Wanting to prove that I’m a Withit Cat I’ve been checking out this new fad.
Usually I regard myself as above the kits who chatter and spread the word in Kittenlish but this is worth a look:
I can’t decide whether I am most like Futura, Times New Roman or Baskerville. I like them all.
The slaves assure me that I’m more like #Six, the One Eyed Sourpuss, but I think that’s a foul calumny.
They are busy packing and I shall have the run of the house for the next 4 days as they are off for a long weekend further north.
Yippee, time for a party…………
There should be, but of course there isn’t…….. all NZ sits back in complicit silence.
This morning it was announced that the Springcreek mine near Greymouth has been closed by Labour Department Safety officers until further checks can be made and I suppose it’s understandable that they should be doubly careful after the Pike River mine collapse and loss of life.
New Zealand was rightly shocked by that and should (IM(not so)HO) be even more shocked by the glacial progress of the subsequent Commission of Inquiry into its cause.
Nobody states the obvious. If the Greens had accepted the idea of opencast mining there wouldn’t have been a tragedy at Pike River and Springcreek might still be operating.
Zebra (Photo credit: James F Clay)
I’ve often wondered why I don’t get fleas. Some other cats do and of course dogs, uggh, are riddled with them. I’ve just found a possible answer.
The Journal of Experimental Biology contains a report of research carried out by a team led by Gabor Horvath of Eotvos University in Budapest into the reasons why zebra are less troubled by the tsetse fly than other African herbivores. Being short of tsetse flies and zebra the researchers substituted horse flies and cut outs, some black, some white and some striped for the African originals and set them up in an Hungarian field full of horse flies.
It’s long been known that horse flies trouble black horses more than white ones and the research showed the horse flies were even less enthusiastic about striped targets, especially those showing zebra type patterns.
The researchers think it is because the horse flies have difficulty in seeing vertical polarised light and therefore the vertical stripes on zebra make the zebra as good as invisible.
What a strange world. If all creatures were covered in vertical stripes it would be the death of many insects.
I couldn’t help but think that fleas probably have the same black preference problem with their vision as horse flies and that is why I am seldom troubled by them.
Once again I am speechless at the hypocrisy and stupidity of humans.
The Times reports that since the 1970s, the winner of the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show has been given a celebratory dinner at the venerable Sardi’s restaurant in Manhattan. Soon this will no longer be possible owing to increasingly strict health regulations.
I agree that this might be reasonable as one cannot be too careful where canine hygiene habits are concerned.
However, it seems that the healthnuts are determined to extend their reach and Matilda, a cat who lives at the famed Algonquin Hotel, has been banned from the kitchen, lobby and dining room.
This is just ridiculous. I think it is high time establishments serving food started checking on the general cleanliness of their human patrons. I wash thoroughly behind my ears and between my toes every day and I’ll bet Matilda does too.
How many human guests at Sardis and the Algonquin could truthfully claim to do the same?
Not to me this time. My life has been safe and quiet ever since the Great Fungicide Fiasco which ended in a shaved Pompuss over a year ago.
This time it was the heslave – the one who kicks me off the end of the bed and uses a cushion to push me off my favourite chair. ( I get my own back by dribbling and leaving my excess fur on his dark clothing). Anyway, last weekend he decided to spray the weeds down the steep bank in front of the house. It had been raining and the bank was slippery so of course he overbalanced and cartwheeled down the slope, wrenching a knee and blackening an eye.
Panic stations! She had to get a rope, tie it to a solid post and throw the end of it down the bank so he could be dragged back up. It took her three attempts to throw it and even though I sat there willing to help she ignored me.
I know I couldn’t have done the St Bernard thing with a barrel of brandy around my neck but I could easily have taken the end of the rope in my mouth and scampered down the bank to give it to him. What’s more – I was willing. Even if he does kick me off the bed most nights.
My stupid slaves don’t seem to realise that I am capable of being heroic as well as decorative.
Image via Wikipedia
Cheetah used to be widespread on the plains of Northern India but hunt-loving maharajahs along with officials of the British Raj hunted them to extinction over a hundred years ago.
Conservationists are behaving in a lamentable fashion, declaring that India should not attempt to import and settle African cheetah on the unoccupied grasslands of Madhyar Pradesh as moves to save these beautiful cats might lessen interest in tiger conservation and there are doubts as to whether the African breed would adapt to Indian conditions
I of course find it impossible to choose between two breeds of feline, so I say save both of them.
In fact I should have thought that was the obvious thing to do.
When the slaves and I arrived up the coast yesterday this weird object was parked on the lawn.
I have no idea what it can be but things are certainly strange round here. I spent the afternoon lazing on the decking watching the slave working in the herb garden (I thought I could help if any fieldmice ran out from their hidy hole under the lemon grass). While the slave pulled weeds she kept muttering “Well that’s this year’s trip to Paris then”. I just don’t understand what she was talking about. And things grew weirder……
In the end there were seven strange men, two mechanical diggers, two trucks, three vans, assorted other vehicles plus kanga hammers and humble rakes and shovels. There was so much going on that I didn’t know what to go and supervise next.
Today the bobcat digger and truck are still sitting beside the garage so perhaps the excitement isn’t finished yet.
Oh I nearly forgot. The plumber’s foxyX with the short legs and stumpy tail was here too. She seemed to have some idea of what was going on but wouldn’t tell me. Cheeky little bitch.