Tag Archives: funny

Cat Races

So apparently, my ten-year old son turned into a bookie this morning.  He decided to launch the first annual Mother’s Day Cat Races at our house.  We have three cats, he assigned himself, my daughter and my husband a cat to “train,” collected bets, which he wrote down on some kind of weird paper, and gave me the job of standing in the kitchen and shaking the cat food to get them to run.  For some strange reason, we all cooperated, and it was hilarious.


Bella, is a small, delicate little tortoise-shell kitty.  She is kind of hyper and loves my husband with a strange, obsessive intensity.  So Hubs was her trainer.


Blue is a huge, fat Garfield of a cat.  He is a gray and white tuxedo mutt who flops down at random intervals when hauling all that chub around gets to be too much.  The Girl was assigned this bundle of endless energy.

Tigger, the sink dweller

 Tigger is the latest rescuee who we found in a glass case at Petsmart.  He is orange and supposedly a Maine Coon, which based on his size (big, but not fat like SOME people) and luxurious hair seems to be accurate.  He is a momma’s boy, and is marginally afraid of my son who made himself Tigger’s trainer.

Since Tigger will run down the main hall of our house, but then makes a sharp right and hides behind the couch when he hits the family room, the edge of the family room was the finish line.  Monkey Boy downloaded a megaphone app on his iPad and made a big long announcement on it and a ready, set, go 3-2-1 thing and they were off.  As soon as I heard him say go, I started pouring food into their bowls.  Tigger, who wanted nothing more than to get away from my son, took off at warp speed, Blue who is always interested in food was hot on his heels and Bella, who is in love with Hubs, ran because she was initially startled and then turned back to look for her Daddy.  In the end, it was Tigger by a length and a duck behind the couch due to the horror of being held for a while by Monkey Boy and Blue of course, was the first one to the kitchen and the promise of delicious kitty kibble.

I came to several conclusions during this fantastic, new, annual Mother’s Day event.  First, my son is even more clever than I thought he was.  First, he chose the cat that is afraid of him and will do whatever is necessary to get away, figuring out that said cat would also be the fastest due to fear.  Second, my son also has a brilliant future as a business man or maybe a politician or organized crime boss due to his ability to scheme, take bets and generally get people to participate in things they don’t really feel like doing, but in the end they enjoy on some level.  Third, fear, or food, gets things done faster than love because the one in love with her trainer had no desire to leave him, only turn and gaze at him with adoration.

Now that the first annual races are done, I think we should expand and invite in other cats and trainers next year.  We could charge an entry fee and take a percentage of the bets for the house.  Awwww SNAP!!  Maybe Monkey Boy doesn’t have to be a crime boss all by himself!!  Is there such thing as The Godmother?  I can put my fingertips together and mutter “I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse,” just as well as Don Vito Corleone did.  Yessss, I can see it now, a Cat Race empire…

Happy Mother’s Day friends, be kind to one another 🙂

Sorry, But I Am NOT Sorry

We are bombarded daily by insincere apologies.  The latest one I’ve noticed, is the one by the clothing company H&M.  I have never been to H&M, I don’t even know if we have one in this neck of the woods.  I’d LIKE to go, because from what I have seen in their advertising, they have pretty good prices, but I digress.  Apparently, they are apologizing because the model they used in their recent bathing suit ad has a tan.  A “too dark tan.”  So the hell what?  Is their too tan model going to send me and my northern European ancestry skin to a tanning bed or to an unprotected side of the pool?  Ummm, no.  I am not stupid you see.  I know that if I am exposed to the rays of the sun for more than five minutes I start to turn red.  More than fifteen minutes, and it becomes a burn.  I’ll get brownish eventually, but everyone makes fun of my “tan.”  It has always been this way.  Even when I was a teenager and baked myself with my friend, slathered in Hawaiian Tropic Oil (code for good smelling cooking oil) on the roof of her father’s funeral home (that’s a whole separate story), I never got really tan.  I do not want skin cancer or even worse, >gasp< wrinkles.  Haven’t these offended people ever watched Dancing With the Stars?  Haven’t they ever heard of a spray tan?

Please don’t force people or businesses or entities or whatever to apologize for stupid crap.  I don’t care if your model is too tan or too skinny or too fat.  I don’t care if your model smokes or drinks.  I don’t care if you use a foreign or southern or hillbilly accent in your advertising, and believe me, based on my Dad’s side of the family, I should be offended by the hillbilly thing, but I’m not.  You see, I live in reality land where not everyone is nice or eloquent.  Sometimes, people say one thing and mean another, sometimes people say a mean thing and mean to be mean.  Frankly my dears, I don’t give a damn.

Also, politicians need to stop apologizing for what they did in high school, or for wearing an expensive shirt or getting an expensive haircut.  If they were bullies in high school, I’m sure they are getting theirs in Washington.  If they buy expensive stuff, good for them as long as they can afford it, they should get what they want.  I could care less what somebody else does.  If they want to apologize for something, I’m sure we could find a few things they should feel remorse about that actually affect us.

Movie stars, quit apologizing to me when you screw up.  Again, not my problem.  I’ll still go see your movies, as long as they don’t suck, if you’ve gotten a D.U.I. or something.  If you want to apologize, go home and apologize to your family.  Your bad behavior affects them, not me.  If you want to apologize to me, apologize for the crappy movies that you make and promise to make better ones.

So, I am NOT sorry that I don’t mow my grass every other day.  I am NOT sorry that I drive an SUV.  It’s big and tall and I’m borderline night blind, so I need it.  I am NOT sorry that I eat meat, or buy plastic or shop at Wal-Mart.  I AM sorry about some of the outfits I’ve seen at Wal-Mart, but  I can’t do anything about THAT.  I am NOT sorry that I make a poolside friend of mine sit under the umbrellas.  You know who you are and you know that I am doing you a favor.  Just because you have dark hair doesn’t mean you can’t get skin cancer.  I am NOT sorry that I let my kids watch TV or play video games or ride their bikes sans helmet.  If I am mean to you, it will be by accident and I WILL be sorry for that and I will tell you.

One other thing, all this vapid sorry-ness, makes me want to go to the companies that are forced to apologize because they have “offended” two or three people, and buy their crap just to be contrary.  So tonight while I am moon bathing with my equally pale friend Morticia, I think I’ll pull old H&M up online and see what kind of stuff I can buy from their sorry asses.

Have a wonderful weekend and be kind to one another 🙂