WCB #35: Pekoe in the leaves
The Cat is brooding. She cannot get past that whole Year of the Dog thing.
We tried to lure her out for photos, but alas, she keeps to darkened rooms and dusty corners.
So, we’re diving into the archives. This week: Vintage 1980s, Pekoe in the leaves.
Meanwhile, the puppy is giddy. See, Chopper came home with three ginormous packages of ribs (on sale, dirt cheap), and the puppy (as usual) is anticipating many table scraps this weekend. She will, alas, be disappointed. Not only are we expecting a colossal wind storm that may very well knock out our power during the Superbowl broadcast, but Chopper must go to work Sunday afternoon because (ahem) some person who has no respect for great sporting events has made dinner reservations at 5:30 p.m. Dude. We’re less than 100 miles from Seattle. Have you no heart?
Ah well. There’s always TiVo. If the power stays on.
And I swear, if anyone gives away how many touchdowns Shaun Alexander scored before Chopper finishes watching the fourth quarter, there’ll be hell to pay!
(Look for more weekend cat blogging at Kiri and Clare’s Eat Stuff!)
February 3rd, 2006 at 11:28 pm
Oh geez, both you *and* my sister are there in Friday Harbor, where the winds are to be ginormous. Stay safe! And if your power goes out and is still not back by Sunday, you’re welcome to come down to Shoreline, where I’m hosting a big ole’ Superbowl party!
February 4th, 2006 at 3:40 am
My lips are sealed. I’ll be cheering for the Seahawks. Why? Because they beat the Redskins, that’s why. Even though I live in the DC area, I HATE the Redskins so anyone who beats them is my newest favorite team, hehe.
February 4th, 2006 at 7:32 am
The Cat will be vindicated. The gods will have sent the winds to show disapproval of the year of the dog thing.
Check the batteries in the flashlights. Batten down the hatches. Tie down The Cat (that’s the fun part) Be safe.
February 4th, 2006 at 7:37 am
what a wonderful picture!
greetings from vienna, austria. :)
February 4th, 2006 at 9:53 am
Thanks, Shannon! Of course any trip to Shoreline would require riding a ferry in the high winds. Heh. Been there, done that, not at all fun! But do have a great party!
Barbara, I so know what you mean. As in, if we don’t have a horse in the race, we always root for teams that beat the Lakers, or the Yankees, or the Broncos, or… (oh, Chopper’s list goes on and on!)
Jen’s mom! Welcome! I think you may be right. The winds were howling like (go figure) angry cats last night. Fortunately for us, we’re well prepared - not with many flashlights, but with good old fashioned hurricane lamps for almost every room. I wonder how bungee cords would work on the cat, though.
Hi Kashim&Othello! Thanks! Oooh! Vienna! (scurries off to check newly-discovered blog.)
February 4th, 2006 at 5:50 pm
Hijack alert!
I am availing myself of your blog to moan that I can’t get onto my own blog. Apparently this is afflicting most others who use Blogger. Damn Blogger, damn them!
(For Mrs D’s other readers, my blog devoured two of her comments last night. Feh.)
Wishing you a relatively Gale Warnings-free Superbowl Sunday.
February 4th, 2006 at 6:00 pm
Curse that Blogger. Honestly. I’ve been completely thwarted in my evening’s surfing by this Blogger annoyance. Not that I don’t have work I should be doing instead, mind you…
But… mi casa es su casa and all that. (Is that even close? I took German in school, ‘kay?) Hijacking and moaning are allowed. As are any bizarre, time-wasting voyages into the land of obscure trivia, or whatever suits your fancy. Not that I don’t have work I should… well, you get the picture. Yup. Procrastination. I mean, it’s Saturday night, for frack’s sake.
Oh, and it was the spoon book, right?
February 4th, 2006 at 7:48 pm
Yes, love, it was the bleepin’ spoon book. xx
February 4th, 2006 at 7:57 pm
Holy crap! What is going on with your site? Arrrgh. How horribly frustrating.
(Speaking of frustrating — Chopper just called. His boss is making him come in at 3pm and work solo. No Superbowl at all for Chopper. He is one unhappy camper right now.)
February 4th, 2006 at 11:11 pm
Well, then, mein Ehemann ist Ihr Ehemann. (Thank you, Babel Fish. I took Spanish.) I wish I could lend you a Chopper for tomorrow. How about a cyber-Cranky? He’ll be making the Seahawk-flavored margaritas and the multi-meat, multi-bean chili. Please help yourself to all you want.
(When you get around to it, what are you seeing when you try to go to my blog?)
February 4th, 2006 at 11:24 pm
Right now: The blog! I have seen the blog! Hallelujah, I have…
Okay, that was a bit much.
Seriously though, earlier this evening, all I got was an evil “Forbidden” notice. In some ugly font like Times New Roman, no less.
Seahawk-flavored margaritas scare me. Are they blue?
February 4th, 2006 at 11:37 pm
Blue margaritas are bathroom toilet-puck-flavored. I was going more for an ocean-y concept. Salt. Seaweed. (Ooh, I mean agave.) Uni.
Heh.
February 5th, 2006 at 5:40 pm
Great photo :)
February 5th, 2006 at 6:52 pm
Pekoe has a darling face.
February 6th, 2006 at 9:50 am
Pekoe was a darling cat. He is long gone, but missed.
Cookiecrumb: did you curse us with those toilet puck margaritas? Or perhaps feed some bad uni to the officials before the game?
(I can see it now: What is this freaky orange crap? Ick. Reminds us of other bad seafood, and of… of… yeah, that’s it… Seahawks. Right then. Every controversial call goes the way of the Steelers. That’ll show those uni-loving, latte-drinking Northwesterners. Feh.)
February 6th, 2006 at 3:28 pm
uhnnnhhh…. sorry.
Wait! Is it uni season??!! [brightens up]
February 6th, 2006 at 5:06 pm
Sadly, it is past uni season. A sushi chef in Seattle told us that the best time for uni is November, and the thing to look for is the absence of the brownish line down the middle of full chunk of uni. The line means it’s past it’s prime and it’ll not be as tasty.
Of course sometimes people serve uni with a raw quail egg on top and that covers up the nasty brown line… (In which case, chug the egg, then check for the line, then eat the uni if it’s lineless. Or November. Or both. Whatever.)
(This is me, pretending to be an expert. ::cough::)