So I've just started work on learning Spanish. Estoy aprendiendo espanol. I have learned how to say hello for many times of the day, goodbye, how to ask how are you (polite and familiar), what's up, etc. Now, since I have no one to practice with, and certainly the lamest and smallest of vocabularies--I'm chasing the animals around the house, exclaiming Spanish at them.
I've decided that Juice Newton, being the oldest, rates Polite Spanish "Buenas noches. Como esta usted?"
Whereas the others, who are all hooligans & sneeze too much, rate the familiar: "Como estas tu?"
This is a relatively sad life I'm living. But I've never been convinced that Shitty Wok didn't originate in a Spanish-speaking household. Since I've never had much sway with him para ingles, perhaps I can finally have my Helen Keller moment in espanol? Or not.
Dear Buddy passed away today. He had been ill for quite some time, but took a sudden turn for the worse. We went for one last walk on a lovely cool day with a wonderful breeze & the shining sun. I love him and love him.
Early life, what a handsome guy:
Pics from his last car ride, got some good sniffs of the world:
At the vet's on a nice, heated blanket, ready to say goodbye.
Tired old boy. I'm glad I could provide him comfort and love. It wasn't long after this that our old Vet came in. Together we gave him final pats and reassurance--and within seconds he has passed away.
I got a hair clipping and wrapped it up in a little bit of white cloth, put it in a little ceramic container & lit a candle for him that night.
Has been MIA for a few weeks, but was back again last night. Last time she was here she bit my finger as I was taking a picture. I thought I'd inadvertently scared her away. So I'm very happy that she returned. Of course, as I was filling up the birdbath, she hopped into the bushes, but I'm hoping she'll return tonight.
Noodle is a naughty cat I wonder where her brain is at. Or rather where her soul might be, hers isn’t here that’s plain to see. One eye is large, the other small the 1st one doesn't see at all. She’s wild, mean and often bites. She tears my leg in unfair fights. She lays in wait and plots and stews and trips me up betwixt my shoes. She mean! I say and say again— she’s put me under mental stain. She scares the dog (deserves this not), she scratches him (when not she ought). And ought she not to make this mischief? She so small and short of midriff? She takes his bed (sleeps in the center): he who needs a bed much gentler. Then lurks upon the fridge so high and aims to maim the passer-by. So we who live here, live in fear. We hug our limbs about us dear. For any stray meat left unattended. Ends up needing to be mended. And yet…and yet… Yet, when she purrs and lets you run your hand through fur, there’s something settling, soft and dear that makes you love this kitty here.
Pumpkin was a friend's pet. This is a old poem I wrote for my (then) cat, many years ago:
Penny pounces; Penny purrs. She ejaculates her fur. Penny / Pumpkin's not a match, Penny could kick Pumpkin's ass. Penny's set for five o'clock except for times when she is not. When she is not she by the hour abuses all her catty power. To irritate until you shriek: "Alright! I know you want to eat." and stumble to the kitchen growling, amid crescendos of her yowling. You drop the kernels in her bowl. She purrs, assumes a sweeter role. She waits til you're asleep and then she starts her feeding game again.