Port, aka Portimus Minimus, gives you her SERIOUS face. Also, as seen from the foliage, this was taken during the summer when kitties could have carefree days in the garden. That Port, she looks so carefree, doesn’t she?

Oh, I get it. She’s channeling Angry Cat.

Somewhere around these parts, I have photos of Ahri lolling about in the sun. Now there’s a cat who appreciates seasons. (In fact, I believe he’s located the one remaining sunny window spot in the house. Soak it up while you can, orange guy.

(Weekend Cat Blogging is hosted this week by Amar and Luna over at CatSynth’s…. what? Their FEMA TRAILER? Where are those evil hackerz? Let me sick my kitties on ‘em!)

My web savvy cats have informed me that today is OneWebDay. What’s OneWebDay? It’s a day for celebrating the web because, simply put, the web is worth celebrating. Here’s more from the OneWebDay site:

OneWebDay is one day a year when we all – everyone around the physical globe – can celebrate the Web and what it means to us as individuals, organizations, and communities.

As with Earth Day – an inspiration and model for OneWebDay – it’s up to the celebrants to decide how to celebrate. We encourage all celebrations! Collaboration, connection, creativity, freedom.

By the end of the day, the Web should be just a little bit better than it was before, and we’ll be able to see our connection to it more clearly.

Now, I might be off to a late start (almost 6pm, PST), but that’s not stopping me from joining in the festivities. For my small part I’ve made a list of things to accomplish before the day is out. Fortunately for me, my “day” doesn’t end till Chopper gets home from work at 10pm, so there’s time yet. Let’s see how well I do…

A final thought for OneWebDay: As most readers of Belly Timber know, Chopper and I spent all of 2005 and most of 2006 away from our home, caregiving for my parents. We were on an island, not unpopulated by any stretch, but separated from our friends by hours in the car and more hours on an expensive ferry ride. We didn’t get out much. Had it not been for the internet — for email, for chat, for this blog, and for our other online communities — we would have lost touch with nearly everyone save for those few who still rely on phones and snail mail. (Don’t get me wrong, I love a good old-fashioned letter on paper, but how many friends of mine still write them? Let me count. Um… Yup, none.) Point is, during our island stint, the web was our lifeline. It saved our sanity more than once, it brought us opportunities well worth having, and it gave us many many new friends. I only hope that some day we’ll be able to travel and meet the friends we’ve made who live further than a day’s drive away.

And now, because it is also Weekend Cat Blogging, and Puddy and Katie have declared an optional theme of “Favourite Things,” here is Ahriman doing one of his favourite things: Color-coordinated sleeping.

A few weeks back it was the orange Top Ramen box. Today, it’s manila envelopes. Ahri is also quite fond of the blond wood of my computer desk (which indeed matches his fur quite nicely). Trouble is, he can never quite decide where on that blond wood to plant his orange butt. In fact, I think his favourite thing might just be the act of strolling back and forth in front of my computer screen while I am trying to work. Hmmm. Here’s a question. If I paint the desk a color that clashes with his fur, will he finally stop this madness?

(Much more Weekend Cat Blogging over at A Byootaful Life, wherein all “favourites” get that extra-nifty extra “u.”)

Taggity tag:onewebday

I’ve learned my lesson. Never say “hey, let’s test that new hard drive” in the middle of a project. Days later, and after much agony over ribbon cables and cooling fans, I’m back online. Fortunately, the cats did not interfere with the computer rebuilding process (this time.) Also fortunately, I was able to get quite a bit of writing done by hand, including a large portion of the following post, which I hope will cheer up those of us who are having a rough week.

Or, as I prefer to call it:

“Are we there yet?” Ahriman asked, peering over the rim of the catamaran’s starboard hull.

“That depends entirely on where ‘there’ is,” said Port. She was, of course, ensconced in the port hull, pillows to bow and stern and a brimming bowl of crunchies directly in front of her little gray nose.

The vessel, the Gato Enojado, named for the previous feline of the household, sailed on a swift wind over mountains and out to the sea, where its bright ballast-ropes of rainbow yarn skirted over sunlit waves and startled fishermen and dolphins alike. The two cats had jumped aboard that sunny August morning without the slightest notion of where they were going or even how the vessel was powered.

“One thing I can observe,” said Port, staring at the voluminous, striped mass above them. “Do what you like in your own hull, but–” and here she stopped to glare at Ahri’s carelessly draped limbs, “do not, I repeat, do NOT stretch your claws upward.”

Ahri raised his eyes and frowned. “Are we there yet,” he asked again.

A moment later, they touched down.

“This doesn’t feel like August,” Port noted. “And that,” she said, nodding at the shivering ball of fur in front of them, “doesn’t look like a happy cat.”

Indeed it wasn’t. It was a cat who’d had a bath, poor Puddy, and Port knew all too well what a miserable experience that was! She backed away quickly for fear Puddy’s owner might still have water running in the tub.

“Come with us,” Ahri said. “We travel over water, not in it.”

“Will it be a quick trip?” Puddy asked.

“Blink of an eye,” said Ahri. “And the wind should dry that fur quite well.”

“Hah,” Puddy exclaimed and jumped aboard. “So long as I’m back in time to exact my revenge!” She patted her full tummy and smiled an exceedingly devious smile.

Back into the air they went, Puddy riding on the port side to help balance the two hulls, though Ahriman was utterly bewildered at the notion: how could he – a model of grace and beauty – weigh the same as two whole cats! Surely it couldn’t be so. He eyed the rigging and ballast-ropes with deep suspicion.

They sailed northwest, over desert and rock, then water and a thousand tiny islands, until not too far from the equator (they imagined), the strange little craft snagged itself on the upper branches of a great rainforest tree. The three kittens struggled to untangle the ballast-ropes from the vines that hid the ground below, but before they could free the Gato Enojado and set sail again, a fierce face poked through the canopy and snarled.

“Wild cat!” Ahri exclaimed, and dove as far into the starboard hull as he could without becoming one with the decking. Port merely rolled her eyes and continued with the work.

“I’d climb aboard,” the wild cat said with an ominous purr, “but I’m not sure you’d last long. Besides, my tree is far too comfortable.” His purr turned into a roar, and then a smile, and then he disappeared beneath the branches.

“Are we aloft yet?” Ahri asked with a whimper.

A bit further north they sailed and over land again, and this time they heard a great Mrrreeooooww before seeing a thing.

“Now that’s a hungry cat,” Puddy said as the craft neared ground. “Or a wet cat. I should know.”

It was, in fact, a cat on a mission.

“I am Kamikaze Kamakiri Kitty,” the cat said. “And this is my domain!”

“Who is he speaking to?” Ahri whispered. He was not the most observant of cats.

“That,” said Port.

“What?”

“Or that.” She pointed to a first and then a second samagee, both facing off against the largest black cat she had ever seen. “Good lord,” she said, not able to help herself. “You are vast!”

“Hop in!” Ahri exclaimed. “The bugs will be there when you get back.”

The huge cat eyed the catamaran’s starboard hull suspiciously, then leapt inside.

“Wait!” Port and Puddy both cried, but it was too late. The port hull lurched upward, and the Gato Enojado sailed into the air at a most alarming angle.

With one hull skirting the water and the other nearly wedged into the underbelly of the ship’s airbag above, they sailed back across the Atlantic at a fierce clip. Port was astonished the vessel could steer at all and thought perhaps they were on course for home, but then, just before dawn, they hit a massive fog bank and found themselves adrift in a sea of gray.

“Can you see the ocean?” she called down to Ahri.

He shook his head. “No. Can you see the sky?”

“Not a bit,” said Port. “But I can hear something!”

The four cats held their breath in the salty morning air. Ahriman’s ears twitched. A strange, ethereal music floated toward them from somewhere up ahead.

“What is that?” Kamikaze asked.

“Music of the spheres,” whispered a tranquil voice from below, and the fog parted to reveal a sleek black cat, basking in the light of a stained-glass window. “Or music of planets, and fish, and, of course, cats.”

“Your human makes this music?” Port asked.

Luna, the sleek cat, nodded. The colors of fire and flowers danced across her fur.

“Can we take it with us?” Ahri asked.

“I don’t think my human will fit in your ship,” Luna replied, “but I do have this!” She held up a small blue box covered in knobs and dials.

“Hop in!” the other cats cried.

Luna sized up the catamaran’s two hulls and, after careful consideration, stepped into the one that contained Port and Puddy. Port breathed a sigh of relief. Ahri frowned and let out a rather self-pitying mew.


Sailing north, they found themselves downriver from their own home and hovering a house in the tiniest town they’d ever seen. A kitten sat at the doorstep, and every so often raised his paws to touch the door’s glass. “Mew,” he said, staring inside. “Mew, mew.”

“What is it?” Luna asked.

The kitty turned, sadness etched across his little bowtie face. “She taunts me,” he said. “She taunts me with her camera and with those luxurious smells of baking bread!”

“Bread?” Ahri and Kamikaze both stretched their necks out of the starboard hull and sniffed the air with great expectation.

The kitten shook his head. “We are prevented by glass,” he said. “May I ride with you?”

“Of course,” said Port, “We’ve room on this side.”

Still further north, they happened upon two cats cozily ensconced in a cupboard, surrounded by luxurious linens.

“Oh!” cried Mr. ‘ssouri, the newest member of the crew, “those would make splendid sails!”

Sergei and Sasha glanced at one another from their separate shelves. “Will our humans notice their absence?” Sergei asked.

“Only if it’s laundry day,” Sasha replied.

And with that keen assessment, the cats quickly grabbed the largest and most colorful of the sheets and tied them to the netting that held the Gato Enojado’s twin hulls to the great airbag above. The ship lifted into the air, now more glorious than ever. Golden and red flowered fabric flapped in the breeze, Luna’s music reverberated off the gleaming buildings of the Emerald City, and the crew of eight sailed east into the morning sun.

“Ah, now this is the life,” Port said at the bow of her hull, the wind against her fur. The others nodded and all was, for a brief moment, completely serene. Then Ahriman jumped up onto his bow (nearly capsizing the entire starboard side) and thrust a quivering paw toward the ground.

“Big Orange Kitty!” he cried, and of course everyone had to look. This time, the vessel did tip over, and if not for the resourcefulness of the newly-found Spike, who grabbed a ballast-rope with each paw and secured them all to a hitching post, they would have lost their ride for good.

“How in the name of Bast did you think to do that?” Sergei and Sasha cried in unison.

Spike lifted his mottled pink nose to the sky, and with an inordinate sense of pride he declared “Orange cats rule!”

“We do?” Ahri asked.

“Of course we do,” Spike said, “We have catitude. We have our own Flickr group. We are indeed larger than life.”

Port attempted to suppress a loud snort.

Ahriman jumped back onto the bow of the starboard hull (which creaked perilously under his weight) and let out a hearty meow. “I am Ahrimus Maximus,” he declared. “I am-”

“Please do not say ‘King of the world’” Port interrupted.

Ahri hesitated for a moment – just long enough for it to be painfully obvious to the other cats that this was exactly what he had intended to say – then he jumped down and asked rather sheepishly, “Well? Where to next?”

“South over mountains,” Spike replied. He untied the ballast-ropes and leapt aboard, gesturing at the others to follow.

Somewhere just beyond a snow-capped ridge, they drifted west again and touched down in what appeared to be a quiet, tree-filled yard. For a moment, Port hoped they might be allowed a respite from the adventure, but those hopes were dashed as quickly as they came. A large, fluffy gray cat appeared out of nowhere and accosted the ship.

“Take me with you,” the cat said. She glanced from side to side, then lowered her voice. “Take me with you now. There are squirrels everywhere.”

“I take it you are not happy about the squirrels?” Port asked.

Upsie narrowed her eyes. “Do I look happy about the squirrels?”

“Not exactly.”

“Right. Well then?”

“Make room!” Port called out.

Upsie jumped inside. “By the way,” she asked, “do you have any food?”

A short distance away they found three cats gathered around a small collection of candles and cat images.

“Oooh, flickering light!” Ahri said.

Upsie shushed him. “They are thinking good thoughts for a lost cat,” she whispered. “It is hard to lose a cat. I know.”

On the quietest of cat feet, the ten crew members of the Gato Enojado stepped down from their craft and gathered around Skeezix, Mao, and Rocky. They sat still for a time that felt just exactly right, and then, without making a sound, slipped back into their places and sailed away.

“Sometimes kitties come back,” Port whispered. “And sometimes, they move on and find a home in the Happy Cat Hunting Ground.”

This time they traveled east over rolling hills and lazy, winding rivers. Two humans stood at a crossroads, oblivious to the approaching craft.

“What’s in their hands?” Sasha asked.

Port retrieved a spyglass from under a half-shredded cushion. “It’s a tiny, tiny kitten,” she said. “No bigger than a tea cup.”

“Tiny kitten!” excited voices cried. “Take it with us!”

The cats all glanced at one another in anticipation. Then Luna spoke. “I think not,” she said. “This one is so tiny and so very tired. She needs to sleep and find her home.”

After a few grumbles of disappointment, the others agreed. They called out to the ground as they passed overhead. “Safe journey, Tiny Kitten!” “Be well!” And much to everyone’s surprise, the tiny kitten opened its eyes and mewed a tiny mew of thanks in reply.

Now, in the middle of the country and with no heavy weather or trade winds to carry them to a new destination, the Gato Enojado drifted idly under the August sun. Sergei and Sasha concocted new configurations for the ship’s sails, Puddy groomed her freshly washed fur, Luna composed melodies on her electronic box, Port assisted ‘ssouri in his search for his virtual home, and Ahriman, Kamikaze, Upsie, and Spike all discussed Best Meals Ever Eaten.

“I think I see something!” ‘ssouri said, peering through the spyglass.

“Your virtual farm house?” Port asked.

“No. Someone is stalking us. Look!”

Sure enough, as they moved from field to field, a patchwork cat would poke its nose out from between the corn stalks, then quickly duck away, only to reappear moments later.

“Do you suppose she wants a ride?” Port asked.

“It is rather exciting up here,” ‘ssouri agreed. “But I don’t see a good place to land. There just so much… corn.”

Port called down to the kitty. “You! Stalking among the stalks! Would you like a ride?”

The cat looked up, then immediately jumped and caught hold of the tail-end of the nearest ballast-rope. Several crew-cats hoisted her up.

“What were you doing down there amongst all that… corn?” ‘ssouri asked.

Sigyn smiled. “Making mischief,” she said. “It’s what I do best.”

A short while later, Ahri began to sniff the air and fidget with excitement. “I smell roses,” he said. “Have you ever eaten rose petals? They’re quite tasty.”

Port glared at Ahri. “Your human was saving that bouquet, you know.”

“Ahoy! Gingerbread comrade!” Spike was balanced precariously on the Starboard bow meowing to the ground below, where two cats – one quite orange – had poked their heads out from behind a riot of yellow roses.

“Hullo!” the first one called. She swatted a nearby rose with her paw. “Care for snack?”

“Willow,” the second cat scolded, “those roses are for Mom’s anniversary!”

Willow sniffed the air. “Very true, China Cat” she said, “but do we get pasta salad? Or cheese garlic bread? Or Gooey Butter Cake?”

“Gooey Butter Cake,” China Cat echoed with a look of exquisite sadness.

From inside the starboard hull, the echoes continued.

“Gooey…”

“Butter…”

“Cake…”

It was as if the world had collapsed and there was nothing left on the menu but stale kibble. The lamentations went on for a full twenty minutes until finally Port, who had finished her entire bowl of crunchies before the Gato Enojado’s first stop, shouted over the din. “There’s no need to caterwaul about lost desserts. For tonight we dine in Vienna!”

The cats let out a mighty cheer, then paused and, one by one, tilted their heads in confusion.

“Um. Why Vienna?” Ahri asked.

Port shrugged. “It was the first place I thought of. Besides, I hear they’ve got great sausages.”

“Sausages,” Willow said. “We’re there!” The two newest companions leapt on board and the craft rose into the sky once again.

Just moments later they touched down, this time directly in front of the most wide-eyed black cat any of them had ever seen.

“Invisible monster now visible!” it cried, and cowered behind a stray couch cushion.

“We’re not a monster, we’re a boat!” the cats declared. “Come aboard!”

“No monsters?” the cat said, still rather uncertain.

The crew checked every nook and cranny, even climbing up into the netting, stray claws precariously close to the airbag above.

“No monsters. Invisible or otherwise,” Port said.

Dippy, the new cat, stepped gingerly into the nearest hull. She looked around, still wide-eyed, then breathed a sigh of relief when she realized she was in pleasant company. As they lifted into the air, she wrinkled her nose. “Do I smell roses?” she asked.

Willow and China Cat quickly tucked their paws behind their backs and stared innocently at the sky.

After a short while, the craft turned north and in an instant, the cats were all blinded by multicolored, glittering objects.

“Ooooo, shiny!” they cried and worked the sails to move closer to the source of wonderment.

When their eyes refocused they saw crystals of all shapes and sizes and a majestic cat perched among them. For a moment, she looked like the queen of cats — so noble, surrounded by jewels — but then a nearby human pointed a camera at her and the illusion was shattered.

“Mom! Not the flashy box again!” Mini cried. She looked up, just as the Gato Enojado sailed overhead, and quickly grabbed hold of the nearest ballast-rope. “Must…escape…flashy…box,” she panted as she climbed into the hull.

Several other cats nodded in agreement as they helped Mini inside. The took no notice when a single crystal tinked to the ground beside her feet.

“Yes, some of our humans really don’t know when to quit with the camera, do they” ‘ssouri said with a heavy sigh.

Sailing south now, the cats began to invent songs to pass the time. Most of them rhymed “wish” with “fish” and contained entire verses about sausages. Eventually the singing grew so raucous that Port was concerned they’d be overheard by dogs and other unpleasant creatures.

“Quiet,” she said, and held up a paw.

The crew closed their mouths but the singing continued.

“That’s not us,” Sigyn said.

Luna nodded in agreement. “The close harmonies and bold yet unexpected key changes indicate a group of kittens who’ve known each other much longer than a single day,” she said.

Sure enough, directly below them sat not one, not two, not even three, but NINE cats, all sharing a rare moment of extraordinary vocal cooperation.

Can you guess?
Don’t dare try it!
To tell Rimbaud from Riot
Yes – nobody knows!
But – quiet!
Look close – it’s the nose!
Ha ha, yes the nose!

The crew of the Gato Enojado burst into spontaneous applause. All nine cats sat up, stared at the sky, and in the blink of an eye, Riot, Rimbaud, Zed, Bukowski, Merlin, Maggie, Jezebel, Nico, and Braum hopped aboard. Much to everyone’s amazement, the remarkable (and quite overloaded) ship lifted into the sky and sailed southward.

Absurdly crowded as it was on board, the seasoned sailors of the crew determined that it would indeed be possible to take on just a few more passengers.

“Though I am long overdue for a dinner break,” Sasha declared after checking the aft rigging.

“Then we sail east,” Port said, “and over the sea.”

But, just as the vessel began its turn, Sergei let out a desperate cry from below his newly-unfurled spinnaker. “Dog! Dead ahead!”

If the Gato Enojado had come equipped with an anchor, all twenty-four cats would have tossed it over the side at once. Instead, they clambered to the sterns of both hulls and scrambled down ballast-ropes, grabbing at branches, fence posts, flowers – anything to stop their inevitable and terrifying progress toward the dog.

The great airship lurched to port, then to starboard, then back to port before coming to a gut-churning halt mere inches from its target, a trail of claw marks in its wake. The dog, quite oblivious to the drama, sat, tongue out, panting happily.

“Dog!” several of the cats cried.

“Abandon ship!”

“He’s not so bad once you get to know him,” a new voice said.

“What?” Several of the cats froze and turned their heads in disbelief.

A cat with an astonishingly fluffy tail stepped out from behind the ominous pooch. “Really,” she said. “He’s just, you know… a dog.”

“Well, we’re not taking him with us,” Upsie said. “No squirrels, and absolutely no dogs!”

Dippy poked her head out from under a cushion on the starboard side. “You can come, though,” she said.

Samantha glanced back and forth between dog and ship. She then pointed a paw toward a tree in the distance and flicked her tail to get the dog’s attention. “Maverick!” she said. “Giant stick! Go fetch!”

The dog galumphed away obediently and Samantha jumped on board.

“And now, to sea!” said Port.

Winds carried them swiftly across the Atlantic and to a great city of painted buildings, tree-lined boulevards, and boats everywhere.

“Our boat’s still the prettiest,” Ahri said. “And it flies.”

Port peered through the spyglass at the streets below. “There’s something missing here,” she said. “I don’t see any cats.”

“There’s one in that window,” Riot said.

The cats called out. “Hello! Come out and play!”

“We’re not supposed to go outside,” the little black and white cat said, “But if I can ride with you-” She glanced around nervously. “Come close, leave quick and don’t tell anyone you were here.”

They steered the craft so the port hull just touched the edge of the window sill. The cat jumped inside. “A secret adventure!’ she said, and clapped her paws together happily.

They traveled south and found themselves in a beautiful land filled with mountains and castles and – quite unexpectedly – flying blue mice.

“There it is again!” Ahri said as the mouse sailed over the bridge between the twin hulls.

“And again!” said Rimbaud.

The fourth time the mouse flew past, several cats lunged at it, shouting “toy!” and “mine!” but everyone missed and the cacophony ended with an abrupt whap from the ground below.

A sleek tabby looked up at them, the blue mouse trapped between his front paws. “Tennis anyone?” Fridolin asked with a sly grin. He tossed the mouse into the air, gave it yet another swat and watched as it flew at the Gato Enojado’s airbag and lodged itself in the upper netting.

“Oh dear,” said Port. “I guess you’ll be traveling with us, then.”

They sailed with their backs to the setting sun, over more mountains and toward a glittering city where smells of rich foods wafted up into the evening air.

“Look,” cried Willow. She pointed at the largest Ferris wheel any of them had ever seen. “We’re in Vienna!”

“I smell Knödel,” said Fridolin.

“I smell Tafelspitz,” said Spike.

“I smell catnip,” said Kamikaze.

“Catnip?”

“Emergency landing!”

It truly would have been impossible for the cats to land the Gato Enojado with any more haste than they did at that moment. In an instant they were out of the twin hulls and knocking expectantly at the window of a small flat in the heart of the city.

Two elegant tabbies greeted them with looks of amazement. After introductions and a brief negotiation they agreed: one catnip plant would stay behind, one would come with, and yes, they would gladly direct the crew toward the best food in town.

Kashim and Othello hopped aboard, secured the catnip, and shouted off a series of directions to crew.

“Turn left here,” Kashim said.

“Now, around the corner,” said Othello, “and there you have it!”

A tiny, brightly-painted food stand stood in the middle of the street. “Würstelstand” its sign declared in letters the color of Willow and China Cat’s roses. Inside, two humans busied themselves with great lengths of sausage and pots of mustard.

The cats breathed the delectable aroma and quivered with excitement.

“Oh dear,” said Upsie, almost desperate with hunger. “They’ll want us to pay for those, won’t they?”

Everyone looked at one another. How could they carry human money with no pockets?

“Wait!” Mini said, “I’ve got this!” She held up the crystal she’d taken with her while escaping her mom’s flashy box. She shrugged. “It kind of got stuck between my claws.”

“It is shiny,” Ahri said. “Everyone loves shiny.”

Port frowned. “But they still might not serve us. We are, after all, cats.”

“Well then,” Othello said, “We’ll have to employ the element of surprise!”

They all huddled as best they could for a quick strategy session.

“Now, we’ve got just one pass at the place before they call for help,” Kashim said, “so we’d best be precise.”

“I’ve got the aft sails,” Sasha said.

“And I’m at the bow,” said Sergei.

“On lookout,” Sigyn announced, holding up the spyglass.

“Distracting them with sonorous music,” Luna said, holding up her blue box.

“Guarding the catnip,” said Puddy.

“Excellent!” Port leapt to the Catamaran’s central frame. “Fridolin, Samantha, ‘ssouri, help steer. Everyone else – man the ropes!”

Without a sound, they inched the craft forward until it hovered just out of sight, just behind the closed back of the Würstelstand.

At Port’s signal, Luna began to play. Beautiful music filled the night air. The chef and his assistant stepped out from behind the stand’s counter, both pulling off their toques and scratching their heads in puzzlement. Further away they stepped, looking around, and then -

“Es geht um die Wurst!” Othello and Kashim cried, and the Gato Enojado dove into position.

With a cat at the bottom of each rope, the mighty ship skimmed over the top of the Würstelstand. Mini dropped her crystal into an empty jar on the counter, and an instant later, the stand’s culinary contents were snatched into the air.

“Halt! Katzen!” the humans cried, but it was too late; the craft had already reached the rooftops. By the time help arrived, all that was left to see were the last few sausage links wobbling like kite tails into the clouds.

“Huzzah,” the cats cried. “Let’s eat!”

“I think,” said Fridolin, “we need an evening’s entertainment to accompany our banquet.” He snatched up the spyglass and scoured the countryside. “There! Perfect! An opera house!”

They settled the catamaran onto a soft hummock, disembarked, and set themselves up with a ship’s sail for a picnic blanket and as much bratwurst, burenwurst, weisswurst, and kasekrainer any cat would ever want.

When the curtain rose on the opera’s scene, the cats all gasped. “There’s cat in the cast,” they whispered. “Look! A cat!”

The opera had everything an opera should have: romance, adventure, intrigue, and lots and lots of scary bits. Dippy hid under the picnic blanket when the ghosts came out, and all the cats cheered when Blacky, the cat on stage, took his final bow.

“Bravissimo,” they cried. “Ausgezeichnet!”

Afterward, the cats all lounged on the blanket, utterly full and happy, gazing at the stars above.

“I suppose we should be getting home soon,” Puddy said.

“Our humans might be worried,” said Spike.

They rose and carefully began to pack their things.

“But, oh, the stories we have to tell when we get back!” Upsie declared. “Do you think they’ll believe us?”

The cats all looked at one another and smiled.

Not a bit, they all agreed, not a bit.

“Is it time already?” the orange one asked as he lounged before the great calendar of all household things.

A room away, his little gray companion sat up. “Time?” she said. Her voice was louder than its usual squeak. “Indeed it is! Something’s coming. Something… shiny.” She paused, transfixed by a tail of multicolored yarn that floated across the ceiling and disappeared through the glass of a closed window.

On the couch, just a few feet away, the dog stirred but didn’t wake from her daily squirrel-chasing dreams.

“Pack your kit bag,” the gray one said. “We’re going on a journey.”

(It’s Weekend Cat Blogging here at Belly Timber. Leave links to your Cat Blogging posts in the comments or email us at the_cat(at)belly-timber(dot)com. Ahriman and Port’s Weekend Cat Blogging Round-up Adventure will begin Saturday Sunday and continue through the weekend with a final installment on Monday.

Please link back to us if you get a chance, and don’t forget this weekend’s other cat blogging adventures at the Friday Ark, and the Bad Kitty Chaos Festival.)

I am not usually susceptible to advertising. I tend to ignore what the hucksters are hucking my way on the telly. Sure the gecko’s kinda cute, but he’s not going to get me to switch insurance companies just because he’s shiny and green and sounds like Brick Top from Snatch — minus the bit about feeding people to the pigs, of course.

Same goes for print ads. Mailbox to round file: it’s such a short, short trip.

I even toss catalogs.

I should note that I don’t actually subscribe to any catalogs. Not a one. (No magazines either, but that’s another story.) When they show up unannounced, I rarely give them a second glance and I am so, so proud of my superior resistance to Madison Avenue.

But then this thing happens. This store opens within a short drive of our house. And a catalog for this store appears in my mailbox and… and…

Aagh. I can’t stand it any longer.

Look. Just look. Pages and pages of drawers and shelves and baskets — glorious storage compartments, and all with terrifyingly cute names like Björken, and Aspvik, and Ivar.

(I am MizD’s crumbling resistance.)

I can almost taste the Swedish meatballs and lingonberries as I turn the pages.

I know, I know, I have to fight it. We can’t do it. Can’t go shopping. The risk is too great.

But… but… if we acquired more storage compartments — badly needed storage compartments for things like laundry…

…we could prevent this from happening:

Yes, Port has discovered the dryer.

(Visit CatSynth for the Weekend Cat Blogging #115 Round up! Next week’s WCB will be hosted right here at Belly Timber, by our new feline residents, Port and Ahriman. I hear they are planning something unusual, but I’ve no idea what. Even the dog’s not talking.)

It’s one of those days.

I’m in the middle of transferring a large number of websites, databases, lists, galleries, and so on to a new hosting service and it is tedious work. For those who don’t know, one area in which I freelance is web design and I host sites for my design clients. My current host has been frustrating of late — frustrating enough that I’ve decided it’s time for a change.

This means Belly Timber will be moving hosts as well so there’s a chance we’ll be down for a bit later this week. I’m hoping to make the transition as quick and painless as possible, but I can’t guarantee that a certain persistent orange lummox won’t step on the keyboard at exactly the wrong time and delete my database backup. He has a rather uncanny knack for getting his paws into my work at inappropriate moments, just as Angry Cat used to shed on the articles of clothing that most needed to be clean.

Yes, that’s Angry Cat from the photo archives, above. The Belly Timber Home Photo Uploading Service is on the fritz yet again. I have half a month’s worth of photos stuck on my flash card and no way to show them to you.

On the bright side, with no way to take pictures, we now have a great excuse for lazy, ugly meals.

Another (temporary) bright side: Port and Ahriman have not yet discovered the sleep-on-warm-clothes-in-the-dryer trick. I’m sure it’s only a matter of time…

(The delicious Boo-licious hosts this week’s Weekend Cat Blogging over at Masak-Masak.)

We are sadly lacking in Simpsons figures in these parts (a rather glaring oversight, considering we live in Matt Groening’s home town), and yellow… well, I’m afraid we don’t do well with yellow either.

We do, however, have an abundance of orange, and since orange is just one small step away on the color wheel (and the Simpsons are a rather orangey yellow to begin with), we’ve decided that our theme for the weekend will be orange.

See, here’s Ahriman in all his orangey glory.

And here he is again.

And since he is so keen on the color orange (and keen on locating entirely inappropriate places to lounge), here is Ahri, demonstrating the design concept, Orange on Orange. Todd Oldham would be proud.

Now, since we do reside in the hometown of Matt Groening, I would be remiss if I didn’t share two tidbits of trivia.

So there you go. All that home town love and trivia and still they put Springfield in Vermont! Hrrrmph.

(Check out all the Weekend Cat Blogging this week at A Byootiful Life!)

And don’t forget:

Saturday, July 28th is BLOGATHON 2007!

I’ll be posting from 6am till 6am (Pacific time), or at least until I drop. Check out all the details in my previous post, and sponsor me if you can!

Ahh, dear humans, I’ve snatched a quick visit with my favorite medium, Madame Kittikatsky, because I’ve something of great importance to tell you!

You see, it’s been nearly half a year since my untimely demise at the tender age of 19 (us felines should live till we’re three hundred in cat years, I tell you. Like Vulcans, we should live), and now at long last, my humans have delivered. They’ve brought in new kitties to torment the furball.

Oh, you might think I’d be miffed at their nerve. After all, I am irreplaceable. But no, all I need do is gaze down from my happy hunting ground and witness Platelicker cowering at incoming claws, and I am content. Jubilant, in fact!

So, dear humans, let me introduce the two newest members of Casa Belly Timber:

This is Ahriman.

And this is Port.

These kitties come to the casa from Rancho Lake, home of the illustrious human author Jay Lake, who longtime readers may remember for his scrumptious Ginger Chocolate Chip Cookies. At least I’m told they were scrumptious. My humans ate them far too quickly for me to discover for myself.

Back to the story: Port and Ahriman have lived in the grand style of Author’s Cats for several years now, assisting their human in his many endeavors, always making certain his computer was graced with fur of one shade or another. During this time, the human’s career took off, quite like that rocket in his first novel — the novel my human blogged about while dusting ginger chocolate chip cookie crumbs off her keyboard.

In fact the rocket took off with such fantastical style that Port and Ahriman’s human had to leave Rancho Lake for exciting, career-related adventures, sometimes days at a time.

The poor kitties grew sad and did what all kitties do when left alone for far too long: They told their human in no uncertain terms that they wanted more company.

And so, my human (being a friend and neighbor of their human) said, “let me take your kitties. My furball has had the run of the house for far too long!”

At least that’s what I trust she said.

So now, these two fabulous Author’s Cats are here and ready to keep my human’s computer in fur (as all computers should be), and I am confident they will carry on in my fine cat blogging tradition as soon as they learn their way around their new keyboard.

Now, before I go, I would be remiss not to put in a good word for Port and Ahriman’s latest masterwork, Mainspring. Oh, of course it has their human’s name on the cover, but who’s fooling whom, eh? Now, I haven’t read this novel yet myself, but I hear it’s quite spectacular. But, don’t listen to me, listen to Boing Boing. (You know, I’m quite certain a cat writes all of Boing Boing’s best posts as well.)

(For more Weekend Cat Blogging, check out all the brilliant, keyboard-savvy felines at over at Dragonheart’s Domain! For animals of all sorts, visit the Friday Ark!)

July 22nd, 2006, the cat reminded me…

I was a kid with home grown veggies, pies from our own cherry tree, eggs from our own chickens, and a compost bin long before you could head to Lowe’s and buy one pre-fab. We did pretty well on the environmental front, and I carried those lessons with me when I moved out on my own — for a while at least.

Thing is, I was surrounded by consumers who loved to consume. Consume and toss, consume and toss. It was college life in the Greed is Good era, and it was damned hard to not fall into it, lock step.

I pulled myself out when I made the transition from apartment to shared house, and then again, when I first lived in this place with its jungle of plums, figs, grapes, and berries. One year, I canned all the plums and made a tasty, spicy plum syrup. It was supposed to be jam, but I never quite got a handle on that pectin thing.

Then, for a long while, it all just slipped. I was tired. So tired and overworked, and I never had the funds or the time to do anything to the garden. I let it go, let my other efforts go, and I teetered perilously close to that 80s, trickle-down Uncle Ronnie love fest I hated so much. No. I’m not going to be like that. I hated it then, and I hate it now.

But dammit, I said, looking around at my clutter and chaos, it takes so much time and effort. It’s so hard and I’m still so very tired. And the money — good lord, all those rich people going greener-than-thou with their hybrid cars and their solar panels and their low VOC paint. I can’t afford any of that. Not even the paint.

Still, I wanted to do something — whatever I could — so very very much.

So, I started making lists of the small things. The little efforts I could afford, both in time and in money. And for a while, I thought, what’s the point. My efforts are microscopic. What good are they?

I knew my discouragement needed a good smack in the head, yet still I was discouraged.
(I still am, some days, but not today.)

Chopper joined me in thoughts, plans, and tiny deeds, and we were in turns optimistic and discouraged together, but never quite forward-thinking about any of it until we both got that head smack we needed when we took time last summer from our crazy tourist season schedule to head to the theater and watch An Inconvenient Truth.

Angry Cat took over the blog on an especially hot weekend just after to remind us all of how climate change mucks with the habitat of her furry friends to the North. She’s gone now, but we’ve got our sled mutt to keep the reminder alive in our house.

And we’ve been active. We take tiny steps where we need and bigger steps where we can. It’s microscopic, still. A drop in a monstrous bucket, but action of any kind is a hell of a lot better than inaction, or discouragement.

And now, looking ahead…

See the sparsely populated sidebars on Belly Timber’s front page? That’s a reminder to me as well: that we’re overdue for a shift in focus. The food’s not going away, nor are the occasional cats (in fact, we are knee deep in cat acquisition as I write this), but Belly Timber needs to reflect where we are with our lives, and right now our lives are about so much more than tripe, truffles, and checkered ravioli.

Not that I don’t still love those things, mind you. Not that we don’t still have a few crazy culinary ideas up our sleeves…

Just know that today — 07.07.07 — I’m not a food blogger and I’m not a cat blogger. I don’t know what to call myself just yet. Life blogger? Earth blogger?

Eh, how about just Blogger on Planet Earth. The only planet we’ve got.

Calculate your carbon footprint.
Take the Live Earth pledge.

(Check out the Weekend Cat Blogging: How To Beat The Heat! round up at What Did You Eat?)

Oh, you wee evil humans. Listen up.

A curious thing happened these past few months. Not long after I made my rather abrupt journey to the Happy Hunting Ground, my humans ran into a bit of misfortune. Not that my untimely demise wasn’t unfortunate. Hellish is more like it. I wasn’t even around to reap the benefits of that silly thieving newspaper’s forking out for my photo. What are they going to do? Ship catnip to the afterlife? Right.

(By the way, I have things to say to humans about the number of new arrivals around these parts. Things unfit for a family blog. And yes, my humans will never know for certain, but it is entirely possible that I too was a victim of this abomination. My food was on the list.)

So, here I am, off in the beyond (where there are plenty of fat, juicy mice with no toxic additives, thanks much), and what do I see? My humans aren’t posting! NO! This is my legacy, you freaky, pink-skinned good-for-nothing…puppies! Mrrooooar.

I’ve half a mind to go down there and haunt their dreams.

See, it seems they experienced what humans like to call “hard times.” The one called Chopper, he ran out of work and couldn’t get this thing called “unemployment” because he hadn’t been back in the state long enough, and the Miz D one? Well, she tried to do this thing called “freelancing” and the people who were supposed to hire her flaked off like so much icky, half-dried pouch food.

Miz D, she even came up with a name for what she didn’t want to do: BWB. Blogging While Broke. Sucks, she says. Can’t write about tasty foods, can’t write about cool trips, can’t even start that personal chef thing they want to do ’cause there’s no start-up funds, got to spend spare time searching couch cushions for quarters, mrow, mrow, mrow, you get the picture.

Of course I’m thinking: If I were there, I’D be posting. Just POST already, bipeds.

But noooo. They take a hiatus. Don’t even let the furball post. Not that the furball would have much to say aside from: Hey! House to self! No kitty! Wheee!

Huh. I wonder if she misses me.

What’s that? You want to know how I got here? Ahah. See, I’ve found a very nice medium with a keyboard. Madame Kittikatsky, she calls herself, and she’s managed to sneak access to the Belly Timber Angry Cat Blog account.

(She tells me she has a cunning plan for future postings – a plan may involve the appearance of a new kitten. Mroow. Clever medium. I think I’ll keep her.)

So, here I am with a message from the beyond: Oh humans, my humans? Don’t make me come down there and smack some sense into you. If I can BWD, then you can BWB. Besides, I know things are looking better for you. I can smell it. Fried kippers? Steamed mussels? SALMON?

Excuse me. I’m hungry. I have a mouse to catch.

(And now, for your viewing pleasure, My final photo shoot: Angry Cat + Back Scratcher = Happy Cat.)

(Check out lots more Weekend Cat Blogging at What Did You Eat?)