Watermark

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.

Earthquake

Sitting in my livingroom with Greg Cohn of New West, my furniture creaks and the chandelier sways. Greg says "Earthquake!" I say "Naw, it's just the dogs chasing the cat."

I was wrong. And being from L.A., Greg knows where to go to get the latest info:

Afterthought: You know, it's odd -- neither Greg nor I thought of turning on the television or radio for news about this. We went straight to the internet.

hieroglyphs

walls dissolve like smoke
a pelican drags its broken wing

hieroglyphs surface in sand
blindly, blankly, she steps into the blue

the husband speaks in tongues
the child closes and opens its azure hand

it is just like walking a plank
the dock is a long grey arm

she is stepping carefully, lifting
each foot, curling her toes in the air

the water is singing
the water is singing

Friday Cat Blogging

They are so sweet when they're asleep, aren't they? And it's so hot here lately, that they usually are asleep. For more lively entertainment, you might try:

Friday Ark
Carnival of the Dogs
Carnival of the Cats

Friday Dog Blogging

Henry

 

   

& why does Henry get so much camera attention? Well, Lucy just isn't quite . . .

. . . as easy for an amateur to photograph.

Quip wants to know, which end is this?

It's the nose end.

Chandelier