Sunday, November 15, 2009

Can kosher cats get the swine flu?

Being a kosher cat, Farfel hasn’t been too worried about the swine flu. If you don’t eat swine, what’s the big whoop? Plus he’s well under 65, not pregnant, with no underlying health conditions (the delicate Hebrew kishkes don’t count here).

Then Farfel made the mistake of watching Larry King interview some epidemiologist who warned the apocalypse was coming unless you got your swine flu shot. Farfel changed the channel but got a live feed about swine flu deaths in the eastern highlands of western New Guinea. Then he picked up the paper and read that you had to be a high-paid athlete or on the board of a big hospital to get a swine flu shot.

Farfel started sweating. Dying from the swine flu was bad – but getting a needle?! You have to know that as a professional cat, Farfel despises any kind of needle. Even though he suspected his friendly neighbourhood veterinarian doesn’t have access to the swine flu, let alone the adjuvant. What to do, what to do?

And though he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, it didn’t take Farfel long to figure out how to avoid the whole damn thing. He’s turned off the tv, the radio, isn’t reading the newspaper and is staying away from the water cooler at the office.

Ignorance is bliss. And healthy.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Make history = get a Nobel?

My cousin, Commander, pictured here, would like to know why he was shut out for a Nobel. After all, as the first Foreign Burmese to win Best Cat in Canada 2007-2008, he made history!!

A Supreme Grand Master Champion no less, he brokered peace with the Abyssinian and Japanese Bob-tail that rode up to the top with him.

"After all," Commander was said to have offered magnanimously, "We short-hair breeds have to stick together."

And yet, no Nobel peace prize? Just because he's a cat? Oh, come on.

It's not easy to win best Cat in Canada. Usually it's some fluffy long-hair type, like those lackadaisical Persians or sluggish Maine Coons ... they just flop around and get all kinds of ribbons.

Not cousin Commander... he had to noogie those judges but good ... get the head tilt just right (see photo above) ... strike pose after pose while looking like he didn't give a damn ... and of course, sire a few kittens in what little spare time he had. Now, that may all sound like fun and games, but it's serious work.

And no Nobel? That's just plain wrong. Unless there's a big trophy and a big cheque heading his way, Commander may. just. retire.

p.s. see

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

I'll have mine RAW

Hands up everyone who thinks the GG slurping down raw meat had something to do with hunting seals.

That’s what I thought. Man, are you blind?!
Canadians have had image issues for way too long. We’re polite. We’re peacekeepers. Our cops ride horses. Our civil "war" was fought by a bunch of policy wonks over tea. We invented Velcro.
We’re a nation of boring wimps.
No wonder terrorists, draft dodgers and Nazi war criminals hide out here.
No, GG was makin’ a point. The Queen’s own rep is telling the world, she’s in touch with her inner predator. Don’t be messing with us. Not only will we mess right back, we’ll rip your heart out and eat it. RAW.
Way to go, GG.

Friday, May 15, 2009

Inappropriate litter box elimination: the truth

Why you think I peed on the bed

1. My litter box needs changing
2. Your drunk boyfriend peed in my litter box
3. Cheap 7-11 brand cat food
4. You came home late and I missed you (oh please)
5. Mysterious and expensive urinary tract infection
6. I was dreaming of a waterfall
7. You hate your boss and I sympathize (oh please)
8. Not enough cat toys
9. Too many cat toys
10. You need to change your deodorant

Why I really peed on the bed

1. My litter box needs changing
2. Because … I can.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Cheap photo ops or a sign of the times?

You’ve all seen this photo, featured in the Toronto Star on April 29th. We like the horrified expression on Iggy’s face. He knows he is in the presence of a superior being.

But have you seen this next photo?

Yessir, that would be Stephen Harper, about to snack on a kitten. This would be from his sweater period.

Stevie would have us believe he’s a regular guy fostering unwanted kitties, but this pic makes us wonder what’s really going on. That kitten would rather be anywhere but with Stevie.

In the meantime, Iggy’s picked up a platinum Foreign Burmese boy named Eric, to keep Mimi company at Stornoway.

It may be too early to call, but we predict the next vote could well be in the paws of
felis domesticus. My, how the fur will fly.

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Who you calling a random thought?

So we should all be so freaking flattered that the European Burmese (or Foreign Burmese, as the canucks have it) is this month's feature breed in Cat Fancy magazine.

Which we know ... isn't exactly the New York Times. BUT. To hear Cat Fancy tell it, the European Burmese was a random thought that occurred to a British breeder after WWII.

"At that point, some of the breeders said, 'OK, we're going to bring in Burmese.'"*


The European Burmese is in fact, the original Burmese. That's why, in most of the world -- like those parts of the world outside The Thirteen Colonies -- there's an "American" Burmese. And the European Burmese is just called a Burmese.

The American Burmese even LOOKS different. Flat face, buggy eyes, cobby body.

But while the Americans were developing their version, the Brits weren't just, oh, inventing the mini skirt, medicare and the Beatles. No, the Brits were outcrossing THEIR Burmese and adding a red gene to get six more colours NOT available in the U.S. Red (like yours truly), cream, blue and various tortie. While maintaining a wedge shaped head and muscular frame.

Yeah, that's what we call ... a Burmese. Period.

*Cat Fancy magazine, May 2009

Monday, March 30, 2009

There's a new Liberal in town

Those poor lost Liberal souls can rejoice – a strong leader is finally ensconced at Stornoway.

Her name is Mimi, and she is a four-month old sable Foreign Burmese kitten.

That she is from a registered and reputable B.C. breeder is less important than the fact that she is of good bloodlines. In fact, we may well be related.

Iggy no doubt thinks he has gotten himself a nice pet. In fact, he has gotten himself one hardnosed boss.

And word has it, Iggy’s got dibs on another Foreign Burmese to keep Mimi company. Can you imagine?! Double trouble at Stornoway.

But won’t it be nice to have someone with a real pedigree in charge …

Sunday, March 8, 2009

Happy Birthday Anschel!!!!

I'M FIVE! (as per "I'm Five" from "My Name is Barbra")

I'm five
I'm five
I'm a big cat now I'm five
I can wash my toes
I don't need Farfel's help any more
And when I jump from the scratching post
All four feet hit the floor

See dat?

I'm five
I'm five
I'm a big cat now I'm five
Mimi doesn't swat me just for being a silly cat
She knows darn well I'd run away
Coz I'm too old fer that!

Friday, February 27, 2009

The Russians are coming, the Russians are coming!

And they’re not after Arctic resources. Or Obama.

Nope, those Russian Tupelov TU-95s sniffing around our Arctic airspace were looking to airlift some kitties back to the motherland.

Look at the former USSR. It’s a shadow of its former Bolshevik self. After Communism collapsed, the Russkies embraced capitalism with a vengeance. Life was good. The ruble was strong. The vodka was strong.

But now their economy has tanked and they’ve got major anxiety…insomnia, acid reflux, high blood pressure, migraines, chronic tinnitus, all those stress disorders already highly evolved in the West.

And what’s the most efficient anti-stressor on the market? A warm little cat. No tablet or shrink can chase the blues away like a loving, fuzzy feline. What mood elevator can rival the purr power of a pussy cat?!

We’ve got kitties a-plenty, and those sneaky Soviets know it. Never mind the coyote in the Beaches, the real threat to our feline population …. is a little further east….

Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Stimulate this

Now that the politico-socio-economorons have landed in a big pile of kitty litter, they're frantically shoveling bailouts and recovery packages.

Leave it to a cat to know what the world really needs.

My stimulus package would include:
  • for starters, every mousie who says "I need cheese or I go bankrupt"-- gets told to start spinning their exercise wheel instead of threats
  • catnip for the newspaper devoting least amount of column inches to doom and gloom
  • 24-7 news channel devoted entirely to photos of fluffy kittens
  • cat toys for everyone who knows "r-e-c-e-s-s-i-o-n" is actually spelled "b-i-g s-a-l-e-s"
Buy American? Buy Canadian?
Buy a cat. Then, curl up with him (or her) and take a nap.

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

Poor little wash-rag

Cultivate your garden, said Goethe and Voltaire,
Every other task is wasted and dead-born;

Narrow all your efforts to a given sphere,
Seek your Heaven daily in a bit of ground.

So my cat behaves. Like a veteran,
He brushes well his coat before he sits to dine;

All his work is centred in his own domain,
Just to keep his spotless fur soft, and clean, and fine.

His tongue is sponge, and brush, and towel, and curry-comb,
Well he knows what work it can be made to do,
Poor little wash-rag, smaller than my thumb.

His nose touches his back, touches his hind paws too,
Every patch of fur is raked, and scraped, and smoothed;
What more has Goethe done, what more could Voltaire do?

Hippolyte Taine

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Company's comin'!

I just love having company! Like, is there anything more fun than a new playmate?

This is even more enjoyable when they bring new toys along, and sometimes they'll even bring tasty treats. There will be oodles of playtime, laptime, and being petted and scratched all over. I know I can count on being spoiled beyond belief!

What's more, visitors have all these great smells. And if I'm lucky, they'll be wearing something black so I can leave plenty of cathair.

I'm telling you, it's a cat's life.