A Catty Rerun

Thought for the day:  You know you're getting old when the candles cost more than the cake. 

Those of you who live in the southeastern United States may have noticed a bright glow in the sky on Wednesday. Sorry about that. It was my husband's birthday. Even though we had the fire department waiting on stand-by, the candles still got a little out of control again this year. My bad. I really shouldn't have tried to save time by lighting all those darned things with a blow torch.

Oh well. I'll try to do better next year.

Yeah, so we're both getting older. Big deal. Age is just a number, right? (Especially when it's his number going up, and not mine.) To tell the truth, we don't make a big deal out of birthdays anymore. No candles at all. (Too dangerous!) And no big parties, for sure. 

We prefer smaller gatherings these days. Like maybe just Smarticus, me and a few dozen of our favorite juicy friends. (That's plenty spicy enough for us, even if our pals do end up getting steamed.)

Our cat Dash got stranded atop the fridge when our friends were splashing around in the sink, which reminded me of a post I did back in June of 2011:  Tale of an Ungrateful Kitty. So I'm gonna run it again, as soon as I share a short Tom Rush video about the joys of getting older:

Youth is the gift of nature, but age is a work of art.  [Stanislaw Jerry Lec]
                       {Too bad my work of art is being painted by Picasso...}

You don't stop laughing because you grow older. You grow older because you stop laughing.  [Maurice Chevalier]        

I'm happy to report that my inner child is still ageless.  [Jane Broughton]
                                       
You can't help getting older, but you don't have to get old.  [George Burns]
                       
***********************

                                                        And now... for that rerun...

Thought for the day:  An invisible man married an invisible woman. Their kids were nothing to look at, either.

I've been poking fun at the English language lately, so I thought about writing a short Ogden Nash-type poem using words ending in ough to make fun of the fact that those words have so many different pronunciations.

Well, as they say, the best-laid plans of mice and men ...

I did write a poem, but it isn't Ogden Nash short. (or Ogden Nash clever) Has some ough words in it, but I ended up having more fun telling the tale than fulfilling the original premise. So, here it is, a silly little poem. It's based on a true story, and although I got away with batting my eyelashes back then, I was young, lithe, and lovely at the time. I'm afraid if I tried to pull that stunt now, Smarticus would haul me off to the eye doctor.


                                                               A Silly Little Poem

                                                   'Twas one in the morning, I vow,
                                                   When I heard a cat meow from a bough.
                                                   High up in a tree,
                                                   He seemed helpless to me.
                                                   Begged I, "Please get him down now."

                                                  With a frown, my man gave a cough,
                                                  Said, "No need to get the cat off.
                                                  He made his way up;
                                                  He can make his way down."
                                                  And I batted my eyes, sure enough.

                                                  'Twas sleeting and icy, so rough,
                                                  But my sweetie, so tender, so tough,
                                                  Climbed up on our ladder,
                                                  But that didn't matter;
                                                  To the cat, it wasn't enough.

The cat pulled back out of reach;
My man yelled, "Son of a beech!"
He stretched a bit more
To the kitty so poor,
And the cat gave a God-awful screech.

'Twas dark, so I couldn't quite see,
But the cat came tearing past me.
He'd run down my sweetie
And clawed off some meatie,
So I figured in trouble I'd be.

                                           "No more!" my man roared to me.
                                           "Next time, we leave the cats be.
                                           We don't need no damned ladder;
                                            It just doesn't matter.
                                            Have you ever
                                            Seen bones
                                            In a tree?"


                                   Until next time, take care of yourselves. And each other.

                                                                   Me? I think I'll just ...

hang around

[The crab photo was taken by yours truly. Wikipedia provided the flames, and the catty pics come to us courtesy of Morguefile.]