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Friday Cat Blogging

Spike is pleased to pass on this true-to-life poem by Roger McGough, via Roger Collett on the Poetryetc list:

The Cats' Protection League

Midnight. A knock at the door.
Open it? Better had.
Three heavy cats, mean and bad.

They offer protection. I ask, 'What for?'
The Boss-cat snarls, 'You know the score.
Listen man and listen good

If you wanna stay in the neighbourhood,
Pay your dues or the toms will call
And wail each night on the backyard wall.

Mangle the flowers, and as for the lawn
a smelly minefield awaits you at dawn.'
These guys meant business without a doubt

Three cans of tuna, I handed them out.
They then disappeared like bats into hell
Those bad, bad cats from the CPL.

This is from Bad Bad Cats, some of whom we know and love. I envy writers who have such a knack (from much craft practice) with rhythm and rhyme, and a touch of dark, feline humor as well. I think I might recommend this book for a bit of weekend entertainment:

& I also recommend:

Friday Ark
Carnival of the Dogs
Carnival of the Cats

and a very special edition of Montana's

Rascal Fair

Stay cool.

Friday Squirrel Blogging

Sometimes they hide:

Sometimes they pose:

Sometimes they don't:

The Laptop Saga

Last weekend, I made a new category, and went back and republished all my Laptop Saga posts -- all in preparation for this post, which may (or may not) be the last post in the category. Brief summary:

1. my HP laptop died
2. you, my readers, raised money for a new one
3. I threw in what money I had available
4. friend Cindy matched the funds
5. I got a brand new iBook

[Dream] Snapshot 27 July 02005

I am wearing someone else's shoes.
I stole them, but they were left right
out on the street. They are plastic pink
ballet slippers, stiff as hardened leather.

These shoes fit, but they are are made
of poison. Someone has neglected to fill
the aquarium; goldfish are swimming,
gasping, in air. I receive a threatening

note, in code. What is, or is not, real?
These people are merely ghosts. So many
languages I do not speak. Even if I were
to set out now to learn on a magic

boat of talent and time, some would die
before I could reach them. A voice speaks,
clearly: This is about a child. This is not
about comfort. This is about sadness.

I want to see the mountains. I want to see
the glacier. I am totally outclassed.

Parking Lot

I spent some of this pleasantly warm day taking pictures in the parking lot.

UPDATE:

Here is the Bread Van photoset; here is the Ford Pickup photoset.