Love, Jimmie

I’ve thought recently about having people guest post here.  I think my friends and family have a lot of talent and humor and good things to say.  So consider this your invitation, friends and family.  This is as formal as it will get.  You write it and I will post it (with maybe only a few minor edits).  My blog is your blog. 

In a fit of silliness while I was thinking about guest posts, I wondered what my cats would say if given the opportunity to write a little something.  So Murphy and I had a conversation and after some time, he wrote this up for you guys.

A Guest Post, by Murphy

 The Smushy One belongs to me.  She came to the feeding place where I lived for a while with Seamus and she looked alright so I licked my paws and smoothed out my eyebrows and purred. BINGO!  She was wrapped around my little paw, just like that.  These dames – they are so easy. 

She took us to a new feeding place, one with rooms and beds and a scratching post.  There were also these big sheets of fabric hanging over the windows and let me tell you how much fun they were!  I would take a flying leap from the scratching post and land with my claws out on those fabric hangings and slide all the way down to the ground.  They must not make that stuff like they used to, though, because it just shredded under my claws.  And The Smushy One bought new fabric hangings and now when I try to take the flying leap onto them, she squirts me with a water bottle.  How rude. 

Clearly I had a lot of other exploring to do once I got to the new feeding place.  The cabinets were of particular interest to me.  It was difficult at first to get my paws in the door of them but after a couple of hours a night pawing and battering at them, I was in.  Someone should have told me that there was nothing of interest in there, only cleaning supplies and that bubbly stuff she washes her hair with. There was a lot of that. 

Sometimes The Smushy One ignores me and moves her mouth a lot and makes noise into a rectangular metal thing.  She does that a lot actually.  To me it sounds like “wah wah whah, wah” and then some laughing.  But I’ve got a trick for when she ignores me like that.  I’ll stick my paw on her mouth.  It is particularly funny when she has that shiny stuff on her lips.  When I stick my paw on them it leaves a lot of my fur stuck in her shiny stuff and it looks funny.  Har har. 

One night she was ignoring me with her eyes closed.  They had been closed for HOURS!  I was tired of being ignored with all of her eyes closed and her deep breathing and having to find a new place to sleep when she kept rolling over.  So I opened my claws and hooked her right in the lip.  Somehow that didn’t work as planned because instead of petting me she shoved me in the floor.  Maybe I should work on my technique and try more claws next time. 

And another time, oh it was such a good day.  My belly was full and I was sleepy.  I was slinking around on the bed, purring, looking for space on The Smushy One to take a nap.  I had the hiccups which was annoying but I wanted to purr and make biscuits on The Smushy One so I ignored them.  Or I tried to. It was slightly humiliating because I was purring then I would hiccup and then it would squeak.  Purr, hic, squeak.  The Smushy One brayed like a donkey every time it happened which just ruined my nap.

Despite that, I have a comfortable life.  The Smushy One does alright.  Every now and again I whizz on the carpet or eat some grass so I can puke it up directly in front of her, you know, to remind her who is boss.  We all need those reminders from time to time. 

Mrow.

Murph

And then Seamus and I had a talk and he, too, wrote a guest post for you. 

A Guest Post, by Seamus

Hai.

I like under the bed.  I like food. I like Murphy.

The end.

So here ends my guest postings for this week. Anyone else want to give it a whirl?

Speaking of squeaking, the shoes I have on today are some of my favorites.  They are brown sandals and I wear them every summer as they are a perfect match for my cute little skirts and dresses.  It isn’t until spring rolls around and I dig them out that I remember why at the end of every summer, I vow to buy a new pair.  The right shoe squeaks and when I walk down the hall, or anywhere for that matter, I sound like I am rhythmically and systematically murdering a squeaky toy.  Awesome.