In the chilly north, in the village of St. Johnsbury, Vermont, is a place called Dog Mountain.
Here, artist Stephen Huneck, his spouse Gwen, and their canine family, have built Dog Chapel.
All are welcome.
Yesterday, I paid a visit to the library book sale. In the craft section, I stumbled across a knitting magazine with this on the cover:
Now, I ask you, is this the face of a happy cat?
People, this is the sort of thing that ages a cat prematurely!
If The Aged Cat (may he mouse in peace!) were with us today, he would exhort me to protest, publicly and vehemently. He would interrupt my barely-stifled giggling and insist that I write to remind the animal “lovers” of the world that — well, he said it so well himself:
“Have me own coat, thank you very much. Save your infantilizing blankies, buntings, baubles, booties, booboogoogoos, et cetera, for such creatures as have neither hair nor self-respect. I speak, of course, of chihuahuas.”
“What’d a chihuahua ever do to you?”
“That’s beside the point. –”
And so it was. His point was, as mine now must be:
It is bad for their mental health. It is enough to send any self-respecting feline running for a bottle of what Trouble the Cat, at Dennis’s Diary of Destruction euphemistically calls her “enulose,” though in her case, overexposure to canines seems to be the cause, and that’s another matter entirely.
Cat “owners,” hear me and heed me when I tell you, that if permitted to go unchecked, this mistaking of cats for dolls can lead to a whole host of ills not the least of which are:
I admit that I am not wholly above reproach when it comes to the subject of mistaking cats for dolls. As a child — (true confession) — so determined was I to see my faithful tabby tom in Jo March’s pinafore, that I committed the ultimate doll-collector sin. I altered the doll’s dress to fit my putty-tat. In my defense, I was 10 years old. And he looked adorable in red polka-dots, as I knew he would.
But I grew up. I don’t collect dolls anymore. Even if I did, I would never, never put their pinafores on my cat. I promised The Aged and The Tortie that they would never suffer the indignities of kitty dress-up. I kept my word, and out of respect for them, all cat-related tchotchkes in my apt are naked. Never even had so much as a cats-in-clothes calendar in my home. Yes, there was the momentary lapse of judgment resulting in the infamous Valentine’s Day ribbon transgression against The Aged (which some of you may remember). But again, in my defense, I was seriously sleep deprived, and he did look adorable in the pink satin ribbon with hearts. I mightily regretted it, however, for his own dear sake, and apologized sincerely to The Aged. After destroying the evidence, and after several days of sucking up to get back in his good grace, I received his sweet forgiveness. Still, I cannot help but wonder sometimes. How much residual damage was there from the Valentine’s Day ribbon episode? Could it have hastened The Aged Cat’s demise? I will never know for certain.
Now, I do not wish to incriminate a respectable and presumably well-meaning craft publication in this business of kitty dress-up, so I shall not name the magazine here. After all, it may very well have been a mere lapse on their part and it was a long time ago. And if you are able to overlook or forget the pitiable plight of the feline forced to model the baby bunting you may wish to knit the offending garment yourself. If so, let me know, and I’ll send you the source info so that you can contact the publisher to request the pattern. However, know that I will first ask you to swear on your cat’s litterbox — sacred ground! — that you will never put your cat in the bunting. It is to be used strictly for children. And/or chihuahuas.
Of course, it could also be handy just having the pattern, complete with photo, strategically lying around the house. Some may say this constitutes “intimidation” or “a threat” to a cat, which is just as psychologically damaging as putting her in a bra or bonnet. I prefer to call it “leverage,” a useful, sometimes necessary negotiating tool in maintaining the balance of power in the house.
So for now, folks, that’s my anti-kitty-dress-up rant on behalf of The Aged Cat, and I’m stickin’ to it. Please keep your kitty sane and sober, — no kitty dressup and no kitty-buntings!
Forgive me, my poor unsuspecting Aged Cat! I did not mean for this to happen to you.
In setting up this blog, your assistant didn’t realize she was inadvertently turning you into a shill for GoogleAds and WordPress, and most distressingly, the evil anti-flea products that shall not be named.
It was bound to happen, I suppose. They’ve been pimping out Marilyn for years. Even John Lennon’s music isn’t safe. But you’d think a wee blog about an unknown Aged Cat (may he rest in peace) could find a safe little cybercorner, well away from the dog-eat-dog machinations of commerce.
My friends, if you are blogging with WordPress, be sure you understand two things which The Aged’s assistant did not:
The Aged Cat’s assistant would appear to biting the hands of the developers that are hosting The Aged’s website. Now that would indeed be rude! It is not her intention. After all, they’ve provided such a lovely service to so many folks. How could she begrudge them a bit of monetary support?
She does not begrudge them their monetary support. She’s only terribly vexed and dismayed at the means by which they’ve chosen to procure it. In applying their chosen method, they have unwittingly made a liar of her and a hypocrite of The Aged Cat (saints preserve him). Now that is indeed rude!
The TOS does warn WordPress bloggers against including commercial content in their posts, sic: “By making Content available, you represent and warrant that: … the Content is not spam, and does not contain unethical or unwanted commercial content designed to drive traffic to third party sites.”
That was just fine by me and The Aged (may he roll forever in catnip). We never wanted commercial content, anyway. We were just there to meet and visit with other petowners. But guess what? Now we have “unwanted commercial content” (sometimes — we don’t know how often) and guess who puts it there? The very folks who told us not to. And they won’t allow us to not allow them to put the unwanted commercial content on our blog. . . .
This is makin’ me dizzy.
All I can say is thank goodness The Aged Cat (may his soul purr on and on) isn’t alive to see this! He’d be rollin’ over in his eternal catbed.
Sure, and I fear himself’s blog may not long outlive him if this keeps up.