In Memoriam Birkie

This is late because 2020. My friends Matt and Mandy lost their elder cat Birkie along about the beginning of November. He was a dear old thing and I frequently did kitty sitting for him. I assembled the pictures for this right away, but didn’t have the heart to put it fully together in the first few days and then the steamroller of 2020 pushed it off my plate for a bit. Now, as I’m trying to catch up on all the things, I want to take a moment to remember an old friend.

This is my first picture of him from July 2011.

He was bold and friendly and always vaguely disapproving.

I love his expression.

We bonded early.

He was pretty good at posing, if he was in the mood.

This is how I will mostly remember him, demanding my attention.

With his longtime buddy, Pippen, who is also gone.

I love this shot because of the Matt photobomb.

He spent a lot of time on my shoulder when I visited.

Or my chest.

Man did he do the We Do Not Approve look well.

Climbing me again.

Run like the wind monkey steed!

Another shot with Pippen. I love the layers of shadow here.

Mmm, tuna juice…

He had a habit of blurring my shots. Lots of movement.

I love this.

Have I mentioned that disapproving look

One of my clearest shots of him in his later years.

But this is how I will remember him the most.

So long, Birkie, I’m going to miss you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Monday Meows

I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called you here today.

Nope.

Not even a little bit.

Face it, you’re only talking to yourself.

Don’t tell him. He still hasn’t figured mirrors out.

That’s just sad. Even I get mirrors.

They’re the ones that can’t buy drinks yet. Right?

Monday Meows

Ahem. MiMiMi. Ahem. ME-OW.

There’s something seriously wrong with that cat.

Like, dude, that not even a cat, man. Also you’re snuggling cement.

Don’t kink shame. Now, who do I have to shiv to make the d*o*g go away?

Don’t sweat the small stuff, my dude. Go with sleep, sun, and acres of nip.

Spare “cat” courtesy of Jim and Stewart

Old Internet Troll (With apologies to JRR Tolkien)

Troll typed alone in his basement home,
He whined and lied with his book of chrome;
For many a year he had made it clear,
That truth was hard to come by.
Done by! Gum by!

In his parent’s basement he dwelt alone
And truth was hard to come by.
Down came mom with a sigh and sob.
Said she to Troll: “Pray, get out slob.
For it looks like a pit, where you type your shit,
You should be workin’ at a real job.
Steel job! Deal job!

This many a year have you done nought,
And I thought you should have a real job.”
“But mom,” said Troll, “I need a host!
I can’t be distracted from what I post.
Thy bandwidth was free because I had your key,
And I need it to shitpost.
Bitpost! Hitpost!

Who can spare a share for a poor sad troll?
For he needs his tweets liked.”
Said mom: “I don’t see why the likes o’ thee
Without axin’ leave should go makin’ free
With the password o’ your mother’s router;
So hand the keyboard over!
Rover! Trover!

Though troll you be, that belongs to me;
So hand the keyboard over!”
“For a couple o’ pins,” says Troll, and grins,
“I’ll troll thee too, and post thy sins.
A bit o’ fresh meat will be fun to tweet!
I’ll try my posts on thee now.
Hee now! See now!

I’m tired o’ posting old whines and memes;
I’ve a mind to post on thee now.”
You’ll be a nice change from other targets.
Bargets! Czargets!

But just as he thought his mother was fought,
He found his hands had hold of naught.
Before he could mind, mom slipped behind
And snatched his keyboard to larn him.
Warn him! Darn him!

A snatch o’ the keyboard his mom thought,
Would be the way to larn him.
But harder than stone is the heart and pwn
Of a troll in his basement alone.
As well set your boot to the mountain’s root,
For the heart of a troll don’t feel it.
Peel it! Heal it!

Old Troll laughed when he snatched it back,
And he knew her rep would soon feel it.
Mom’s rep is slain, since he trashed her name,
She raised a troll to her lasting shame;
But Troll don’t care, and he’s still there
With the wifi he stole from its owner.
Doner! Boner!

Troll’s old game is still the same,
And the wifi he stole from its owner!

Monday Meows

Goddammit, the cat melted again.

Wait, aren’t you the cat.

No. He is A cat. I am the cat.

Aren’t we full of ourselves?

Y’all are exhausting. This cat is going back to bed.

Spare cat courtesy of Kim and Jonny

Monday Meows

When shall we three meets again? I dunno, but leave the leg at home.

But I love the leg. It’s very House of Horror.

But we’re supposed to be doing Macbeth.

Ooh, right, *ahem* In Thunder, Lightning, or in Rain?

Thunder, lightning and rain? Dude, we’re cats. VETO!

In hurley burley than when the battle’s lost and won!

How does that work little stone cat? Lost and won? It make no sense.

Or we could just say “screw it” and sleep in. Like…you, know, cats.

Monday Meows

Jus chillin with my cute self. No cares, no plans.

I have a plan. It involves you.

And it is soooooo evil!

How evil is it?

It’s so evil that I refused to participate.

Holy shit!

That’s pretty evil all right.

Spare cats courtesy of Jim and Stewart and Paul and Rita

Monday Meows

Iz dis da real thing? Or is it just fantasy?

Caught in a dish slide

No escape from reality…

Dis don’t sound like Shakespeare…

Because it’s easy come…

Easy go.

A little high, a little low…

Mama just killed a man.

Why did she do it?

Nothing really matters.

Nothing really matters?

Anyone can see.

Stuffing really matters to me!

Spare cat courtesy of Paul and Rita

Monday Meows

I iz kitten and unspeakably cute. I make you obsolete. Fear me.

How about if I just eat you instead?

It does look kind of tender and tasty…

Cattibalism is just gross.

It really depends on how you cook them. Take this fire pit here…

Oooh may I take recipe notes?

I don’t care what any of you say, I’m not doing the peeling this time.

Spare cats courtesy of Kim and Jonny and Jim and Stewart and Paul and Rita