In the annals of furry FUs, this: Big Orange. Biggie. Bigs. Aka our beloved bastard Biggles, not allowed on our kitchen-island counter. Says me, anyway. Biggles himself refuses to acknowledge this, despite our long-standing ritual of him climbing up, sometimes in blatant view of disbelieving humans, to investigate whatever — untended wet cat food being …
When I die, and everything I have seen thus far in life suggests this will happen, despite my best efforts to pretend that black-gowned bony fella with the scythe who keeps inching closer in my rear-view mirror is just a very persistent and poorly dressed itinerant wheat farmer with a moonlighting Amway gig, and everything …
Another outrageous act of terror, this time on foreign soil, in a lovely city of lovely people, a place I have always been so happy to have visited, in what now seems another lifetime ago. So in my trying to make sense of this new stupid waste of human life, I do not mean to …
Kittens. The plural of “kitten. To be more exact: kit·ten ˈkitn/ noun plural noun: kittens (see?) 1. a young cat (go with this definition; things go really wonky in No. 2). 2. stout furry gray and white moth, the caterpillar of which resembles that of the puss moth (again, No. 1; I know nothing of stout …
The roller-coaster ride of old pets, another dip, another rise. Took my dear old Bug boy in today to our outstanding vet office, East Carolina Veterinary Service, sure in that awful down-in-the-bones way it was over, or the start of over, and even the vet was bracing me for the worst of news. Old boy has …
So it’s well after midnight, and my dear wife has awoken more than once to alert me to this, as Total Dingbat Kitty with the big paws snuffles and snorts his way through sleep in the plush pillow valley between us, and the chipped wine glass sits cold and empty in the air-conditioned computer light …
So I’m in my kitchen doing kitcheny stuff, and my son, Luke, from the other room, starts banging out the drum part on the Jimi Hendrix gem “Crosstown Traffic,” on whatever version of Rock Band he’s wrapped up in today. And suddenly, there I am in my last angry years of high school, slumped down …
There’s just something about a bunny, apparently. As so many times before, as this morning, as I’m trying, vainly, to meditate, with enough focus issues without this to contend with, too: Our goofus half-hound Maggie goes absolutely batshit crazy over the sight of any of the little furry hoppers that call our part of the …
It is Friday, and I am married. To be a little more specific: Seven years ago on this day I surprised a delightful, beautiful, funny, tiny, mighty and obviously very gullible woman in a church in Grand Cayman with a proposal, a ring and a dapper island priest with a killer accent who was in …
SO IT’S LIKE this: Preparing to turn my stalwart four-paws companion of 12 years, my cat, Bug, my pal, the biggest fan of my singing, my eyeball, into a furry glow lamp to fry part of his bedeviling thyroid gland is frying every one of my own nerves as well. I joke like I think …