Saturday, November 15, 2014

A Cat Outstanding In His Field

This morning as I backed T-Hoe out of the garage to do our weekly shopping a day early because of the impending snowpocalypse of 0.2 inches that is expected in Backroads by Sunday morning...The Pony, unfettered by the responsibility of driving, seated directly behind me, said, "THAT'S not creepy at all." I finished backing before running a tire up over the six-inch curb around the carport slab (unlike Hick in a ice storm several years ago) and directed my attention to the front yard.





That's what we saw. A creepy fat cat staring at us. Not amused. The Pony got another shot of him as I started up the driveway. Not that it was any less creepy.




Yeah. That's one obese cat. It's not like we feed him any more than the other cats. They get the same pile of cat kibble dumped into a communal black-and-white-speckled roasting pan every morning. Less a couple of handfuls (large) for my sweet, sweet Juno and (small) for poor stupid Ann every evening.

This is Stockings. He eats his feelings. Genius pushed to rescue him from the mailbox area down by the creek after somebody dumped a litter of kittens. We thought he was girl at first, and took him for spaying. He has never quite forgiven us, and the vet must have thought us simpletons, like those couples who have a surprise baby after nary an inkling low on nine months that they were pregnant.

You won't catch Val putting her cat on a treadmill and making him lose weight until he dies. No sirree, Bob! He can live out his days in his corpulent splendor. He hates us. The fastest he ever moves is trying to avoid a pat.

So...we go from this cat out sitting in our field to The Pony, outstanding in his field. He found out yesterday morning that he placed third in a writing contest! It's his first success, after limited submissions. He wins a T-shirt! Here's a link to his story. Not bad for a 16-year-old. Of course, I am not impartial.

The Pony has many irons in the fire. He is lately branching out into poetry. And Stockings? He is just...um...branching out.


7 comments:

  1. Val--Poor Stockings. He's not fat. He's just vertically challenged.

    And The Pony obviously gets his story-telling abilities from you and not Hick. Although I've never read any of Hick's stories. Perhaps HE is the master of his writing domain...

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  2. Stockings is a stuffed animal. Hey your boy writing about blue bloods and red bloods...that boy has talent. Real talent. Congratulations to him.

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  3. Poor Stockings! I guess he's worried you'll locate more girl/boy/miscellaneous parts to remove if he comes too close. Our neighbor's cat comes over and stares at our house like that. Creeped me out a bit until I realized it's the cat equivalent of "nanny nanny boo boo, I'm outside and you're not." Congratulations to The Pony for his win, not to mention taking after Mom!

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  4. Yes, congratulations to the Pony. And to you for bringing him along. And, of course, for caring for the cats.

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  5. Sioux,
    Stockings was almost a poster-cat for interspecies marriage. Well. I don't actually think Tank the beagle had marriage in mind. But he sure tried to take advantage of the benefits.

    I can't take credit for The Pony's abilities. He has an imagination. I do not.

    Hick can't even TELL a story that is plausible, in an effort to escape my ire. So no. Hick is NOT the master of his writing domain. Pardon me while I slap a $100 bill on the counter and declare, "He's OUT!"

    *****
    Linda,
    That he is. OVERstuffed, even. I will advise The Pony of your congratulations.

    ******
    Tammy,
    Heh, heh. Yeah. Snuggles might wake up in a bathtub full of ice without a kidney. I'll pass on your congratulations to The Pony.

    *****
    Catalyst,
    I'm telling! The Pony, that is, of your congratulations. I had nothing to do with his success, other than passing on adequate genes.

    I do care for the cats, although I was once an anti-cat-ite. Genius is the one who begged for a kitten, then for two, from a teaching friend who had two litters. Then he asked for three more tiny felines who had been dumped by our mailbox row. Of course Genius despises the goats and the chickens and the guineas and the turkey, because they were not his idea.

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  6. Stephen,
    The Pony is into world-building, I think. Takes me a while to get my bearings. Then I appreciate what he's created.

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