A curious thing happened this past Wednesday. A newspaper appeared on our front porch. How odd. My human captors don’t have a subscription to the local daily. Did it belong to the neighbor? Was it a gift? A hint, perhaps, that the papers under my catbox need replacing on a more frequent basis?

Now me, being a cat and not caring much for human news, ignored the paper’s first arrival. On Thursday, the paper came again. This was definitely not a mistake. Someone wanted my captors to read. And my captors, being the messy humans they are, left sections of the paper on various easily accessible locations around the house providing me with multiple informative sitting opportunities (because, of course, we all know the old joke about why us cats sit on newspapers: we read with our butts).

This is all fine and dandy and all rather tedious (not once was the paper left open to a pet advice column or the latest Garfield) until yesterday. Until they left the paper open to this:

Does that fine specimen of felinity look familiar? Well it should.

Yes. It’s me. I’m in the paper, and if I interpret correctly the general rantings and ravings that ensued after the discovery of my published state, my captors knew absolutely nothing about it!

Indeed, my catnip fund is woefully empty.

Now, this photo (which — oh the irony — involved me fending off paparazzi whilst communing with my favorite herb-laced crumply paper) accompanies an inexplicably feline prelude to a brief notice of the Portland Holiday Ale Fest — an event my humans are certain to attend as it is well known in these parts they cannot resist any beverage bearing the name “Sledcrasher.” The prelude begins with an attempted rescue of a cat from under a radiator and ends with, well, beer. Yes, humans are that baffling.

I should note as well, that this piece is featured in the paper’s Arts & Entertainment section, and this week’s cover piece is a Holiday Wired Gift Guide. Oh, the further irony, I say (or should I say o teh ironies?). Humans who are keenly, expertly wired know full well one does not swipe photos from websites to publish in print media! Look, I may just be a cat, but even I know that theft off of other people’s intertubes is just plain wrong!

Which brings me back to that woefully empty catnip fund. I’m thinking I need to do something about this. Contact the paper and ask for something in return. Fleeting fame? Not good enough, buckos. I want remuneration. In fact, I believe I will draft a letter.

There. If that doesn’t work, plan B is already in progress. Here’s a sneak preview:

DEAR SIR OR MADAM,

I AM PLEASE TO BE MAKE YOUR AQUAINTANCE ON MATTER OF UTMOST URGANCE. I AM SOLE PRIOR OF EXPERT OFFSHORE COMPANY SPECIALIZING IN FELINE ACCESSORY OF HIGHEST QUALITY AND I HAVE THE PRIVILEDGE TO REQUEST FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE THE TRANSFER OF 47,000,000 (FORTY SEVEN MILLION) U.S. DOLLARS INTO YOUR ACCOUNTS. MY EQUITY HAS BEEN IN SUSPENCE ACCOUNT FOR TEN HUMAN YEARS AND UPON RECEIVING FROM YOU THE SMALL SUM OF 47,000 (FORTY SEVEN THOUSAND) CANS OF PREMIUM CAT FOOD, I CAN GUARANTEE THIS TEN TIMES RETURN ON YOU INVESTMENT RISK FREE AND WITH STRICTEST CONFIDENCE.

FROM THE DESK OF ANGRY CAT
INTERNATIONAL IMPORT/EXPERT DIVISION
SUPREME CAT ACCESSORY MULTICORP

There. About two hundred or so of those ought to do it.

Now, back to my reading. A new paper arrived today and at last one mystery was solved. Wrapped around the paper’s fold, a lime green flyer with the following text: Enjoy your complimentary copies of The Oregonian compliments of The Winter Hawks.

Apparently we have our local WHL hockey team to thank for this week’s curious adventure, (and for my subsequent fortune, thank you very much). Wait. What’s this I hear? My captors are now talking about taking funds they might acquire from the proper sale of my photo and attending a hockey game?

Look, I’m grateful, but I’m not that grateful. Hockey, schmockey! Where’s my catnip? Where’s my gourmet meal? And while I’m at it: Hey, cat stuck under the radiator? What the heck are you thinking? Just plant your butt on the floor vent like I do.

Lots more Weekend Cat Blogging over at The Hidden Paw, and come back next week — Weekend Cat Blogging lucky number 79 will be hosted right here at Belly Timber!

Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to celebrate the life of MizD’s camera: a camera whose essence was suddenly, though not unexpectedly, extinguished on the evening of December the Fifth in the year of our Lord, 2006.

True, the signs were all there: The stuttering LED that too often spewed forth cuneiform in place of digits. The dimming sensors crying for light. The morning’s greeting, not cheerful and informative, but tragic — a single, solitary and altogether ominous utterance: ERR.

Oh, poor camera, you never had a name. Poor camera, you suffered through far too many cursings while your feckless owner struggled with your outdated controls. Poor, poor camera, so battered, so used.

We commend you to the box of non-functionals, oh camera, and to Elmo, patron saint of misguided electrical discharges, we offer up this prayer: may your afterlife be filled with light and joy, and may it always be in focus. Amen.

MizD’s camera. August 2002 – December 2006.

Reminder! Weekend Cat Blogging Lucky 79, right here at Belly Timber! Leave your cat blogging links here, or email our clever host at the_cat(at)belly-timber(dot)com. Check back for the official WCB post Friday night!

Yes, you’ve borrowed a camera for the weekend.
No, you don’t need to test every setting on me.

Angry Cat’s Cunning Plan Revealed!

Angry Cat’s faithful readers may recall last week’s incident of tragic proportions: Angry Cat, minding her own business, discovered HER PHOTO in the local newspaper.

Shocked (and just a teensy bit flattered) Angry Cat plotted her revenge. She drafted not one but two letters and then proceeded to consult with regional experts on feline exploitation. One such expert of the grayling persuasion made an ingenious remark. You have claws to count with, he said. Do the math.

The math, eh? Which math would that be?

Why, the math that indicates this newspaper would, were the tables turned, charge you fifty dollars for the single use of a photo, and thirty dollars for each additional use. Now, how big is their circulation and how much catnip is that?

Angry Cat stretched her claws and counted. Three hundred twenty five thousand papers, minus one at fifty dollars, times three hundred twenty four, nine hundred ninety nine at thirty dollars, add back the fifty, and…

HOLY CRAP, THAT’S A LOT OF CATNIP!!!

Needless to say, Angry Cat was quite grateful for the clever calculation, and embarked upon letter number three.

Now, said letter is still in progress (Angry Cat being much distracted by the recent photographic goings-on of her captors), but its lack of completion does not prevent her from taking this glorious opportunity of Weekend Cat Blogging Lucky #79 to make the following announcement to the human world:

HUMAN CAPTORS BEWARE. WE CATS WILL ALL BE STINKY RICH SOON AND THEN WE WILL OWN YOU!

Don’t even attempt to resist. We mean it!

So, who’s with The Cat?

Welcome to Weekend Cat Blogging Lucky #79! Post your links here, or email them to the_cat(at)belly-timber(dot)com. The list of Feline Warriors will be updated throughout the weekend.

Here’s Taboo snug again in her cave at whaleshaman’s place. Or is she just resting up for future adventures?

Angry Cat insists on signing up Xena and Kai for her feline warrior army this very instant. Their human Chris has trained them well in the ways of self defense!

Over at T.bird’s, a clever barn cat makes future (devious) plans for the bird feeder.

Here’s Sam, or “His Royal Sam-ness,” as his fellow felines prefer to call him, contemplating the less fortunate on a chilly day at Ostara’s place.

At Kimberly’s Music and Cats, Sasha is a cat after Angry Cat’s own heart, all filled with motion (and emotion) for the camera.

Burekaboy’s got a fine collection of cat tales, and one mighty fine tail over at Is that my buréka?

Apparently Kitikata-san’s humans use her for photo demos too! Angry Cat sympathizes, but, hey! Wait a sec. Kitikata-san has her very own blog!

Little does Jason know, but Kazon is actually practicing his laser death ray.

Over at Kross-eyed Kitty, Ramona introduces the magnificently sleek Mr. Mao to that curious thing called “snow.”

Georgie knows where it’s at. Angry Cat is impressed and commends Champaign Taste’s human Lisa for her expert feline pampering skills.

At Westering Hills, Shannon makes mulled wine and Colin and Trixie take advantage. Clever cats!

Upsie gets rid of the squirrels and puts his angry face on. Wait, that’s his joy face? Zoinks! All that and Sher’s got squirrel pics, too!

Over at Amar’s CatSynth.com, Luna contemplates Calder. Surely those mobiles were designed for giant cats, right?

At Rosa’s Yummy Yums, Maruschka the dictator demands a belly scratching and Rosa must comply!

Here’s Knut luring us in with his kitteny charm. Angry Cat decides not to warn Pia. The extreme cuteness fools humans every time.

Hey! Wait a steeenkin’ minute! Tess has catnip!!!! (And D reports that Boots is not at all pleased.)

Ah, to be a queen. At Shelly’s place, Sheba shows off the breadth of her domain and demonstrates the finer art of feline camouflage.

The humans are doomed! Helpless against the kitten hordes, against the champion KitchenMages KittenMages, Dargo, TC, Trubble, and T3. Doomed, I tell ya. Doooooooooooomed!!

S’Kat might think Shishi, Spot, Sirius Black, and the Princess Melange are merely in room-conservation mode. But, shhhh, don’t tell. They’re planning a coup!

Poor not-so-lucky Lucky, forced to wear a bow for the holidays! Angry Cat thinks he looks quite ready to have some serious words with his human, Riana.

Next week, Weekend Cat Blogging takes a trip down the mighty Columbia to KitchenMage’s house of oh-so-clever Graylings!

Extra special reminder! It’s a Paper Chef Weekend, now until noon on December 11th! Check out all the details over at Tomatilla!

It was the event that almost wasn’t. The event that re-emerged from the abyss, from the long lost annals of Gastroblogian history, stifled by photographic traumas, by the death cries of a computer far past its prime, and by the evils of a creature known only by the minacious name Blogger BETA.

No. We refuse to believe it. And why? Because this meal was just too damned good.

It’s true, I confess it. We haven’t finished unpacking our kitchen. We’ve got reasons, many of which I’ll explain another day, but in brief, we’re still using our picnic basket plasticware, and we’ve no idea where we put our favorite can opener. Not that this will stop us.

It’s also true: Our camera is broken, my computer’s throwing tantrums (Lappy jealousy, I’m certain of it), and we’ve yet to figure out where we can set up a reasonable spot for food (or for that matter, craft) photos. Not that we’re deterred by this either, dang it all.

Nope. We’re determined. We’ve been away from our favorite food blogging event far too long. We’ve had too many months without proper kitchen access at all.

And so, Paper Chef Weekend, we took to the store, and subsequently armed with a bag of cranberries, a bottle of sweet vermouth, and a glug of cheap champagne, we embarked upon our search for something wild. And cheap. Cheap is good. We’re on a scary budget these days. And with that in mind, first stop: the freezer and that chunk of wild Alaskan salmon we snagged from the in-laws while we were house sitting.

Second stop? The yard. Yard? Wild? Come again?

Trust me on this. The yard is wild. At least we haven’t had anything to do with it for our two years away, and since then? We chopped a few branches off the fig tree so the satellite dish would (ostensibly) work, but yes, the yard is wild. Weeds gone wild, herbs gone wild, and most of all, apple tree gone wild. As in, it’s been two years plus since it met a pair of pruning shears.

Result? Rosemary, sage, and thyme to gather by the bunch, and apples, apples, everywhere. Most of our apples hit the ground before we could get to them, but even so, we managed a partial harvest — enough for several treats, including this Paper Chef’s dessert.

A note about the apples. I believe they’re Granny Smiths, but in all honesty, I haven’t a clue. All I know is this: they are green, they are sour, they are crisp and they are damn good.

Here’s our makeshift studio. It’s a tiny end table atop a coffee table, with a TV tray table to the side to hold the desk lamp. Both desk lamp and the bridge lamp above have full-spectrum daylight bulbs to help with the color balance, and behind the setup, I’ve got an old curtain rod and one of our freshly unpacked curtains, which I think might belong on a window around here somewhere. I’ll figure that one out someday soon.

After we’re settled in (ha ha, in our distant future), I’ll build my first true photo set-up. See, up on the island, we had a luxury — a luxury in summer at least — of an enormous bank of west-facing windows. We were in daylight heaven. Here, well… we’re in a bungalow, a tiny bungalow with tiny windows and tall trees. (My S.A.D. is sad, I tell you.) Photos in natural light will be a rare occurrence this time of year. Or, I should rephrase, considering the current condition of the camera: photos will be a rare occurrence this time of year.

But enough of that. On with the food!

(more…)

My dearest, sweetest kitten,

I’m going to tell the truth.

To the blogging world, you were the ever cynical, ever snarky, furball-hating Angry Cat, but to me, you were always Audrey. Dear, sweet, little Audrey, the best kitten in the world, and I want the world to know.

I remember many years ago — many in human years, even! — when you first adopted me. You were a scared little thing, hiding in furnace ducts, certain I wouldn’t understand your dread fear of doorways and brooms. I loved your funny little tail, kinked a full quarter angle at the end, and your cracked maa – aaaa of a meow, which, if Dad were here, he’d insist I write phonetically — mæʔæ — just because. We had a different house then, and you had a brother, long lost now. I miss him too.

When we were losing Dad, you sat by his pillow like a temple guardian and soothed him with purrs. When Dad was gone, his pillow became your bed, and Mom became your constant companion, and for that she loved you, even when you typed silly nothings across her keyboard.

Oh kitten, these last days were rough for you, I know. Losing eyesight, and strength, breath, all of it slipping away so sudden when before this time we’d never fought anything more fierce than a hairball or an occasional pack of fleas.

I suppose, in those final hours, you were indeed Angry Cat, angry at your ancient, failing body, angry you couldn’t speak and tell me exactly what to do to ease your pain. And me, your miserable, inadequate human, could only reach back to memories of Dad and bring the same small comfort I knew from before; a drop of water, a warm blanket, a song sung quiet in your ear.

You are my Audrey, my only Audrey.
You make me happy, when skies are gray.
You’ll never know, cat, how much I love you…

Sweet, silly, broken-voiced cat, I once had a crazy notion you’d live forever. Those nine lives of yours outlasted so many others – cats, fish, our dear little guinea pig, and even crazy Elvis the mini rex who once chased you up the plum tree. (Yes, my Audrey, I do have to tell the truth – you were never as tough as your alter-ego. Me neither.)

And now, little one, I have another secret to share. It’s a vision and it goes like this: I see a rocking chair on a weathered porch on a warm island day. And a lap – Dad’s lap – and the best little tabby in the world, perched, regal as a temple guardian. She raises her chin for a skritching, this magnificent cat, and Dad obliges. And then he sings to her, and she sings to him — mæʔæ — and no one, not anywhere, is angry.

xxox

Your devoted human,
MizD robin

End Note: Dave and Mishka and I wish everyone the best for the new year, and we hope there are indeed new beginnings on the horizon. 2006 was a rough one. May 2007 take us beyond choppy waters and deadly shoals and out into the tranquil sea. Peace to all.

(See more Weekend Cat Blogging over at Lisa’s Champaign Taste and give all your kittens extra skritches for me!)