I love love LOVE Jessica Alba’s couch.
I am suffering from acute ihatemycouchitis. We had cushion-covers made for ours (well, his) and they’re … buttercup yellow canvas. I have no idea what possessed me. It’s SO not me. It drives me bonkers whenever I see it but that actually isn’t very often because we keep it covered with two clashy-clashy bedspreads most of the time: black cat + yellow couch = terrible idea. Plus my little bastard uses one arm as a scratching post so am I ever going to have a couch I can really love? Probably not. Boohoo.
(However in meantime thinking of dyeing the cushion-covers navy blue…. And resisting urge to declaw the jerk.)
Proof that the Lord has special plans for Wilkes.
Mark my words. They laugh now but that cat’ll change the world someday.
Rare albino alligator…would make a nice handbag. Sorry.
In related news, a woman I work with told me her friend’s mom had a coat made from Maine Coon. She felt bad about it but was comforted because someone told her that Maine Coons are nasty, mean cats. Which couldn’t be further from the truth. They’re actually very chill, friendly, and snugglelicious.
I showed her a photo of Trouble and she said, “That’s exactly what the coat looked like!” (Eek! Please hide him from any would-be Cruellas, Jane.)
PS: Well he does have a Magnificent Tail.
So I adopted this guy over the weekend. Since he’s a slightly tubby New Orleans cat with a sometimes abrasive personality, I have named him Ignatius.
Let the catbloggin’ begin.
(Also, Ignatius? You just can’t stop yourself, can you? ;)
He believes this is his hanging-out spot, surrounded by vintage glass & irreplaceable bibelot. It nearly gives me a heart attack but I fear that shooing him off will cause an accident. So there he sits, the King of Sheba.
One day since Prop 8 was overturned
And I still can’t marry my cat.
Oh fuck. ‘Cause he’s joking and I’m the one who frequently tells mine that we’re taking our case straight to the Supreme Court — not just for us, no, but for every American, feline, human, yay, even canine, and for the generations to come, for the kittens yet to be born, for the gay German Shepherds serving under Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, for the parakeets afraid to show their true plumage, and mark my words, Wilkes, mark my words: they will drag our names through the mud, yay, they will drag our names through the kitty litter but we will not back down, no, we will not let up, because this is not just for us, no….
I’m just going to go back to work now.
The best part of The Bachelorette finale last night was when they played this song right after Roberto asked and Ali said yes and then I, a bit tipsy from several glasses of finale-party rose, scooped Wilkes up and paraded him above my head like Simba. It’s his song, you know. In silly moods, M. puts it on and we dance with the little Lion King (he loves it, lemme tell ya).
And the best moment of today was when I got an email from him (M., not Wilkes — though how cool would that be?!) saying he’ll miss me ‘til he sees me (in a few hours) and, ‘til then, a song for me.
Elton just speaks to my very soul, y’know?
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Speaking of….
“The Lonely Goatherd,” Julie Andrews and Cast, The Sound of Music (via katiecoyle)
O HAI lay dee odl lee o, o HAI lay dee odl ay….
Siri Tollerod by Miles Aldridge, originally published in Vogue Italia (May 2008) (via darklamb)
Need: purple goggles for Wilkes for underwater missions. Also: cat-sized guitars for our future cross-species von Trapp-style touring band.
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