times a day I pick up Slade all WHO’S THE BEST BABY KITTY BABY?!!!! like a lunatic and rub my face in his fur while he purrs like he swallowed a motorcycle. Ada likes to sleep on my feet when I’m working from home and she’ll come up and take my phone out of my hands, as in pull on it with her kitten teeth until I put it down and pet her.
We left them overnight recently (horror) and these were the faces we were greeted with when we got back:
I think Kick gets jealous sometimes because we spend so much time uncritically loving on them but listen, kid, they don’t refuse to eat the dinner I make for them so TAKE SOME NOTES.
We had a brief health scare with eleven year old Della Street. She was eating but had lost a fair amount of weight so she was a Bony Maronie cat. It turned out to be a thyroid problem. We pill Della twice daily and she’s gained a pound in the last month. She’s back in fighting form.
Now that you’ve seen Miss Street on a Coke Zero box, I’ll give Paul and Artie the last word:
Cats like bags of all types and materials, but Paul Drake is purse obsessed. He’s also big on sticking his head through bag handles. He’s an original.
Ada figured out how to open the doors to Mr. A’s office closet and the other night, looking for them, I found them both filed under F for FER CHRISSAKES HOW DID YOU GET IN THERE:
This week’s entry features a big ass Allen screw in the foreground of the picture. It came to us via Eddie Couvillion, the man I post about every Memorial Day. He was a salesman for Allen back in the day and it’s some kind of salesman’s sample. We took it to the Antiques Roadshow when they were in New Orleans. The experts had never seen anything like it before BUT they valued it at a mere $150-200. So it goes. The cats like it. Of course, they’re screwy
I still miss Oscar. This is an image I’ve used for past fundraisers.
Here’s a weird reason to donate. Once we meet or surpass our goal, I won’t have to use this as my twitter avatar:
Please save me from Dollar Bill. It’s what Oscar would have wanted.
I had a lot of fun writing Life Imitates The Untouchables: Scarface Paul Manafort. It occurred to me that I missed the chance to raise some money for First Draft. The last I heard from our publisher/Chancellor of the Exchequer, Athenae, we were 2/3 of the way to our goal of $1650. It’s time to go gangster on your asses:
Don’t worry, Gabby Hartnett won’t get it. The Hall of Fame Chicago Cubs catcher died on his birthday in 1972. Capone was long gone.
Hartnett got in trouble for signing an autograph for Capone’s kid at Wrigley Field. Then commissioner Judge Kenesaw Mountain Landis called the Cubbie on the carpet and told him not to consort with gangsters. There are many versions of this story but my favorite is that Gabby said to the irascible commish, “You try saying no to Al Capone, Judge.”
That was a long-winded way to ask you to support our annual fundraiser. We’re the most benevolent shakedown artists you’ll ever encounter except for Della. She’s a badass.
The last word goes to the Grateful Dead. Let’s take a trip to Shakedown Street:
Let’s see, I gave you gangsters, baseball, cats, and the Dead. How can you not donate after that? Here’s the link again.