Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Catridictory (catfinition) – someone who begs and pleads for something from you and then walk away without touching it are said to be catradictory.
In use: “Meowing, purring, and tapping his leg as she rubbed against his calves, the cat seemed to want food, but the catridictory feline sniffed the food bowl once after he set it down, and silently walked away.”
I wanted something lighter today. A favorite parody is ‘My Cubicle’, a take-off on James Blunt’s song, ‘You’re Beautiful’, 2004. The parody probably emerged within two years. I always had an office. However, my team and a lot of friends worked in cubicle warrens, and my wife was an office manager and HR manager. Between them, I received a daily infusion of irritations and frustrations with cubicle working. I once visited an enormous Air Force office space that had been converted into cubicles and was appalled. Of course, I think cubicles are better than those enormous open spaces of rows and columns of desks and filing cabinets that provided no privacy. That’s just my sense of it because I never worked in one of those, but only knew of them through visiting, television shows and movies.
Anyway, turn it up and sing along. I hope it provides you with a laugh.
Having beer with friends last night and talking, we reminisced about music and humor, so today is more about humor surrounding music. We came up with three of our favorites.
First, More Cowbell, from SNL, with Christopher Walken. The song they’re playing is Blue Oyster Cult’s ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper’, a hit for BOC back in 1976. Oddly, I associate Blue Oyster Cult more with ‘Godzilla’, but whatever.
Next, of course, was the moment in ‘This Is Spinal Tap’ (1984) when Marty Dibergi (Rob Reiner) is interviewing Nigel Tufnel (Christopher Guest). Nigel is Spinal Tap’s lead guitarist, and he’s taking us through his instruments when he explains why his amp is special.
Last is just the classic rock issue of fans calling out, “Play ‘Freebird’.” ‘Freebird’ is by Lynyrd Skynyrd, so here we go.
I do not think I like this house
Nor would I like it were I a mouse
I do not think I like its color
I cannot stand to sit in its parlor
I cannot stand the way it’s shaped
To me, its ideas are not fully baked
The rooms are dark, and they are cold
They make me feel so very old
The walls seem like they’re paper thin
And they seem like they’re always closing in
The halls provide so much wasted space
And the kitchen is an inhospitable place
The floorboards creak and the carpets are foul
With tones that might have come from a baby’s bowels
The windows are dirty and the air is full of dust
I think I’ll move, yes, I must!
Just made lunch, and I must spread the gospel on these low fat foods.
This particular offering comes via Trader Joe’s. Low fat chicken and bean burritos, they’re ready after four minutes in the microwave. I put them on three and a half and then add some Mexican cheese for a little extra flavor and nuke it for thirty more seconds. Salsa is spread on it for additional spiciness. Afterward, I add some guacamole so I can get some good fat into me, followed by a few dollops of sour cream. The sour cream is a matter of economics; it’s getting old and I don’t want to have to throw it out. Waste not, want not.
It’s all quite delicious. I’m telling you, these low fat foods are the way to go.
Life’s a rush,
When you’re Quinn.
If he’s out,
He wants in.
If he’s in,
He wants out.
And to find a way,
He’ll rush about.
With apologies to ‘We Three Kings’.
We three cats
are asking for food.
Nothing special,
just something to chew.
Kibble, wet food or treats will do-oo;
but not that bread,
noooo, thank you.
Got my head out of bed
And my ass across the floor
Staggered through the hall
Hit my face on the door
My eyes were still closed
Couldn’t see where I was
Couldn’t even think
I needed a coffee buzz
Fumbled into the kitchen
The cats almost tripped me
Made it to the counter
And started huntin’ them beans
Found leftover grounds
But that weren’t much
My mind began howlin’
For its caffeine touch
The can was empty
So was the bag
There wasn’t even Sanka
This mornin’ was becomin’ a drag
I sucked on a used filter
To see me through
And licked up the dregs
Left from yesterday’s brew
My heart beat was flailin’
My thinkin’ gave out
And then my legs
And I started floppin’ about
The cats all gathered
But they was no help
The situation was dire
I began to yell
Then my wife came in
And bent down low
And said, “We’re out of coffee
But I guess you know.
“So I went to Starbucks
To get you a cup
‘Cuz I knew without it
You wouldn’t be much.”
I thanked her with tears
And sat up straight
And then drained the grande
And began to feel great
Then the horrible truth struck
‘Cuz my need was laid bare
I needed a second cup
But do I dare?
The cat is domestic only as far as suits its own ends… – Saki (H. H. Munro)
Cats have been referred to as moons, planets and gods since they first deigned to allow humans to see them. I, however, ascribe to the theory of a tachyon cat.
Like the tachyon particle, the tachyon cat is hypothetical. It must exist, because no law or principle prevents its existence.
Tachyon cats display bizarre and contrary behavior. They are there and not there. Look for them and you don’t see them. Call them and there is no response. Yet, suddenly, they’re upon you, gazing and waiting, “Yes?” written on their whiskered expression. “There you are,” you exclaim, rewarding the tachyon cat. “Where were you?”
But they were right there, seen and unseen. Tachyon cats gain energy as they acquire mass, and gain speed as they gain mass and energy. They never travel slower than the speed of light, even at rest, and gain more mass when you try to move them. Their eyes reflect the gaze of distant black holes, which they alone have seen and visited.
When tachyon cats are detected in your presence, it seems like they’re coming and going. Although they can traverse walls without flinching, they like to assert their mastery over humans, so you see them always at the door, asking to be let out, in, out, in, out, in, out, until you’re reduced to puzzling, “Again? But didn’t I just let you out?”
Tachyon cats eat nothing and eat everything. They eat more and less than other cats, and sleep more and less than their feline peers. They play more and less than other cats, and they’re more loving, aloof and cuddly than other cats, while being the same as other cats. They’re a different species than other felines, but they’re the same species.
They’re as dark and mysterious as the dark side of the moon, and as bright and sunny as our star. Some say tachyon cats do not exist, but I know that’s not true. One lives with me, when it suits his desires.
Otherwise, I live with him.
Little victories count highly when the days roll on in dull hot and cold repetition, challenging me with tedium and boredom. Being an optimistic, though, I remind myself, at least I’m not under fire, fleeing a wildfire, fighting off zombies, dealing with disease, flooding and pestilence, or enduring anything discomforting.
I, on the computer, at the desk, hot coffee in a mug, cool wind through the screen at my back, was thinking through last night’s strange dream, wherein I was collecting health reports on my mother and faxing them off while helping other relatives handle exuberant dogs. Quinn, my personal feline attendant, completing his morning checklist, was beside me asleep on the desk. Suddenly –
Rising, he jumped down to the floor. Sensing something amiss, I tensed, not breathing, for several seconds.
Quinn began his upchuck routine.
Here’s where procrastination pays.
Leaping into action, I seized yesterday’s paper, which should have already been moved to the recycle but I hadn’t because the Zika virus! And Trump! And Hillary’s emails! And ISIS! And Giant Pearl!
Gently seizing Quinn, I spread the paper in front of him and held him as he brought up a hairball. Now my cat forensics rewarded me, as I knew Quinn does not stop with one. No, moving to one side, he began another. I slid the paper over and held onto him.
Once that was done, I let him go off, folding the paper with its ‘prize’. But Quinn wasn’t finished. A third seemed imminent. Folded paper in hand, I joined him, keeping him in place with gentle hands on either side, talking to him and stroking as I placed the paper beneath his head.
Fini, at last.
And I was so satisfied, so pleased and proud, because my cat had brought up a hairball with his morning meal, and I had intercepted it all, getting nothing on the floor, without either of us becoming freaked. Woo hoo, aren’t I great?
There was no one around to share my joy.
Quinn didn’t care. He moved to the window sill to enjoy the jays pondering the day. I, inspired by my MAJOR ACHIEVEMENT, cleaned the litter box.
Still, it’s a great day, isn’t it? Yes sir, no hairball on the floor. Call the news services. Set up a conference. Issue a press release.
And my coffee is still hot. Ish.
Woo hoo.
