Catnapped, by John Ostrander
I love dogs. Most of my life, I’ve had at least one dog and often times two. Some have been wonderful, smart creatures and some were just thick as a brick. All were good companions and I have specific stories relating to each and they are bright in my memory.
All that said, dogs are a lot of work. It’s not simply the feeding – you have to walk them, no matter the weather, no matter whether they want to go out in that weather. They should be played with and exercised and they live for your attention.
I’m finding that, as I grow older, that I’m becoming more of a cat person. No, not like “Curse of the Cat-People” cat person. After our last French bulldog, Mojo, passed away, I’ve declined to get another dog. Maybe I need more exercise myself but I just wasn’t into walking a dog that much anymore. It was becoming work and that’s not fair to any dog.
So we now have two cats instead – Windermere, aka Windy, and Micah the Wonder Kitten. Very different in temperament and Micah has a story that I should tell you about some time; he really shouldn’t be alive. They suit me right now. They can be fun, affectionate, a little crazy, but there are also times when they go off and sleep somewhere and don’t seem to care what I’m doing.
Mind you, they also prompt me to do some of the most useless things that I do with my life. There are times when I have caught myself trying to explain the rules of the house to our two felines. It assumes that a) they know English, or b) they know what a rule is, or c) that they would care. I have patiently explained to them why they are not allowed up on the kitchen counters or why they should not dash right under my feet when I’m walking down the stairs. I’ve done this many times. They seem to be paying attention but I’ve discovered it’s only in hopes that I’m going to feed them. I’ve explained to them when mealtimes are but they don’t care about that, either. Like small human children, they have no concept of “later”. It is either “now” or “never.” Very binary.
Cats may understand “Don’t get up on counters” if they get wet when they do it. This can be done by the sink sprayer or with squirt guns that we have sequestered around the house. Windermere hates it although it doesn’t prevent her from trying to get up on the counters if she thinks I’m not paying attention. It simply means a sharp word will make her run for the hills. Micah, on the other hand, can get pretty wet and doesn’t seem to care. He just gives me a look as if I’m the one who is demented and appears to be asking, “And you did that – why?” (more…)

There’s a lot of buzz on the Internet this last week stemming from new Image partner Robert Kirkman’s video-taped manifesto calling for … well, I’m not exactly certain what
People are sometimes invited to my house. They’re never invited to my office. Ever. A cluster of clutter bombs go off in there with alarming regularity. My shutting the office off from public view is my tacit admission that the place is a hole.
