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In honor of my mother's birthday, a few photos. Mom liked wearing hats. This photo is evidence that she started her hat wearing penchant at just a few months of age.
Mom's high school graduation portrait. Taken in black and white, this one 8 x 10 print was hand-tinted. She was a porcelain-skinned beauty, likely the only make-up she is wearing is a touch of red lipstick.
What don't I love about this photo! Mom is in Grandpa's lap, she and her sister Mamie in adorable matching dresses and Mary Janes. I love Grandma's dress and shoes as well. And Grandpa! What a rakish, handsome fellow he was! Taken in 1933, probably a family shot taken for Christmas greetings. The two copies I have are actually printed as postcards.
Here's the routine. I decorate the tree with lights and various ornaments. Then the cats knock the ornaments off the tree and chase them about until they end up somewhere they can no longer reach. Or until they become bored with chasing them. Whichever comes first. At some point I become weary of placing the ornaments back on the tree and simply begin to put them away. This year, just for fun, whenever I found one of these Victorian floral balls lying about I popped them in the top of one of these candle holders on the coffee table. It has been days and the cats have not touched them! Neither of them has even attempted to knock these decorations off of their highly accessible perches! Based on this surprising development I have made a major decision concerning next year's holiday decor. Bypass the tree and place the ornaments directly on the coffee table. So there.
Newton enjoying the dulcet tones of the banjo, as played by Reid. The banjo seems to have a similar effect to this. Such cultured cats.
Now that we have arrived at that awkward stage between the Mayan NonApocalypse and the looming Fiscal Cliff, it seems we have been invaded by a tiny version of the Borg. We will be assimilated. Resistance is futile. Wait!! Maybe the Borg have already been inside the Washington DC Beltway. This explains so much.
This is Hammer. Hammer is Michael and Liz's puppy. Michael is holding a slice of my famous lemon cranberry bread. Hammer is demonstrating her immediate-butt-to-floor-that-looks-like-food-please-share-with-me-because-I'm-adorable stance. Michael did not share but instead took the opportunity to snap an adorable puppy pic. Yes. My lemon cranberry bread is just that good. It trumps the adorable puppy. Life goes on.
These are the rules, fellas. Read. Commit to memory. Then, to the best of your ability, follow the goddam rules!
1. Do not, I repeat, do not, eat any of the various things about the house that were not designed for ingestion by felines. This includes, but is by no means limited to, wires, plastic bags, curling ribbon, rubber bands, plants and their parts (stems, flowers, leaves), holiday ornaments and packing materials, particularly those extruded thingys.
2. I cannot stress enough that you follow rule #1. But in the inevitable likelihood that you do not, have the decency to at least keep it down and at some point successfully poop it out. I already scoop out your litter box so at least this approach does not result in me having to do more cleaning.
3. Believe me, I like to keep things simple and would prefer not having to even consider writing a third rule. But since I love you miserable, furry little monsters I recognize that if you don't follow rule #1 and gobble up something that is either toxic to you or will not pass successfully through your cat gut resulting in a blockage I must allow for a regurgitory addendum. If you must barf up said item, please do so on the hard surface flooring where clean-up is most easily facilitated.
4. If rule #3 does not apply, please revert to rule #2. Even better, go back to #1.
5. I know that you are guys and a certain amount of Y-chromosome related behavior will be tolerated. This does not extend to any recreational peeing. Two litter boxes have been provided for this activity. Use them.
6. Feel free to rat each other out for not following these rules. Such behavior will be rewarded.
On the bottom shelf of the coffee table. After last week's Chick-Mas party. A ghost of Christmas Past.
