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Posts Tagged ‘cat’

My boss, the one who ate the Jolokia (aka Hot Pants) sent a few of us at work this video and asked us if we could somehow incorporate it into our instruments.

I am all for the effort.

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Oh thank God, they invented glow in the dark kittens. I was worried.

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( Thanks, Cracked.com … http://www.cracked.com/article_20829_5-amazing-magical-powers-created-by-simple-science_p2.html )

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h/t to Cruel Wife for finding a Steampunk Melody.

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Note: I would never arm my kitten in real life.

Note #2: I have no recollection of where she found this.

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h/t to Inscrutable Half-Breed for his find on carving a solid block of wood into a box of money.

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Read all about this insanity here.

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h/t to The Dude for one of the coldest blackest comics I have seen this week.

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Where did we leave off in the last installment?

We had just left the warm comforting bosom of our hotel in Madison, Wisconsin, I believe.

It was a morning full of promise.  The sun was out and it was a lapis sky (which only exists in the mind’s eye and on Kodak prints), the birds were chirping gaily (or so it was reported to me by Cruel Wife since I couldn’t and cannot hear a bird unaided if my life were to depend upon it), and in the distance, masked by the scent of trepidation from our near-prescient kitty, was the future-stench of bowels as-yet unloosed.

Stretching out before us was a crossroads of sorts.  Had we smelt our kitty more closely we might have turned south and kept going, stopping only when we hit the Gulf of Mexico.  Or, we might have turned north and fled to Canada, home of watery Canadian Bacon Beer, which should be called “ham beer”.  Had we fled to Canada the odds are quite high that we’d have turned around and come back for lack of interesting things to do there, but we might have gone the scenic route before fleeing towards the southern border.

But we did not smell our kitty more closely, and this changed our lives.

New Rule #8:  Always, always, always smell your kitty before embarking on a journey.

Because we did not smell our kitty and thus missed the prescient miasma about his furry personage, we chose the eastern, i.e. towards Michigan, road.

I would love to tell you the following:  That the Goose Lake State Wildlife area was beautiful, that Rock Lake was pristine and unsullied, that parts of Waukesha were quaint and that I had found a great hot dog joint there.  But I can’t tell you any of that because I’ve never been to those places.  I told a little white fib for theatrics earlier, because we did turn south at the crossroads in Madison but we only went as far as we needed to go in order to follow I-90 into Chicago.

What is sad about the route that we took is that I remember absolutely nothing about it beyond the intense fear we experienced.

They say that it is not uncommon to lose the memory of events leading up to an accident or a traumatic event.  It is here that things get a bit hazy beyond a 100 foot radius (the distance in which you just barely have time to say “OhJesusMaryMotherofGodIdon’twanttodielikethisandpleasekeepfromscreamingandshutthecatup” if you say it really really fast like I did, fifty or sixty times)

New Rule #9:  Drug the cat before entering Chicago unless it is in a crate in the back of the truck.

New Rule #10:  Drug the wife before entering Chicago unless she is in a crate in the back of the truck. Drugging the wife and putting her in a crate in the back of the truck is not an option that should be left unexplored.

New Rule #11:  Double up on Drixoral™ before entering Chicago so the Shadow People that you hallucinate can read maps and navigate for you.

We came southward on I-90/94 with the intent of driving through Chicago in a straight-shot.  I didn’t see a single piece of Chicago since we were coming through it at A Very Bad Time.  By “A Very Bad Time” I mean during a busy period combined with lots of road work.  It was a reasonably hot day and we were doing a lot of necessary but tedious stop-and-go but then the highway opened up for us.  The cat was restless, we were restless, and also restless were many many other cranky drivers.  It wasn’t very long before I found myself behind a semi – and we were all driving very fast at this point.

The cat started to get fluffy.  I glanced down just long enough to see his eyes and pupils were the size of dinner plates at the Hungry Heifer.  Cruel Wife was making a strange noise that fell between strangling and keening.

I embraced (frantically clutched at) my inner child, got in tune with my feminine side, and got way more in tune with my surroundings.  I was at maximal situational awareness because we were now in “heightened circumstances” that were quite beyond our control, viz, we were now boxed in by four enormous trucks and traveling well beyond the speed limit while going around a fairly noteworthy curve.  Silver d’Cat was trying to be helpful, pointing out things that I could do as safety measures but all that was really getting through to me was something that sounded like “Mrrreooowww, hisss, mreeeow, fttttt, hisss, mrrrreowwwrr” but I can’t really be sure.  He repeated himself several times and got louder each time but I couldn’t really hear him over Cruel Wife speaking to me in tongues.  It seemed that she was speaking not only in several voices at once but also in at least two additional languages (most alarmingly, they seemed to be dead languages).  It was exceedingly difficult to please her in this instance (more so than usual) because all of her hand instructions were contradictory – slow down, speed up, turn on your blinker, don’t move, stop, use your vertical thrusters (huh?), build a campfire, lay a new course of tiles, and (my favorite) invent something *quick*.

Ever smelled the combination of cat fear, sour gym sock sweat, diesel exhaust, and particulates from truly leviathan† truck tires that are near immolation?  It is nauseating.  It’s worse than the combined scent of wildflowers and shame. If you were to roll all those scents and materials into little balls it would make a hell of an herbicide.

A quick note here.  I am referring to “Leviathan” in the sense used by Hobbes, not a sea creature but the concept of something so much bigger than one’s self, a construct of great enormity.  Otherwise in the context of a truck-as-sea-monster it just sounds silly unless it is a truck full of fish-sticks or octupi, not that those two things aren’t rather silly in their own right.

Smells are just not something you need to add to your sensory overload at a time like this.

New Rule #12:  Utilize something like Mentholatum™ as a prophylactic when entering into a situation that is going to involve Odors of Amply Sufficient Vileness.

Let us step outside of events briefly, shall we, Constant Reader?

If we were to freeze the moment, we could walk up and survey the scene in a relaxed and objective fashion, so we’ll do just that.   We might learn something, and we might learn nothing – life is sometimes like that but at least we will be able to say that we made the attempt.  What would we see?  Would it touch us on some deeper level?  Would we be amused?  Disgusted?  Fearful?  Let us see…

We would see a cramped truck cab with two fearful young adults, one male (sweaty, driving), one female (clawed, shrieking), one feline (felis domesticus, yowling), and no fewer than twelve Shadow People that only existed in the mind of the young man behind the wheel of the vehicle because of his cold medicine.  We could stand with our backs to the doors of the truck and reach out and touch the dusty trailers of the semi-trucks to either side.  Four or five healthy strides forwards or backwards would bring us to the trailer doors or grille of the trucks fore and aft.  Sad, endearing, and perfectly understandable would be the small fluffy cat with large panicky eyes as he is frozen in the act of burying his head under the young woman’s arm.  A violent localized squall may be seen through the bug-spattered windshield as a mass of papers and junk food wrappers swirling around the cab and out the half-open windows.  Neither the young man or woman looks happy and the small fluffy cat is clearly beyond help at this moment in time, having taken leave of his senses.  The young man is chewing on his lip hard enough to bleed and he has a large set of veins throbbing at his temples and forehead.

And suddenly it was over.  The roaring of the trucks receded in this distance.  The sound of a mortally terrified Silver d’Cat died off slowly.  The sounds of Cruel Wife choking on self-contradictory instructions ceased.  All that remained was the panting of three exhausted souls.

Note: If you were thinking that the loosed-bowel remark at the beginning of this story was a literal placeholder for events to come I am pleased to disappoint you – no bowels were voided on that day except in a completely voluntary fashion.

What did we learn?

New Rule #13:  Never drive a small truck through Chicago with a cat of any breed.

And then the details of the journey got fuzzy again.   We were all dealing with post-traumatic stress disorder in varying degrees and would be for some months to come (cat psychologists are rare and almost prohibitively expensive, by the way).   The next thing I personally recall was passing Kalamazoo.  It was then that I either started humming Hoyt Axton’s Cat from Kalamazoo or I started running it through my head over and over.

It was Della and the Dealer and a dog named Jake
And a cat named Kalamazoo
Left the city in a pick-up truck
Gonna make some dreams come true

Of course then our story deviates wildly from Axton’s song because we were heading east, neither Cruel Wife nor I have ever had or ever will have a dog named Jake, Silver d’Cat wasn’t from Kalamazoo, our cat didn’t stay cool, and I’m not evil, just a sociopath.  But the tune was catchy and stuck with me.

Two hours later I got out of the truck, kissed the ground with emotion, even to the point of slipping it the tongue (and got a phone number from it – don’t tell Cruel Wife).   We threw the cat in the apartment, and we took off in search of some cheap comfort food.

Thus concludes the three-part story Driving to Michigan with a Drugged Cat in the Truck.

The fate of the Dramatis Personae: Silver d’Cat lived another twelve years, Cruel Wife has not killed me in my sleep yet in spite of the fact that I snore like an asthmatic donkey (her words), and we continue to live in Michigan.

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I am going to live.  As my old man said, “You get to where you think you’re gonna die, then you pray that you will…”  And he was right, as far as that went.

But now I’ve decided I don’t want die just yet and that sentiment firms up more and more as the nasty old flu recedes in the rear-view mirror.  So while I didn’t get what I really wanted for Christmas (health) I got it later, so it all worked out.   The worst of the coughing is over and not a moment too soon since it cracked my neck every single cough.

Now I am just going in fits and spurts of being wiped out and then getting energy back off-on throughout the day.

See the energetic furry creature below?  She got spayed today and the poor dear is pretty uncomfortable.  Yes, even the Furry Little Black Dress of Evil can suffer.

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We gave Lemurita an MP3 player for Christmas and she asked me to load it up with some of my music after she went to bed.  I have a huge collection of digital music but not all of it is exactly acceptable for a 10 year old.  Butthole Surfers, Circle Jerks, Henry Rollins, Metallica, the Doors… nah.  I did give her AC/DC Hell’s Bells (she loves that one), some Rod Stewart, Don Henley, bagpipes, etc.  Not sure about The Who, Shawn Mullins, Tom Petty, etc.

By the way – if you have not seen the movie Limitless, I would HIGHLY recommend it.  I said to Cruel Wife, “Ok, I have to admit that if I was in his shoes I don’t think I could have done anything differently – it would be that seductive, especially to my brain.”  It is NOT an anti-drug movie.  It’s not a pro-drug movie.  It’s a movie with a drug that the movie centers on but what a fun ride the movie is.

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Quotables and Kittens.

I would do a longer post if I were not in the throes of a wicked migraine.  Not the worst by far but it takes creativity and leaves it hollow – a papery husk left over after the soul of a living creature has been sucked out by greedy parasitic vampires.

I was doing a keyword search through my e:mail and ran across this one.  See if you can guess where it came from.

Surrounded by dickwads, we pressed onward, through the fog of idjitry.

And no, it is not from “The Charge of the Light Brigade”.

Here is a picture of Jack Katt not mentoring Melody the kitten but rather wondering if he could eat her in one bite or two.  The fact that he isn’t actually trying to do so is a testament to the power of the Kitty Pheromonizer-ator™, the plug-in air-freshener thingy loaded with Happy Kitty Squeezin’s.

And never let it be said, wiccapundit, that I am not willing to throw up a picture for you to enjoy.  I’m sorry it is blurry but the kit won’t sit still long enough to snap a decent pic.  The profile is classic.

 

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Deliver me…

Day 15 now since Operation Invading In-Laws began.  Maintaining an uneasy truce with spousal in-law units.  Ready to have home back.  About five days ago I was ready for that.  Well, actually five days before that.

But they are helping with things I just cannot do (and at times don’t know how to do) on remodeling the home, so I’m remaining silent, mostly.

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Source of Cat Quadcopter Picture – Reuters.

Stuff your dead cat with a quadcopter.

Creepy as hell.  Thanks to alert co-worker Butcher of Lansing.

Thoughts in the order they arrived:

  • WHY would you DO that?
  • What kind of flight time per-charging do you get?
  • Do you charge it in a litter-box shaped receptacle?
  • Self cleaning?
  • Does it charge 23 hours of the day and work only 1 hour per day?
  • Mouse-powered fuel cells would be ultra-cool.
  • WHY would you DO that?

 

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Meet Jack.  Jack was curious, probably because he’s a cat.  Here, he was observing me as I was giggling and wrapping the handle of my tactical tomahawk with friction tape.

No, that’s not a euphemism for something sordid and nasty.

He’s such a calm cat that he sat there patiently as I scrambled for my camera.  He said –

Don’t worry, I’ll sit here while you get set up.  No trouble.  But was wondering, and you don’t have to answer the question if you don’t want to, but… what exactly is wrong with you?  Is there a name for it?  Perhaps a support group you could get in with?  Would some exercise help?  No, I know you are bored, and I know that you’re a stone’s throw away from stepping over the border from Reality into the Land of the Cuckoos, and I know that you are itching to get rid of your Precious-es, but have you thought about trying…  something different?  Talk to me.  I’m sure it will help.

He’s a smart cat.  Too smart.  He has tipped his paw and I now see him for what he is.  He is not a pretty cuddly house-feline who cares for me.  He is actually wanted to push me over the edge so the house is his.  Oh, I know these things… I KNOW.  He just wants me to start talking to him so someone will see me talking to him and they’ll judge me because of that when they don’t even realize that he can talk and that he’s not the innocent thing he appears to be.   Believe me.  I know.

Jack gets much bigger when you click on him.

Enough about the damn cat already.

As you’ve probably guessed I am nuts about helicopters.  Wanted to be a pilot when I was growing up but I had to face the fact that a substantial hearing loss closes doors when it comes to becoming a pilot.  Oh well.  I’ll get my kicks some other way.

Santa brought me a stocking stuffer for Christmas morning (bless her heart).  It’s laser-cut shimstock and you pop the pieces out and insert/bend tabs to put it together.  I’m experiencing a flare-up of my decision-making disorder, trying to decide which to build first – this helicopter or the dual trebuchet kit.   Oh the humanity.

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Mathy type things.

Well, not having ever taken the time to compute ƒ(meow) I couldn’t tell you how close the approximation in the graphic really is, but it’s plausible.  (Damn WordPress doesn’t have a decent Fourier transform operator symbol…)

Believe me when I say that the Fourier transform of my morbidly obese cat Jilly is the kindest and thinnest way I think we’ll ever witness her.

Below is the continuous Fourier transform in the general Euler form rather than the cosine/sine variation for even/odd functions that are initially easier to look at when trying to make sense of the whole thing.  If you took the transform of Jilly in the very most flattering light (basically a roundish DC signal) you’ll get a delta at zero frequency – razor thin.  She’s actually more of a long-ish single rectangular pulse so her transform will be sort of a central peak – but kind of spread out and lumpy, so I guess you could say she’s already been transformed.

Note: Euler knew what he was doing even if that e to the imaginary phase thing looks weird as all get out.

Note #2:  But by gum it works and it holds water after all this time.  Euler is one of my heroes, right behind Feynman.  Ask Cruel Wife, she’ll tell you.  Granddad was #1.

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