In Which: There is a New Cat on the Blog

Hello. Elliot here. I am the new cat. Not much of a computer guy. But it's part of my job description to do the blog thing. Sigh. I'd rather be having an adventure - nothing huge, just a cat-sized adventure.

Anyway, here I am:

As you can see, I am an ordinary cat, at least from the outside. I have a fascinating internal life about which I am reticent. At the moment, I am chasing squirrels.

Well, I'm really sitting at the bottom of a giant silver maple looking at squirrels. The little buggers never get quite close enough....

In Which: Plans are Made

Ho-hum. It's merely that the Librarian plans to go hiking in the Beartooth Mountains tomorrow. Just a baby hike, since she hasn't done anything but walk up in Swords Park for ages.


Hmmm, well she did hike up to Avalanche Lake.


I suppose that counts.

However, tomorrow she will be going somewhere completely new. How trepidatious of her. Trepidatious. I am not sure that is a word. If it is a word, it seems likely to have been made up by Anne of Green Gables. I would look it up in the dictionary but I am busy licking a paw.

Well. So I tell her, she had better be careful of those bears. I think she will be all right if she follows my plan: bring tuna sandwiches for lunch. If a bear appears, throw a tuna sandwich at it. Any bear would prefer that to a human smelly with bug repellent. I know I would.

In Which: the Librarian is Older. A Lot Older.

The last time the Librarian saw Bob Dylan in concert, it was 1976.


I looked up the date of the Rolling Thunder Revue, because she thought it was in 1975. That would have made it 35 years ago. Due to my attention to details, she has staved off one year. Thirty-four years ago, she was almost someone else. She didn't even know about Me.

Bob Dylan looked a lot better different then too.

Don't be misled by the date on that poster. The Revue lasted into May 1976, when the Librarian saw a lackluster concert that was drowned by rain (but no thunder - just a downpour) in Fort Collins, CO.

This time, the concert is a mere 1/2 block away. If she gets bored, disgusted or rained on, she can just walk home. I shudder to think how many cans of Fancy Feast she could have bought instead of the ticket, but she says it's the Last Time she'll ever get to see Bob Dylan, not to mention John Mellencamp whose Little Pink Houses album used to reside in her yellow Sony Walkman (remember those?) when she walked up to the "M" on Mount Sentinel in Missoula. I was around for that. I looked like this (since everyone else is getting a "younger" picture):

Ahhh, Me and Luigi. I am the Fatty Kitty, he is the stripey one. I believe I'm starting to understand the nostalgia the Librarian has been experiencing.

However, I must briskly shake that off. Trucks have been arriving,

roadies set up a big tent in the parking lot,


a stage in the outfield (center - right),

and a regiment of blue porta-potties stands alertly at strategic points.

I hope the Librarian enjoys herself. She will if she remembers her earplugs. Loud music gives her a headache.

In Which: Fatty Kitty consorts with dogs.

I am surprised at myself. I am actually participating in a chatty dog blog called Chet the Dog.


Of course, this is the Librarian's fault as per usual. She would read those mysteries and laugh out loud and mutter to herself, i.e.: "Oh no! Don't do that!" or "Get'em Chet! Atta boy!" Harumph. About a dog. She never did that when she read those Cat mysteries...she did not appear to be entertained. After all, I must admit:

Cats do not run all over the desert;

Cats cannot leap at the perpetrators' throats (and threaten to tear them out, even. Egad.)

Cats can't smell as much - oops, I mean as well - as dogs.

Alas.

But if I can be allowed to make a case for Cats:

A Cat could distract the perpetrator, by running between his/her legs, scratching, or a loud yowl at the right time:

A Cat could pee on something, rendering it unusable (or at least thoroughly disgusting). This would be helpful in disarming weaponry, for instance:

A Cat can eat grass and puke next to a pertinent clue....

Oh Holy (Furry) Balls. I cannot believe I am even discussing this.

The odd part is...I don't mind the dogs (except they talk too much). I might even grow fond of a dog who thinks he is Henry the VIII and thus wears a ruff.

When I think about being a Cat detective, I believe I would be more of the Sam Spade type: moody, given to terse statements, a real loner. Hmmmm. I shall direct the Librarian to find a Kitty Fedora and practice meowing out of the corner of my mouth.

Mrrrrrrrrrrritttsh!

Er, no. Mweowww. Better.

Mwwwwwwow. Mwwwwow. Well, this is exhausting. But there - it's time for my nap anyway.

In Which: the librarian approaches the Big L

I have been watching over the librarian.  She has 16 days left until she becomes the Librarian.  It's been a Long hauL, as she wouLd put it.  And in ceLebration, I have fLoated down (figurativeLy, not LiteraLLy) to post in her honor.

I'm sure it's been difficuLt for her to continue without me.  I was the bane and joy of her existence, and I am quick to add that joy overcame bane by a Large margin.  Oh, certainLy, some wouLd mention the cessation of hairbaLLs, but that is a minor inconvenience compared to the Loss of my effervescent companionship.  It couLd not be otherwise, for I am Fatty Kitty.  I am aLmost tempted to grin, figurativeLy of course, since I no Longer have a body.

I suppose you want to know what I am, and in your feebLe human mind, I am a ghost or an angeL (I am tempted to grin again).  Oh no, I am so much more than that now.  I wiLL forego expLaining, since it is impossibLe for any human to understand.  Why eLse the chiLdish cLinging to superstition and ego?

But, as usuaL, I digress.  It's just that I enjoy being superior so much that I tend to dweLL on it.  Again, the grin.  So now, from my exaLted position (no, not in the sky, fooLs, in the hierarchy of being, of course), I bestow congratuLations on the soon-to-be Librarian, and Leave her with these words of wisdom: 

Stop noodLing about and do your homework! 

If you do, I promise I won't mess about with these capital Ls any Longer.  They are annoying, aren't they?  Ho ho!  Now I know why that Cheshire Cat was so toothy...grinning as the worLd trudges by is a worthy occupation.  Now, since there are stiLL naps where I am (and why shouLd there not be?), I wiLL partake ...........shnoooorrrngh.

signed, the Fatty Kitty

In Which: a New Creature arrives at Fatty Kitty's

Hello, it is I, Library Kitty.  I've been sojourning at Fatty Kitty's for awhile now.  I went a few places with the librarian, for instance, to a great big lake.  It was windy and I almost blew in, but the librarian saved me:

Then we went down a country road.  I navigated from the dashboard:

And there I met someone who must have been my relative, because his name is Kitty Kitty.  He showed me how to roll on the dirt and scratch my back. 

 I remember Fatty Kitty enjoying this also, but a Woolly Kitty such as myself prefers not to get dirty, although I did enjoy hiding under the pepper plants.  I was as still and quiet as a squash.

But that was all a long time ago, and since then we haven't gone anywhere, and I am ready to be back in the office with Marilyn, who is my True Companion.  Soon, says the librarian, but first, I was part of the Holiday decorations.

and then...I met the New Creature.  He happened after they put the turkey in and before everyone came over to eat.  The librarian said he was a Woolly Mousekin.

He is very light, because there is nothing inside of him except catnip from Fatty Kitty's Memorial Garden.  Fatty Kitty was very partial to it, but since I am also Woolly, I decided not to bite the Mousekin.  Today the librarian brought him over to Molly's house and she didn't bring  him back.  I hope he is all right.  Since Fatty Kitty is not here, I feel responsible.  However, I have a funny feeling that Fatty Kitty would feel rather vampirish towards the Woolly Mousekin.  Or maybe that's just because I've been reading the Twilight series.  However, there is something about that Mousekin that makes me think Fatty Kitty would want to roll all over him, and you know how fat large Fatty Kitty was.  Is.  I meant IS.  Even though I haven't seen him, Fatty Kitty is still here.  The librarian knows it too.  I feel certain we'll be hearing from him sometime soon.

I am Molly

Bonjour, mes amis.  I am Molly.  You are meeting me because I have sent my companion away to France, with her Mother.  She needed a rest, poor thing.  What with the hiking, and camping, and a few desperate weeks of work, she was simply worn out.  Fatigued.  Which I would say in French but this foul Blogger has not the accent symbole.

En tout cas, I am here, at the home of le Fatty Kitty.  Fatty Kitty is, of course, dead.  Nevertheless, this is still his home, his domaine, no more so than when I repose in the garden which bears his name.

 

You see me on a small rock, which sometimes holds water, surrounded by the burgeoning catnip. and many squash which will never bear fruit.  I fear this librarian is no gardener.  However, the catnip is exceptional and that is all that really matters.

I spend my time in the usual manner: in repose upon my fur-lined bed

 

(I have a lovely view of the woodcutter who lives next door - so restful to watch others sweating and hauling and perhaps, swearing);

I also go for les aventures in the back yard.  There are trees, birds, squirrels, and a rival cat to amuse me.

I surprise my concierge by walking along the ground one moment, and the next instant I am...

 

vous voyez?

Eh bien, je dois partir maintenant.

J'aime le traducteur Google.

Until next time, mes amis.  Au revoir....