Bits & Pieces – 03-14-25

When we all received our first Covid checks, 12 hundred bucks I think it was, back around the time we started mainlining cleaning products and shining ultra violet lights up our asses according to the expert who knew all the sciency shit we needed to know to try and combat this new scourge of the planet, never even considering that WE might be the scourge in the first place and that maybe mother nature had finally figured out a “Fuck you” that didn’t involve great fires or great floods to put out great fires after great floods I bought a new computer.

I know, sorry, a bit anticlimactic there, but I bought a new computer, while sitting uncomfortably on a hot light bulb and feeling a bit lightheaded with a little blood on my tri-cep, to replace my old girl who was just limping along then, holding on to me only for the cat pictures and the power cord and asking that I please not forget her.

Don’t worry girlfriend, I said to her, I will transfer you into this new device and you will have a new life like some new freaky that is just around the corner. Then all the local wildlife started acting a bit wonky, repeating a lot of things that I sort of recognized from half-finished and half-baked things that I had started to write until I realized I was probably doing something wrong.

I mean, it might have just been me, but I don’t think raccoons spouting partial sentences of stuff I had only just started and almost only just remembered I wrote surely wasn’t quite right. Plus they also started taking breaks from their raccoon shenanigans and instead began hanging outside the convenience store with their right hand feets pressed bent kneed flat against walls with remembered cool cigarette wall leans.

Everything went swimmingly for a short while, for like 5 short minutes, until … well, they didn’t. It was then that I realized that of the 9 out of 10 Dells that are, from some old time’s old slogan, still on the road today, the internet and simple word document road, that mine had driven itself off into a ditch.

I weathered and gray haired and took naps (I’m old after all, so the naps were welcome) and I waited for little Delly to catch up with me.

It didn’t happen.

So now I am kind of back at square one as I have, again, bought a new computer, a one that I’ll figg’r how to pay for on Tuesday with an owed hamburger and a one that I am sure will lead me into the promised land of a new PC or laptop in this case, one that actually works with speed and efficiency and doesn’t have me windexing my internal organs for any reason.

Even now though, I am reticent to preach too loudly of the joys of something new that works as it should but I am still excited, like a little kid, and I even started smoking again against a satisfied propped pillow like in a movie (no I didn’t do that) and texted a couple of best friends of my joy, even sending them a picture of BellCrick (the registering of this new wonder asked me to name it … that’s what I gave … BellCrick though I know that sounds like a stream somewhere in Appalachia that don’t take too kindly to the new fangled of ya’lls and ya best watch yawselves

But I was still excited.

Ok, so a pic from a new computer land, a world of speedy wonder now and no longer a halted mystery as to when shit might actually open and stop having me teach innocent cats human words they should never have to learn.

Ok, heavenly horns you ready?

What?

Jesus … (sigh) … Larry are you ready on the heavenly horns?

For what?

Are you high again Larry?

Ummmmm … we’re in the clouds Bill, yeah I’m high

Fuck you Larry, no the horns of the big reveal?

Oh yeah, right, that … On it. Yo Stephens! Wake up, hit the horns!

What??

Ahhhh, son of a bitch (muttering …sometimes ya just gotta do things yourself) … just go back to sleep Stephens. Here ya go Bill …

HORNS OF AN ANGRY TRAFFIC JAM

SHIT!!! Sorry Bill, wrong horns

Never mind Larry (muttering … don’t listen girls, close your innocent cat ears … useless motherfuckers rasser frasser) …

Bella: Innocent cat ears?! Dude, seriously?! I’ve been living with you for 13 years, word innocence is long, long lost on this cat.

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My sister, Beck, every holiday season, goes to Shutterfly with a boatload of pictures in hand and builds a calendar. She’s been doing this since even before Shutterfly existed, she just waited, patiently, builds a calendar as a “stocking stuffer” Christmas present for all of us, each month of the year replete with family photos, about six or seven or so per month.

It is such a welcome calendar relief as opposed to the last minute calendar gifts you search for at the mall to check off your last minute end of list lazies at the kiosk at the bottom of the escalator “Oh, I’m sure cousin Janine would love this one of puppies or Uncle Frank would like this one of frogs, or maybe long lost cousin Constance who you just discovered wasn’t actually dead and would be a new guest at Christmas dinner, this one of “Fight Clubs from ‘Round the World” would fit her present bill as you had heard rumors.

No, my Sis puts these together every year and to tell ya the truth it is the one gift that I look forward to the most. It is the one that truly just keeps on giving, every month, for a whole year, and I don’t look forward, instead waiting on monthly surprises of the reminders of fun and family and friends and for this year, as you look up to your right at your desk, you find your Overlord, Jillian in the Month of March (a band name there if there ever was one).

Yes Overlord Jillian, I believe in you in Overlord Jillian, can you stop looking at me like that Overlord Jillian please, your mocking, scrunchy lipped scrutiny of this simple man is most unwelcome and unwarranted Overlord Jillian. NO, I did NOT do something stupid … well, not this time.

All hail the Overlord!!!

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Started my day earlier than usual today, around 5am, a Friday, a one where I couldn’t sleep and just said fuck it and peeled a Cricket the Cat off my chest and, after I showered and got set, I grabbed a pair of of cargo shorts from last Spring/Summer. Let’s just say that if I had attempted to wear them for an entire day I would have been singing in a higher pitch by the end of it.

They no longer fit, not by even a mile or a pants size or two or three by even a three mile couple of hundred feet. I really, as per my last post, need to do some walking, at least, just start.

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Went to Ocean State Job Lot for some new shorts then, armed with the realization that my old has caught up with me, that I need to get my fat ass out of the house and do a walking circuit or two around the neighborhood on a regular basis. Maybe even say Hi to people and pet their dogs along my way.

My sister has three cats, one of which is Rikki who I call “Chunky Pants” a furry, wobble wobble walk wobble wobble walk wobble wobble furry bowling ball with the head of a cat who has now said to me, with her upwards look  “That Chunky Pants shit ain’t really all that funny anymore now is it Mister? And I am a lady thank you, don’t be talking about my weight!”

Oh, Ocean State also had some sneaks, just past the foreign crackers and foreign fruits and nuts and just before the rugs. And it does some fine rugs by the way, Ocean State does, but never ones large enough to roll a body into so you know they are legitimate, at least I don’t think so, but, to be safe I’m not really gonna check. But the sneaks? They’re London Fog, whodaknew? I mean I could make deals on bridges in WWII or Cold War flicks for state and military secrets not only in a trench coat and but in cool (ugly) kicks as well? Nice!.

I’ll assume that London Fog also sells fedora’s to complete the look. Have to keep my eyes open for that.

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Stopped into Dollar General earlier for some sponges and Tums, industrial lubricant and Heshey’s kisses (hey don’t judge plus I was just kidding, I didn’t buy Tums) and to check the latest in their dollar aisle and remembered that they have pillows, figured I could use some new ones, as who couldn’t use some new pillows, those sleep stains of your sweaty ass head could surely use a pillow upgrade, especially for cats to argue over.

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My breakfast, or dinner or lunch always involves some reading, usually anything just for some words that are strung with meaning and to stay on top of things and are often found in the opinion pieces at the Washington Post, so many good ones there, once anyway, before Jeff Bezos has his plan of acquiescence to the King come to to fruition which just pisses me off but also scares the bejeesus, whatever or whoever the hell bejeeus is, out of me at the same time.

“How have we come this close?” I say while also noting what a self serving and evil prick our extra President is as a side note, though it’s always good to have a backup, I guess, and a one that would present a pretty interesting dynamic should this now actual President suddenly give heart stop way courtesy of those quarter pounders of his from Secret Service runs, in the middle of the night, and leave us with a temporary Christmas-like reprieve come that morning.

Oh, to dream.

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Checked Neatorama, as I always do for a bit of a 10 minute break, a site highly recommended by the way for just such, if you didn’t already know, and came across a band, Analog Society, who it seems are pretty darn good at mashups but who also have this cool ass tune and cool ass video and leave me this perfect cool ass spot to get out of here before I get upset at my last point (and it has horns and a really pretty girl who can just belt it!!)

What Overlord!? I was just noting pretty and cool horns and pipes. Give me a break will ya!?!?

Analog Society “Feeling

Cheers all,

(and a shout to my friend Steve, no not a me Steve but a Steve not me who gave me an assist here, you know who you are, now live with it … )

Crazy Cat Lady Guy Cat Tips Guide – Tip #354

Crazy Cat Lady Guy Cat Tips Guide – Tip #354

Scene set: Back in August of last year I moved out of a roommate situation that I had moved into out of a solo living situation that I moved out of into that roommate situation that I then needed to move out of, quickly, with a case of new roommate buyer’s remorse, back in said August into my current situation which is still roommatey but better roommatey, family roommatey plus I get text updates of the goings on and goings about at the house from my Sister and sometimes my nephew, Matt.

It’s almost always exclusively cat pictures. No, it’s ALWAYS exclusively cat pictures except for that one time that Matt sent me a picture from his back pocket … never realized how dark and blank and shapeless back pockets really were. It was almost eerie, a bit chilling, such a void and it spoke to the meaning of man or even him possibly just forgetting where his phone was and sitting on it.

/////

Ok, timeline

Fall 2017- Spring 2024 – solo living, great pad, cats (fluctuating #) upstairs (my apartment) and downstairs (landlady’s house) dogs downstairs (quite a wonderfully barky number – landlady’s house) very vocal and cool bird (downstairs – landlady’s house)

Almost Christmas 2023 – young woman decides, in a busy three lane roadway, with she in the middle lane and me in the left, that she suddenly needs to be on a side street across that left lane without looking as apparently whatever drew her to this sudden side street need turn was of the utmost importance and trumped the looking left. Though I don’t recall any signs for a tag sale, or yard sale, or garage sale, or flea market, or estate sale or whatever sale might have been in wait, the only real reason for such a turn, with signs stuck into yards on thin metal prongs, it was enough to drive me off the road just before this side street almost into a retaining wall of what looked to be a very nice home, with surely very nice folks, nice family, with maybe their own cats and dogs and a bird.

Example, by the way, of just that that one seeming “nothing” thing that can throw shit in a bad whirl and force you to scramble.

Post almost Christmas 2023 and now into 2024 – Sudden new car payment, increased insurance payment, “Sorry sir, but hindering some possibly great deals at a tag sale, or yard sale, or garage sale, or flea market or estate sale has you in the wrong. Now pony up! And did you find out if there was anything cool there by the way? Have you kept in contact with the young woman?”  

I could no longer swing the rent with new $$$ additions and never got the young woman’s name to see if she had found something worth the side street turn to satisfy the insurance. Maybe some plates and tea cups and tea cup plates (those with that little tea cup indent) that were almost a complete set, though a number were chipped, or that painting of dogs playing poker that was an original and had her on Antique Road Show gushing

April 2024 – July 2024 – Roommate situation, aforementioned roommate remorse.

After some finaglin’ and figgur’n and damning my misfortune of missing that once in a lifetime set of almost complete plates and tea cups with their own cute little indent plates and original dogs playing poker prints I found a better sitch, as the kids might say…

August 2024 – Current day

Got a text from my Sis earlier, that roommate of my new better roommateyness of Bella, and not some disturbing black void from Matt’s back pocket, but of Bella actually being in the living room, upstairs, in my new landlady’s house.

Bella, for her 13 years now, has always been a just “Me” kinda girl and could get a little freaky at anyone other than me. It wasn’t always that way but she has warmed to this new situation and has even let the sis and the nephew reach a hand and grab a pet and maybe has even said “Dad, I love ya but …”

She apparently had been welcomed to the stage of the Schenectady City Kitty Hall to much fanfare and even with a smoke machine with a grand entrance of some humidifying menthol vapors (beck has had a bit of a persnickety cough lately)

So Crazy Cat Lady Guy Tip # 354?

I you ever find yourself in a situation where your sister sends you a picture of your antisocial cat being a rock star in a living room upstairs after a multiple change of living situations, in less than a year and the regret of missing some possibly great deals at a tag sale, or yard sale, or garage sale, or flea market, or estate sale but still finds herself to rock her band of Bella Bell and the Unblinking Stares know that you are not alone.

Bella: Shut up Steve! Bringing down the house here!!”

Tips #’s 342-348

tip # 349

tip # 350

tip # 351

tip # 352

tip # 353 a refresher

Loud or Not

Been a bit of a, I won’t say weird, but weird week (Jesus, those pipes doing pipe things in old houses sound like someone was just finishing up a shower upstairs) though I’ve surely heard weirder in other times, the usual solitary ones, in other old houses, but I have been in this one alone since Tuesday (and who the fuck is in the shower? Beck didn’t warn me of any old haunts like someone died in this place but just wants to stay clean in the limbo life and thus the great deal she got) just me and the cats, mine and hers “No Arthur you are not going out, I don’t care which door you sit at, that shit is not happenin’. You ain’t goin’ out. I will NOT be accomplice to you being an Arthur that is no longer an Arthur before Beck comes home! I already announced to you, days ago, that while I’m the new Momma cat guy ’round here you are a house cat!”

My sis, Beck, took off on Tuesday earlier this week, along with nephew Matt and Beck’s guy Buck whose last name is Rogers, he was a pilot, and they called him “Buck”, Buck Rogers, get it? that’s just cool, to see my other nephew, Jake, graduate from basic in the Navy and be all Mom proud amid coughs and sniffles and frog throats like the devil had found a voice and trips to the Walgreens cold and flu aisle before she left, damned if she wasn’t going to be allowed to cough anything up on him other than tears of that said pride. “No Jake, my tears of joy are just a little gloopy, sticky green is the color of love, you’ve made me so proud!”

And he did and he does.

But the weird was the silence. I’ve grown so accustomed now, new, over the last six months or so, to the loud of the garage door announcing me when I come home to Beck in the kitchen doing a Beck kitchen with pots and pans and loud smells, to the loud of Ricki, aka chunky pants, if a bowling ball were covered in tortoise cat fur and had a head, meowing at me in her smoker sounding kinda way when I open the door to the house from out the garage hoping for a treat from this guy, while Beck reminds that Cricket the Blind was doing her loud Cricket meowls from downstairs earlier, calling for me, to the loud jingle of collars of Sephira running away from me and Arthur just staring at the interloper, who might or might not let him out whatever door he keeps sitting at with an equally loud jingly collar, but there was a kind of silence the last few days and it was a bit jarring.

I mean, the loud of jingly collars and smoker cats was still loud around the place but it was a bit muted, subdued, minus that Momma human cat or a nephew to hold Arthur like a sack of beans until a squirm’s gleeful angry meow says “enough”

There is also that this coming week is the one where we lay my mom to rest “Oh, bloody hell Stephen will you all just get on with it already!” after she passed away a couple of weeks ago now with us on hand, almost, Matt, Buck and I, but Beck? She was the true witness of time passed with an Ok allowed thankful exhale.

And I don’t even know what to wear, well, I do, but I really need to bring that suit out of a storage bin and air it out or maybe even buy something new, fresh. Now that is a daunting thought as I don’t really do clothes, not well anyway.

But Jake looked fantastic and picture proud in a text from Beck of him having survived to get to shiny shoes and a tie perfect Navy collar and hat you could roll a cat ball around for some fun. I sent a dearest of friend a pic of him in the midst of our radio show prep together in his blues … is that what they call them in the Navy, blues? I’m just guessing as I have no clue, but she said it made her want to cry as she saw that he was the “IT” in his proud and his shiny shoe’s cat ball spin hat stance.

But this silence of a Beck home, it is hers, I just live here at her pleasure, with of course some managed litter boxes and feedings of her gang in her absence, cracked cans under cat noses, a thing I do with Bella and Cricket, that seems to have ingratiated me a bit as a new, to assure that they are cat seafood stinky enough to pass muster for cat consumption and also a couple of bucks to pay my way, but this silence? This particular silence? It was new and I didn’t like it.

I have spent so many recent years receding from sight and sound and something about furies that I forgot how much I like loud, even though I did do loud at my most recent spot before here, sometimes even a howling combine of multiple dogs that would just make me laugh at their off key song to the hills and perk a Bella ear but I played that off with headphones or just a bit of volume on the tube, but this loud that has been lacking here? It’s different. Even Arthur agrees as he has found himself at my feet while Mom is away to grab a belly at the washer/dryer for fresh sundries and even brave a Bella nose while just wanting to hear me talk to him.  

Beck will be home tomorrow, Arthur will forget that he looked for me, though I hope not, Sephira will skitter and zoom under or on top of beds away (though she does mind me and gladly’ll take a quick pet when she is not zooming if she wishes … she is a bit of a Diva) Ricki will always sound like she wants me to run to the convenience store for a pack of Reds and I will get back to true loud silence. With company. I WILL like that.

Mom will get laid to earth for that true silence and I will cry quietly, again “Oh Hell’s Bells Stephen, enough with the drama. We had a good run, this Mom and Son thing right?”

“Now, just go tend to those cats of yours, yours and Becks, and grandsons, just get back to being loud in your quiet way along with your sister”

“Gotcha Ma”

New Year’s Eve, Stinky Joe and “For the Love of Benji”

(a silly sort of stream ramble)

Now I don’t know about you all but I didn’t really have anything in mind for this New Year’s Eve, very much unlike New Year’s Eve’s from recent years past where I, at best, have ended up panhandling on a street corner in the morning or busking with no discernable talent or instruments for enough money for a train ticket back upstate and maybe a new pair of pants after a night I can barely remember to, at worst, panhandling on a street corner in the morning or busking with no discernable talent or instruments for enough money after a night I can barely remember for a train ticket back upstate and maybe even a USED pair of pants AND shoes (used or not).

But no, however much I will miss those New Year’s Eve’s that had turned into an annual tradition and time spent with old acquaintances, including Stinky Joe (rest in peace old friend) and the jangly collar of his long dead dog, Stanky John (though I never had the pleasure) and also proved to be a pretty good side hustle, with or without any discernable talent, though the panhandling helped, I decided to go in a totally new direction this year.

Now get this, and I know you’re gonna say “Whoa!! Dude, bring it down a notch there bucko!!!”, but I thought to time my laundry to have the ding of the dryer hit just a few minutes before midnight and then put on clean, fresh, warm jammies for the ball drop (yes I said jammies … don’t judge, it’s a new year … turn corners in your better than thou judgements will ya? plus they were only 7 bucks at Ocean State Job Lot and I LOOOOVE sportin’ a great buy) while sitting in a bed made with clean, fresh and warm sheets and watch another movie eventually with maybe even a cat on a lap, still.

My lord, the wild, crazy of old men.

Though I will surely miss the thought of panhandling on a street corner in the morning or busking with no discernable talent or instruments for enough money for a train ticket back upstate after a night I can barely remember and maybe a new pair of pants as I melt away into the comfort of new, clean, warm jammies and sheets I will at least be able to check a movie or two off of my list, and Jesus, we all could do with checking some off huh?

So many friends recommend so many things where you reply “Yeah, that one is on my list” to at least make them feel like you still share some movie interests and that they have done a good job with their latest recommendation added now to your list until that list is longer than your arm and even a leg combined or maybe even both of both until you just trip and crumble under the weight.

This is just that time.

And yah know, maybe I’ll even watch something in memory of Stinky Joe and Stanky John’s jangly collar. They were always going on about “For the Love of Benji” one that has always been on my list since the mid 70’s.

I told you this shit was long.

Rest in Peace Stinky Joe.

Stinky Joe “You already said that … now have you watched “For the Love of Benji” yet?

Ok, you’re weirding me out now Joe.

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Patrick (Christmas cat song)

Well it’s that time of year for this one again, an annual holiday tradition now for me to post it (if a third year running is enough to constitute “tradition”) if for no other reason, than, as a crazy cat lady guy, I just really like it.

Though I did include it recently in a post with a few other tunes, the fun song stories of my hapless friends Stevie and Tommy and Stevie’s not so hapless little brother Billy, this one needs it’s own singular post.

it’s fun, it’s catly and it’s Christmasy.

Nuff said.

It came from a Facebook post of a friend, Linda, a couple of years ago and her cat, Patrick, from a line of hers in that post that said, with him sitting in front of some Christmas pretty decorations, “It’s beginning to look a lot like Patrick”

I went with it and had a blast.

Cheers Linda and to you Patrick, again, you damn good looking Christmas cat.

‘Tis the season Patrick.

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Patrick

It’s beginning to look a lot like Patrick

Everywhere Pat goes

Take a look in his snug cat bed laying his Patrick head

With maybe a mouse or two under his toes

It’s beginning to look a lot like Patrick

Fur on every rug

Till the monster is need brought out

To suck away all hair’s clout

While Patrick runs no doubt

.

An extra can can of food or some cat nip for mood

Is his wish as any cat would

Ball with a bell and a knock it to hell

Is new wish across some hardwood

.

And Mom and Dad do funny dance to not step on cat’s pants

.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Patrick

Everywhere Pat goes

There’s a tree that is soon to rise

Each branch a new cat prize

The hanging kind just waiting for a fall

.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Patrick

Snoozing underneath

And what brings that slumber best

Are the lights not put to test

With Christmas cats now at rest

.

(break)

.

It’s beginning to look a lot like Patrick

Runnin’ cross the floor

To every cat’s Christmas dream

And the presents that will be

Box torn paper all a-skew

.

Sure it’s Patrick once more … time to puke, time to puke it’s Patrick’s time to puke.

mmm … mmm

Christmas Kitten (poem)

So a prompt for the holidays, an Etheree poem (no, I had no clue either) focusing on Christmas trees and themes of such. The full explanation of an Etheree poem and examples and the rest is in the link to the prompt from dVerse Poets here, An Etheree Tree, but it is …

… write in the form of this Etheree which is 10 non-rhyming lines graduating, per line, from 1 syllable in line 1 to 10 in line 10. The only addition to the form was two extra lines of only 2 syllables each at the end.

Now, not the original intent of the Etheree of course, but if you then center the 10 lines on the page and add the two extra lines for the tree trunk bottom you get the shape of a Christmas tree, which, well, just looks cool

It made me think of a favorite couple of pictures from so many years ago of Cal, the kitten, 2004 or so, in a house I shared with my sister and brother then.

Cal, one of the 5 kittens that were kittened to us by a pregnant cat (my brother named her Mia) who just showed up at our back door one day looking for a place to possibly stay. She had surely seen my Benny in his Benny to and fro’s around neighbor’s yards and flower beds and through his cat door and thought to herself in a wanting way, “these are good cat folk and this is just the place to lay my head” and proud, expectant belly in a toweled cardboard box world with lots of human hovering and eventual kitten squirming. She was also the Mom of my beloved “Shoes”, the Big Orange, who I would eventually write of quite a lot over his 11 too short years.

Well, this was from the first Christmas with Cal and Shoes (after we found homes for the others) and I thought they would be the perfect pictures for this.

Christmas Kitten

I

kitten

can’t see me

I hide in glow

of lights and baubles

pictures cute found subject

broken heirloom sighs know blame

but can’t hold true meaning account

Christmas purr instinct as a cat will

until climb down to plush skirt and cat nap

warm blinks

cat dreams

Oh … and since I mentioned it, this is one of that cardboard box that came with all the human hovering.

I Alone … and Cricket the Cat (poem)

New Quadrille prompt, a dVerse poem of just 44 words with a word to include . This time around, in the prompt from Lisa, the word is “with”. And the 44 word count does not include the title by the way.

Well, I thought to one of my cats and my well practiced solitude.

I Alone … and Cricket the Cat

I alone

mostly

with intent

No sympathies fished

.

Alone  

with company

only of a blind/deaf cat for dinner

and unknowing muse

of word’s dessert

.

Alone  

I embrace Cricket’s solitude

as my own

with only laps and words

Needed for us to feel

in tandem

Revisit: Of Radio Engineers, Cat Crunchy Paper & Possible Spaceships (audio post)

Ya know, being happily single, unencumbered by singleness allows me time to explore further the reasons I am said happily single. There’s no pillow talk, no equal toes and ankles under sheets, no sidestepping feet in a morning’s perfectly choreographed dance in the kitchen, no phone calls during the day just to check in and feel not alone, no shoulders for heads on bad days, no shared shows on the tube, even if you only watch bits of them while wishing to eat your own foot or at least as much popcorn or any other snack as possible just so you can keep taking breaks to get more … “No, you keep watching … don’t pause for me … I’ll catch up”   

“Can’t you just fill a big bowl?”

Ok, SOME drawbacks (other than that show that you really don’t like), but the happily single, while minus some together benefits, does allow me time to just sit (big fan) and thought and wonder and wear out the A’s and S’s and D’s on my keyboard (apparently – and another thing to figgur entirely) and sometimes re-visit old pieces of my brilliance

“Brilliance? Really?”

“What?! I can’t imagine things? I mean, this is MY blog right? My own fancies?”

Anyway, in my single, “I gots the time”, I went back to some of my “brilliant” things this weekend for a re-read or a re-listen and reminded myself how much I like this post (among others – though this is the one I’m gonna stick you with right now).

It’s nothing special really, I have others that are better but this one just makes me smile.

An audio post about engineers, my Bella, crunchy paper and possible spaceships.

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April 1, 2023

Thought I would take to doing a read of this one from early March and have a little fun with it while I was at it.

Downstairs at the station earlier this week was a recent package for Tom, one of our radio engineer guys, possibly the tallest radio engineer guy on the East Coast which means absolutely nothing here, he’s just pretty tall, thought I’d mention it.

It was a big box, with lots of smaller boxes of surely important and expensive radio equipment stuff, smaller boxes of radio thingy’s and whatchamacallits that Tom would recognize in an engineer way that would eventually be replacements for old thingy’s and whatchamacallits or be completely new additions, or maybe even be part of the controls on the bridge of a spaceship Tom was building on the station’s dime on the down low to get him the hell out of here, but conduits to buttons that I would probably at some point push (or not push – depending on the yellow post-its with pointed arrows that say “Frankenberry, Don’t Push This”).

Noted I thought, but I just used the word “eventually” earlier as to installation of all this so I was good for the moment to not concern myself with personal yellow post-it notes just yet, but notice instead the more important aspect of what was also in this big box, with the lots of smaller boxes of surely important radio equipment stuff, the smaller boxes of thingy’s, and whatchamacallits that Tom would recognize and come with soon post-it warnings for me (though I might try to stow away on his spaceship to get the hell out of here as well – hopefully he brings post-its, I mean, it’s a spaceship … waaaay more important to note buttons I shouldn’t push out there … in space … ya know, where spaceships go … wouldn’t want to accidentally send us hurtling into a sun or something because that particular “send you hurtling into a sun” button didn’t have a simple post-it note telling me NOT to push it).

But also in the big box? Brown packing paper, lots of brown packing paper, or more famously, for me and my Bella, “crunchy paper”.

I was excited! Crazy cat lady guy excited! Been a while since I had refreshed the crunchy paper, the old paper rolled around on and slept on scratched on and cat puked on and cat toy played on so much by my little Bella that it was now nothing more than cloth soft paper tatters.

I asked Tom if he thought he might need any of this “crunchy paper” for possible returns and if not … could I have it … for my cat.

He looked quizzically, annoyedly and in his usual “why are you bothering me Frankenberry?” kinda way, the way he often does when looking at me (he most probably being the one most understandably responsible for those yellow post-it notes in the first place) and said “Sure?” hoping I would just leave his office as quickly as possible.

//////////////////////////////////////////

I thanked Tom earlier today for my Bella, told him Bella said I must, and even showed him pictures, like any crazy cat lady guy worth their catnip would, that he feigned interest in like a real trooper instead of just looking at me again quizzically, again annoyedly and again in his usual “why are you bothering me Frankenberry?” kinda way and said “You’re welcome?” hoping, once more, that I would just leave his office as quickly as possible (got a spaceship to work on here Frankenberry!! And don’t you dare try to stowaway, don’t know if post-its stick so well in space!).

Here we go Girlfriend. New crunchy paper Bella. And maybe even a space adventure or two.

Tom says “You’re welcome” by the way.

“Crunch Crunch Crunch”

… and lift off.

Possible Sniffers (flash fiction)

A new flash fiction prompt from Melissa, to write something from this pic.

“Mom, stop, we’ve talked about this, it’s a different day. Artie and I have told you, plus you know I can’t, I have messed up insides, we just can’t, just deal with Chrissy and Semblance (of a cat) and Penelope.

Now are you good?

Ok, I’ll check in with you every five minutes … just kiddng … every ten.

Well, we’re off, I’ll bring you back some seashells and sand glass”

Dad was a prick.

There was a time where Mom and Dad were good, for like 5 minutes, I remember them actually, specifically, each one, tick tock, he kissed her on her forehead and seemed genuine on this forehead just before he had made breakfast and wished us well at the bus stop, where we dreamed he might even start his fancy car in eventual winter and let us sit, but … tick tock …

Mom loved him with all her heart, she didn’t know anyone or anything else other than him and he knew that in his running around.

“Mom, relax they are cats, now here are the things you can and cannot do with cats …”

I had a list.

Jesus, is that what I have come about? Explaining to my mother the taking care of cats and making lists?

I met Artie just out of college, he was the boss guy’s son at my new possible gig’s small box store but dreaming bigger. Maybe a spot where my new degree would matter and give me an in but …

“Oh hey, Marcie, where are those shoes you were wearing?”

“Oh hey, Marcie, where is that blouse from Tuesday’s interview, with the low flowers?”

“Oh hey, Marcie, we’re going out for drinks after work“

Then Mom said, for the war effort, they have good sniffers, cats, might find bombs, don’t tell your tell your Dad though and I got them, your “kids” by the way, especially Semblance (I love her) they’ll be fine. We just have a thing on Tuesday … Semblance and I, don’t worry.

Oh, and fuck him, he doesn’t like cats and how much does lyme cost these days by the way?

To Pee Or Not To … I Didn’t Pee (Cujo the Cat song) – A Revisit

The other day as I was checking out my Blog stats at WordPress, the platform I use for the Attic and one of the cool things about WordPress, the ability to see your sites “traffic”, I noticed that an older parody tune of mine had recently gotten a couple of unexpected downloads/listens.

Now I am always curious as to how some viewers might suddenly discover something of mine (a tune/old post) from some time ago. I mean it’s not like I’m any good at remembering to add tags to my things because I’m not, hell, tags to me are just the things I always forget to take off of new pants or shorts or T-shirts until around three in the afternoon the first time I wear them, so I can’t chalk it up to that and other than doing a dive into the blog (which has happened where someone, maybe the first time visiting the Attic, will check out a number of things all at once before running away screaming with their hair on fire) I don’t really know how they may come across the older stuff, pretty randomly it seems.

Another older post of mine, from April of ’22 for example, even pops up on a regular basis, regular enough that it has become my most viewed effort, a fun thing I wrote about seeing the Angel of Death in the middle of Route 9 in Poughkeepsie that I also did an audio post of (here, I’ll save you the trouble of randomness or deep dives, Angel Of Death: End Of Days, Route 9, Poughkeepsie??? )

No complaints mind you, I don’t care how folks come about it or them as long as something is maybe getting a new eye or earball or two. I mean that’s why I do this right? Why I have a blog in the first place? Other than the sanity saver that it is?

The older parody tune, from March of 2021, was a tune I did for Celie’s cat “Cujo” and from an idea of hers as a matter of fact. I have written of this often but when I first moved into the one bedroom place above a three car attached garage back in November of ’17 (though I moved out recently) I was immediately astounded and overjoyed by the sheer amount of fur that were furring in and around Celie’s haven of said fur and even feather as well.

Now besides, when I was first there, usually being greeted in the driveway by “Blue” the big intimidating looking blue pit of all soft dogness after the big chested intimidation passed and amid the din of all the other dogs, I was also greeted by cats, four in particular. Bruce the coolest of cat fellas, the Big Lebowski, or Big LeBruceski of cats if you will, who ran the cat yard and house, Handsome, a cat with no more apt a name, Honey Bob Tail (who I would come to call “Boo”) the sweetest little rolly polly of a calico with, indeed, a bob tail and Cujo, a funny name for a cat I thought until he proved himself worthy of it. The first proof of worth for me? When I went to say hi with a pet and a rub of an ear after one of my arrivals home from work early in my stay while he was cat rolling around in driveway dust, as cats are wont to do, and he welcomed me with a bite of my palm halfway through my pettings of “hello”.

“Ok, Cujo … gotcha … and I get it now.”

Instant friends.

But Cujo, like Bruce, had a coolness about him (Honey Bob Tail was all sweetness and a bit of weight on your shoulder for the pick up and Handsome was just damn good looking so much so for girl cats to swoon) and Cujo and I became pals, sometimes with a new band aid or two like sharing friend wrist bands. He was also a bit of weight on the shoulder for the pick up but not because of the rolly or the polly like Honey Bob Tail, Cujo was quite lithe and long, but from the sheer fear that could accompany it (dude could take an eye from my shoulder I thought) but he liked shoulders, even stretched upwards on a knee for it … though briefly.

Anyway, Celie had mentioned to me a few years into my time there that someone, somecat, was peeing in the house and NOT properly, not in one of any number of litter boxes placed about the spot and that she had discovered through some fine detective work (cameras and an even caught in the cat act) that it was Cujo. She then said, and she knew of my parody tunes because I kept sending them to her whether she wanted me to or not, actually she probably would have preferred the “Not” because now you are just annoying me Stephen, especially the political ones, that I should try the chorus of Shaggy’s “It Wasn’t Me” because “It Wasn’t Me … I didn’t pee” had come to her when she heard the tune on the radio in her truck.

Brilliant I thought. But well, I also thought, I can’t just do something with only the chorus now can I? No self respecting song parodying guy would stop at just the chorus right? No, I don’t know the answer to that as I don’t know any other of these self respecting song parodying guys but, for the one I DID know? ME? That shit just wouldn’t meow. Gotta work the whole tune.

Now I miss Cujo and did for the longest time, still do, while I lived in that house of fur and feather after he, one day, just wasn’t around any longer, he was a dear friend lost and well, ’nuff said on that, and I didn’t want to revisit this tune of his for the longest time as I tried not think of the what may have happened (that’s a rabbit hole no pet person ever wants to go down in such a case). I just remembered the welcome homes and the pettings and the band aids and the kitchen counters helping me with the feeding of he and all his cat brethren on occasion (another story entirely, though one, ones, already well told) as he was just a really cool cat, a really smart, snarky, talky cat who I bonded with over hello’s and ear rubs and those occasional loving band-aids.

So thinking of Cujo again now, I thought to revisit some fun and some cat pee silly.

Cheers old friend.

It Wasn’t Me, I Didn’t Pee

Yo, Handsome … Open up man

What do you want Cujo?

Mom just caught me

Seriously?

I don’t know how

Where?

In the shower, you know

Man

I don’t know what to do

Well, say it wasn’t you

Alright

Celie came in and she caught me red handed

Peeing on the shower floor

Picture this, I’m a cat named Cujo

Who doesn’t litter box no more

How could I forget that she lived

On this very big house floor

Just right down the hall here

Till she was standing at the bathroom door

How could you forget that Mom’s the one who owns this villa

She’s got sixth senses that snap up on her pilla

You keep this up she’s gonna be your killa

She knows it’s you even got ya on camera

Before you were dumb and strolled off into the shower

These humans got tech to catch you any hour

Yeah that’s video your ass up on stovetop

You gotta say it wasn’t you to save you from the next stop

But she caught me on the counter (It wasn’t me)
Saw me peein’ on the stovetop (I didn’t pee)
Even saw me in corners (It wasn’t me)
Yeah she caught me on camera (I didn’t pee)
Saw scratches on the floorboards (It wasn’t me)
Smelled the smell that made her nose curl (I didn’t pee)
Heard her screams when she discovered (It wasn’t me)
I couldn’t stay so I took off

Celie came in and she caught me red handed

Peeing on the shower floor

Picture this, I’m a cat named Cujo

Who doesn’t litter box no more

How could I forget that she lived

On this very big house floor

Just right down the hall here

Till she was standing at the bathroom door

Act like nothing happened, that it’s no big deal  

Walk your Cujo walk, denial in your cool

See if you can sing another cat’s fault song

Maybe Sunny with who you don’t get along  

You’re gonna be banished from house for real

You’ll be pushin’ daisies soon for just this deal

You’ll be out garage, house life won’t last

Get caught again and 9th life will pass  

But she caught me on the counter (It wasn’t me)
Saw me peein’ on the stovetop (I didn’t pee)
Even saw me in corners (It wasn’t me)
Yeah she caught me on camera (I didn’t pee)
Saw scratches on the floorboards (It wasn’t me)
Smelled the smell that made her nose curl (I didn’t pee)
I heard the screams when she discovered (It wasn’t me)
I couldn’t stay so I took off

Celie came in and she caught me red handed

Peeing on the shower floor

Picture this, I’m a cat named Cujo

Who doesn’t litter box no more

How could I forget that she lived

On this very big house floor

Just right down the hall here

Till she was standing at the bathroom door

Gonna blame some other

For the smell that I’ve caused

Gotta be some other cat who goes and pees against doors

I will tell her that maybe it’s because of the dogs

I’ll just make sure they don’t catch me

When they figure mad cause

Celie came in and she caught me red handed

Peeing on the shower floor

Picture this, I’m a cat named Cujo

Who doesn’t litter box no more

How could I forget that she lived

On this very big house floor

Just right down the hall here

Till she was standing at the bathroom door

Celie came in

She caught me red handed

It wasn’t me I do say

I didn’t pee I will say

Celie came in then

She caught me red handed

It wasn’t me

Meow