Max Discovers the Joys of Meditation

By Karen

Of all the cats ever on the Cats Working crew, Max has always been the most soft-spoken and reclusive, preferring the privacy of his Man Cave to shooting his mouth off on the blog or romping around with Roc and Tony.

But lately, Max has gotten quite a bit more sociable, now spending most days hanging out with the guys in the living room. (One reason could be that it feels about 10 degrees cooler downstairs in the summer.)

Evenings after dinner, he’s even been joining Roc and me on the couch to watch some tube.

On my iPad I have this app called Calm. I rely on it to keep my head from exploding from all the terrible things happening these days.

I’ve been devoting about 30 minutes every morning to daily meditations with Calm’s Jay Shetty, Jeff Warren and Tamara Levitt. (Tamara’s voice is so smooth and relaxing, it could melt diamonds.)

Max has noticed my ritual, and you know there’s nothing cats love better than a good ritual. Now, as soon as Max realizes I’ve “assumed the position” on the couch, he shows up for some TLP (tender loving petting).

“I see you’ve got two hands free. What are you waiting for?”

“Yeah, right there, where that pesky collar used to be.”

“The top of my head can never get enough attention.”

“Now help me work this crick out of my neck.”

“Don’t forget to scritch my neck on all sides.”

“Do you really find the sound of these people babbling relaxing?”

I got two clips of Max in action. Here’s the first one…

And more. This is actually the cutest one…

Max confesses he wonders why Tamara tells me to, “Notice the paws at the beginning of the inhale,” and “Notice the paws at the end of the exhale,” because people don’t have paws.

Another thing I’ve started doing lately is, after scooping out the litterboxes, I smooth the litter perfectly flat like a Zen garden. It gives the kitties a tranquil place to do their business, and footprints in the litter let me know they’ve left some new buried treasure for me to scoop.

“Meditation is great! Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”

BONUS: I recently came across this thing called ASMR, and these videos are the most relaxing sounds EVER. The Sara Coromo videos are my favorite, but there are sounds for everyone out there. Here’s a short sample…

Thoughts on Jan. 6 Hearings So Far

By Karen

We’ve had four hearings to date. I’ve watched every minute because this is too important, and I don’t trust TV pundits’ recaps’ accuracy.

Photo: wmur.com

I feel as if Trump’s gaslighting is now coming from journalists (I’m looking at you, Maddow and Reid) who keep using words like “shocking” and “bombshell” to describe the hearings. Have they forgotten their reporting since 1/6, or are we watching different hearings?

This cognitive dissonance spreads like a fungus because with the hearings foolishly held during business hours, working people rely on pundits, who regurgitate only what they consider highlights. That is, viewer bait, not necessarily important stuff.

The baseline fact is that Trump & Co. committed sedition by trying to overturn the election through coercion and insurrection. It was as illegal as it appeared. These hearings are just gilding the lily, dumping on us and the Justice Department an additional mountain of actionable evidence that should send Trump & Co. to prison forever.

As for the hearings themselves, I’m so over-saturated with Trump and his crimes, I absorb all information through the filter of, “Is this something I didn’t already know?” The answer is mostly no.

From the first prime-time hearing, my major takeaway was that the Proud Boys and Oath Keepers arrived at the Capitol hours early and skipped Trump’s speech so they could begin the rampage while Trump whipped reinforcements into a frenzy.

Bottom line: The insurrection was planned and coordinated with the White House, not spontaneous.

A subsequent hearing revealed that Trump has bilked $250 million from his cult for a nonexistent “Defense Fund.” He probably continues to this day because no one’s stopping him. He’s already stolen millions from his Inaugural Fund, gifts from foreign leaders, boxes of top-secret documents, and overcharged the Secret Service for profit, so why not?

Every hearing reiterates that Trump was told ad nauseam the election wasn’t stolen. They’ve also confirmed that Rudy Giuliani is a washed-up drunk, Jeffrey Clark and John Eastman plotted treason, and they’re all low-hanging, rotten fruit, but Merrick Garland coulda-shoulda-didn’t arrest them all months ago.

A truly sickening unintended consequence has been the glorification of Mike Pence and other Republicans who have testified. The truth is that Pence scoured every possibility to proclaim Trump the winner. But since he and all these witnesses had the sense to see prison looming if they obeyed Trump, they “did the right thing,” a.k.a, their jobs. Period.

Also, as the plot unfolded, with the exception of Arizona’s House Speaker Russell Bowers, who issued a press release no one saw, they all publicly said NOTHING to alert the country to Trump’s coup attempt.

Any other day, they’re still greedy, selfish, polluting, misogynistic, gun-loving, child-hating racists who want only to see white men owning and running the entire country again.

One huge takeaway from Georgia’s Secretary of State Brad Raffensperger: 28,000 ballots had NO vote for president, but did vote for Republicans down-ticket. Had all those voted for Trump, it would have been 173% of the 11,780 Trump demanded Raffensperger “find.”

Bottom line: Georgians didn’t want Trump reelected.

Why hasn’t this been a huge headline, media?

Raffensperger also told questioner Adam Schiff that Georgia found only four instances of votes from dead people. I expected Schiff to ask, “And who were those votes for?”

We’ll never know because Schiff let it drop. I’m going to take a wild guess and say Trump, because most of the few fraudulent votes anyone has found were for Trump.

That’s one small nail in the coffin, but a crucial one in driving home the point that the MAGA cult’s moral bankruptcy matches Trump’s own, and is even more dangerous by sheer numbers.

Yesterday’s hearing featured two black female Georgia vote counters. Trump and Giuliani have repeatedly named and reviled them with false accusations of vote tampering, which has stirred up the MAGA cult to have them living in fear for their lives.

This is a dot the media is doing a poor job of connecting. Trump’s continued freedom to spew lies is still inspiring bottom-feeding, brainwashed, armed scum to commit violence for him. Like the 1/6 insurrectionists, these people need to be tracked down now, arrested and dealt the most severe consequences the law allows, because nothing else is getting through to them.

Which brings me back to Attorney General Merrick Garland. I was incensed to see him almost giddy when asked if he’s watching the hearings…

Yeah, he’s watching, but is he DOING anything? Well, just yesterday, Garland hopped over to Ukraine to promise them he’ll deliver justice to their war criminals.

Bottom line: When the 1/6 hearings end, Garland had better deliver justice to the traitors in his own country who his inaction is enabling to STILL plot a coup, or he and the rest of us are all fucked.

Happy 3rd Birthday to Our Own Tony B.

By Roc (with Max observing)

The world may celebrate D Day today, but here at Cats Working, we celebrate T Day.

Our little bro, Tony Bourdain, is already three years old. Can you believe it? It seems like only yesterday Karen surprised us with this scrawny 5-month-old kitten who tore through the place like a Tasmanian Devil. Here he is during the 10 seconds Karen got him to wear a collar…

“Do you think my body will ever catch up with my ears?”

Here he is today (well, yesterday), his own little man-kitty, staking his claim to the bed so Karen couldn’t finish making it, just like I taught him…

“There’s nothing like lying on clean sheets I didn’t have to lick myself.”

He also likes to hang out with our resident trolls…

“Trolls’ names (L-R) are Phillip, Per and Gunnar. Karen says don’t ask her why.”

He’s still being really cautious about trying out Karen’s sisal handiwork on the kitty perch, even after I demonstrated for him how sturdy it is by dangling from the dangles…

“See, Tony? This new stuff feels GREAT on your pads!”

Thanks to this being his special day, Tony and I got bacon for breakfast. Max wasn’t interested. Next in our daily routine is making Karen open the window — in all weather — so Tony and I can make sure the neighborhood wildlife isn’t doing anything perverted in our yard…

“With the plant stand behind me, I feel like a mighty jungle kitty lurking in the underbrush, ready to POUNCE!”

Later, when Karen goes upstairs to start her workday, Tony always beats her to the balcony and leaps onto the perch as if he’s always been there. On this day, he spooked her with this calculating look…

“She’ll wonder all day what dirty tricks I’m plotting.”

Now that the weather is heating up, one of his favorite daytime hangouts is under Karen’s desk. This is not as eccentric as it looks. He’s catching the breeze from the fan Karen runs from Max’s Man Cave to keep the whole upstairs cooled off…

“When I’m down here, why do I always feel like I’m being watched?”

Tonight, Tony is treating us all to a boiled shrimp dinner. Max may join in, or maybe not. You never know with Max and people food. I’ll surely eat my fill — and Tony’s, too, if he turns his head for a second. I love shrimp!

Speaking of shrimps, we wish our crazy Tony a very 3rd Happy B-Day and many more…

“Why do humans always say, ‘Mr. DeMille, I’m ready for my closeup’?”

Success Report: DIY Kitty Perch Rescue

By Roc

Remember that fantastic gray kitty perch Karen put together for us as an early Christmas present during the pandemic…

Tony sleeps up top evenings, and we’ve kept it looking nice. I can count on one paw the times Max has ever touched it.

Tony and I found one sisal post PERFECT for wonderful claw-grabbing s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-s and we’ve been giving it daily workouts — until this happened…

I can’t blame Tony. I’m the only kitty with the size and strength to commit vandalism of this magnitude. I even get a criminal look in my eyes when I’m pondering my next big caper…

Around these parts, they call me “KMD” (Kitty of Massive Destruction).

This development upset Karen because 1) Loss of a popular scratching place put us one step closer to digging in to the furniture, and 2) It looked bad, not that the living room is what you’d call a showplace even on a good day.

The sisal was flimsy, and the post underneath turns out to be crappy cardboard. Which explains how Karen got the thing dirt-cheap. What did she expect for less than three figures? Mahogany?

Out of respect (and aversion to Karen’s screaming), Tony and I have steered clear of that post since the destruction.

After determining it might be fixable, Karen turned to the trusty internet and discovered a cottage industry for restoring sisal kitty scratchers.

She bought 164 ft. of MEEXPAWS 1/4” sisal rope from Amazon, which came nicely coiled, and with a roll of double-stick tape…

Photo: Amazon

But Karen didn’t want to use tape or glue because they might not withstand our assaults, and they’d ruin the cardboard if the post needed fixing again. What to do, what to do?

We don’t own a big staple gun, and Karen was considering nailing it when she found this perfectly brilliant man with a YouTube video, “My cat tree repair without tools or glue”…

We tackled the project this past weekend. I supervised nearby, of course. Karen first removed the original sisal, which had been stapled.

Immediately upon untying the new bale of sisal, all 164 feet unraveled at our feet into a tangled mess, which Karen then had to fling around the post with every row she wrapped.

Sorry, no photos of that because I have no thumbs for the iPhone and if Karen had let go for a second in mid-wrapping, it would have all come undone.

As she used up rope, it got a little easier. Finally, she made it to the bottom and tied it off. Voila!…

The color’s a bit off, but it’s heavier rope, so even BETTER than before.

I say that even though Tony and I have so far refused to be the guinea pigs to test it, even though Karen gave us an hilarious demonstration to refresh our memories on how to scratch a post.

Karen was so pleased with the result, she’s gotten ideas about our other perches. But first, she needed to salvage the remaining sisal, a job not made any easier by Tony romping all over it, biting at it like she was playing. We’ve got this much left…

Karen thinks there’s enough left to give Tony’s favorite blue perch at the top of the stairs a refurb…

We’ll need to get more sisal for the short perch by the living room window that screams for attention…

And then there’s that tall perch next to the couch…

The lower level there where Mickey and the Teds hang out could also use some love…

I’m glad Adele isn’t here to see this because she believed “Every Cat’s an Artist” and called all these perches “art installations.” She’d be spitting mad and fluff-tailed to have her creative endeavors sisaled over.

Speaking of outrage, Karen has been wondering why we all suddenly stopped fighting over Max’s favorite kitty bed near the sliding glass door. She found her answer while taking these photos…

There was a hairball on Max’s favorite cuddle toy, Cattey. By the color, it could belong to anybody, but she’ll never find out who because we’re cats, not rats…

(PS: You’ll be relieved to know that Cattey is fine. The hairball had dried out and came off without leaving a stain. I hope you weren’t eating dinner while you read this.)

UPDATE FROM KAREN: A few hours after Roc posted this story, I went downstairs and caught him giving the new sisal post a going over. He looked at me with his, “Am I in the doghouse?” expression, but the sisal stood up to him hanging on it beautifully. So, it looks like full steam ahead on sprucing up the other perches.

Dems, Enough with Gun Control, Go After Bullets

By Karen

Guns don’t kill — bullets do.

–Cats Working

After yet another senseless slaughter of elementary school children and their teachers, Democrats are outraged and heartbroken. They howl that something needs to be done. Yet by doing NOTHING to punish or expel their seditious Republican colleagues in Congress — many still publicly trying to overthrow the government — Pelosi and Schumer allow a treasonous minority to block all gun control.

While clutching their nonexistent Second Amendment right to personal armories, Republicans love to deflect the blame to mental illness.

This is the only point where I agree with Republicans. You certainly do have to be severely mentally ill to want ALL fetuses born so they can grow up to be blown away at school by your guns.

As a sign where Republicans’ addled heads still are after this latest carnage, an NRA convention begins May 27 in Houston, a mere 278 miles from blood-soaked Robb Elementary School in Uvalde. But no Texans are telling the NRA, “Bad timing. Take your death-loving freak show somewhere else this year.”

Since Democrats will never whine themselves to a win on re-banning assault weapons or reducing the 400 million guns currently out there, they need another angle, like…

AN EXORBITANT FEDERAL TAX ON BULLETS

Make each bullet cost $100. All the sniveling little punks plotting killing sprees under their oblivious parents’ noses might even have to get a job to save enough for ammo. The delay could maybe make them grow out of the idea — or give a parent time to realize they’re harboring a psychopath.

Upon turning 18, the Uvalde killer bought himself the mass murderers’ weapon of choice, an AR-15 and high-capacity magazines. He also had a handgun.

This page from the Bushmaster Operator and Safety Instruction Manual says the gun can fire 45 rounds (i.e., bullets) a minute.

So, Congress could set a deranged killer back $4,500 for each minute of fun pretending a school is a video game.

Tax the hell out of ammunition so it’s far beyond the reach of all the low- to middle-class wannabe mass murderers and MAGA cultists itching for Civil War II. Then they can play with as many empty guns as they wish.

BONUS FROM THE CATS WORKING ARCHIVES: We’ve been gun control advoCATs for years. Our late colleague Cole was passionate on the topic, and here are links to some of his memorable posts.

Cole, 2015

In 2018, after the Washington D.C. Navy Yard mass murder, Cole suggested …

“If we won’t stop people from buying guns, let’s declare every person who tries to buy a gun insane until they can prove beyond a doubt otherwise.” If No Gun Control, Then People Control

Cole in 2013 linked people’s compulsion to own guns and SUVs to the same evil intent…

“The thought process playing out with guns today is a replay of what happened when massive SUVs became available to any moron with a driver’s license. Just like guns, SUVs make their owners feel invulnerable, immortal, and in possession of a bigger penis. Arnold Schwarzenegger in a Mini Cooper would be no match for Woody Allen in an SUV.” Riddle: How is a Gun Like an SUV

After the Newtown massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary in 2012, Cole shot down former Republican Governor Bob McDonnell’s not-so-novel idea to arm all the adults…

“So the teacher keeps the gun locked in his desk. Then a gunman suddenly walks in and starts spraying the room with bullets. Before the teacher can get to his gun, he’s dead.

“And since teachers can’t be in their classrooms 24/7, what’s to keep an enterprising little lock-picker from getting to the gun and wasting the classmates who just bullied him in the lunchroom?” Virginia’s Redneck Response to Newtown

Also after Newtown, Cole offered a smorgasbord of ways to curb gun violence, while expressing his dismay with the state of things…

“Every time we have a Columbine, a Virginia Tech, an Aurora, a Newtown, and people do nothing but light candles, cry, and pray (and re-elect politicians who’d rather have regular massacres than give up their right to carry double-barreled penis extensions), Americans show the world what a bunch of craven, ignorant barbarians we are.” Response to Newtown Incomprehensible — Yet Predictable

Review: Lightning Doesn’t Strike Twice for ZPZ with “Nomad”

By Karen

Anthony Bourdain set the bar so high for travel series, I wonder if we should retire the format for a generation, like a super-athlete’s sports jersey, after watching Zero Point Zero’s Nomad with Carlton McCoy on CNN.

I feel sorry for Bourdain’s heir. Carlton McCoy is tracing incredibly deep tracks without the experience or maturity to either fill or reshape them.

Scheduling Nomad at 10 p.m. (ET) Sunday, CNN did McCoy no favors because he follows Stanley Tucci: Searching for Italy. After an hour of Tucci charm, sophistication, wit and easy Italian banter in gorgeous settings, McCoy barely stands a chance.

I’m speaking with generational bias. McCoy is 37, with a shaved head, one of those itchy-looking stubble-beards, and tats all over. His personality reminds me of Rick Steves, and not in a good way.

McCoy’s quick backstory: Father Black, mother Jewish, but raised in the Pentecostal church of his paternal grandmother. Grew up in Washington D.C.’s tough, underprivileged Southeast section. Bounced around high schools, but managed to graduate with a scholarship to the CIA (Culinary Institute of America).

While working in restaurants, he studied wine and became a master sommelier. Only 5% who take it pass that exam, and there are fewer than 300 master sommeliers in the world.

He brings to the show a chef’s knowledge of food and what makes a good wine pairing. So far, that’s about it.

Remember Bourdain’s voiceover opening to No Reservations?

“I’m Anthony Bourdain. I write, I travel, I eat, and I’m hungry for more.”

This is McCoy’s…

“I’m a nomad, driven to move in and out of different cultures, different worlds. We celebrate diversity by embracing what makes us both unique and the same. After all, we carry our travels with us to our next destination. That’s what life is all about. Let’s do this.”

OK, wake up, I’m not finished!

Like Bourdain, McCoy’s voiceover is clear (more on that in a minute), but the content is as personally insightful and humorous as a book report about the dictionary.

Nomad’s inaugural episode is Paris, a place McCoy has visited before. The B-roll included all the usual tourist sights. The show wraps at Elysée Palace (the French White House), where McCoy talks to one of President Emmanuel Macron’s chefs.

But to its credit, for most of the episode, McCoy is in the seedier outer arrondissements, the banlieues parisiennes or No Go zones.

Nomad emphasizes the new, the next generation, with little acknowledgement of origins. Cultural context was Bourdain’s forte, thanks to his insatiable study of literature and film.

Nomad feels like early No Reservations. The camera work is safe and competent, and scenes tick the usual boxes…

• Bowl of noodles at hole in the wall
• Famous chef cooking in Michelin starred restaurant
• Host strolling the streets

In the second episode, Korea, McCoy meets up with an old CIA classmate, and they immediately hit Seoul’s open-air market, including a meal of blood sausage and chicken feet washed down with local booze and beer.

Has your déjà vu alarm gone off yet?

When McCoy leaves Seoul for the countryside, they load the car with hard-sided, unscuffed luggage.

OK, that’s something new.

I can’t remember ever seeing Bourdain’s luggage. He wanted us to think he could and did go anywhere with just a carry-on. Stanley Tucci probably has steamer trunks for his impeccable wardrobe, but he’d never show them.

In the third episode, McCoy travels back to D.C. and hangs out with old friends, relatives and teachers. It seemed far too early in the series for him to be showing us his roots.

At the end, I expected to see Bourdain’s crew all over the credits, but there were only Chris and Lydia as executive producers. On second thought, new names mean Tony’s crew has moved on, and I’m glad. They reached the Emmy pinnacle for cinematography and writing, so going back to scratch with a noob would have been unthinkable.

With time, McCoy will probably grow into the job. But if he gets a second season, ZPZ must address his sloppy diction. His conversations almost need subtitles. His voice isn’t distinctive and he speaks too fast and slurs his words.

One other beef: He needs to lose that ridiculous New York Yankees baseball cap that screams, “I’m a dumbass American tourist!”

In the remaining season, McCoy travels to Ghana, Toronto and Mississippi. If you want more details on his early life, I found this excellent article by Amiee White Beazley.

Taking a Pass on 2022 Kentucky Derby

By Tony

Here’s a confession for all my peeps: Try as hard as I might, I’m just not feeling excited about Triple Crown season the way my predecessors Adele and Fred did. I’m sorry.

A month before I was born, back in 2019, the Kentucky Derby winner was Maximum Security. But he was disqualified for bumping into another horse in the stretch and they gave the win to Country House instead.

I joined the Cats Working crew that October. Roc and Max drafted me to fill Adele’s considerable paw pads as the 2020 Triple Crown prognosticator. But COVID screwed up the order of my first Triple Crown season and the Derby ended up being the LAST race, run in September, instead of the first one. My pick came in second, but he’d already won the longest and hardest race, the Belmont, so I couldn’t claim to know what I was doing.

Not like amazing Adele did back in 2011 when she picked Animal Kingdom and HE WON!

So, I tried again in 2021. When my top pick came in 16^th, I began to wonder if I’m really cut out for horse racing. The winner of that Derby was Medina Spirit. But then HE was disqualified after they found some banned substance in his system after the race.

Sadly, Medina Spirit unexpectly dropped dead during a workout on December 6, 2021. But he died a winner, never knowing he was disqualified, because the humans took their sweet time and didn’t reach their verdict until February 2022.

As a result, Medina’s trainer, Bob Baffert, has been banned for two years from tracks on both coasts for doping horses. But for today’s Derby, Baffert managed to skirt the ban by transferring two of his horses, Taiba and Messier, to one of his former trainer associates, who was able to enter them.

After two Derby disqualifications in three years, I think The Triple Crown is morphing into more a series of rigged elections than fair races. It doesn’t matter how powerful or fast the horses are. Some human bastard with an agenda will be waiting like a spider at the finish line, hoping for some sign of “fraud” with which to take out the winner.

You can’t get excited or trust what you see watching these races anymore. If they don’t turn out the way some backroom gang of thugs planned, they’ll throw the thing into dispute until they get what they want, the horses be damned.

I feel really bad for thoroughbreds who train hard and run themselves ragged in qualifying races for the Derby. In the end, none of it matters. Their reputations and fates are in the hands of sometimes deceitful, greedy people who will dope or drag any horse’s good name through the mud to win.

Cats Working wishes all the horses a safe trip today, and we’ll be watching. But nobody’s got paws crossed for a winner, because any horse’s “victory” may be just a temporary illusion.

Abortion: Only the Tip of the Real Problem

By Karen

A draft opinion by Justice Samuel Alito on the Supreme Court’s still-pending decision on Roe v. Wade has leaked and reveals the expected. The conservative majority (Alito, Thomas, Gorsuch, Kavanaugh, Coney Barrett, maybe Roberts) will allow states once again to force women to carry unwanted pregnancies, or risk death trying to end them.

Meanwhile, sadistic state Republicans across the country are passing draconian laws to severely restrict or ban abortion altogether.

The nightmare is here, so, will women stop whining and start demanding an eye for an eye? Or, a dick for a uterus?

(NOTE: I use “dick” instead of the proper term to avoid an avalanche of porn spam.)

While Republican men have wet dreams about torturing expectant mothers and then starving, neglecting, abusing and using their toddlers for target practice, women seem to be repeating Democrats’ mistake by playing nice. They express outrage on cable news and hold marches and peaceful protests.

Women, wake up. We need to scream and do something about the root cause of abortion: men’s dicks.

Dicks exist only for sperm delivery. OK, sperm and urine. Dickless men would have to sit down to pee like ladies. No biggie.

If not for dicks doing their sperm thing, abortion would be unneeded, legal or otherwise.

Every abortion now in question started with a dick attached to a man.

[“What about in vitro fertilization?” you cleverly ask. Stay focused. Women who get in vitro (Latin for “without dick”) are desperate. They don’t get abortions unless something goes terribly wrong. Those tragic terminations should have another name and are excluded from my discussion.]

Sicko Republicans paint women as inherently evil baby-killers whose lives must be destroyed — even if they were rape or incest victims. Whereas, the real evil is men’s unfettered dick freedom. Nobody’s suggesting the first fucking remedy for that. Not even male birth control.

Female legislators need to grow a pair and write counter-legislation.

How about bills mandating stiff penalties for men who impregnate women against their will, even if they’re married? If the child is born, the woman can sue to ensure financial support for herself and the child for 18 years, even if there’s a divorce.

Or, how about enabling a woman to sue for $10,000 any man who hits on her for unwanted sex that could result in pregnancy?

Call this one #MeToo on Steroids, or a Bounty on Indiscriminate Dicks. If Texas can put a bounty on uteruses, why not?

Men who try to skip out on the court’s ruling against them for any reason are reported, arrested and given the option of vasectomy or chemical castration (their choice) so they can’t offend again.

This is basically TNR (trap-neuter-release) used on feral cat colonies to reduce their numbers, only applied to human men. If enough men skirt their financial penalties, they get neutered, the birth rate drops and abortion eventually becomes moot.

Seem harsh? Think about this:

Most men think of their dicks as instruments of pride, pleasure (or power) over women, not baby-makers. To exterminate men with this attitude would admittedly be extreme, but we can certainly curb their dicks.

While this female-friendly legislation gets debated, women could exercise options some currently ignore, if the numbers fleeing Texas for abortions are any indication. For starters, keep your legs together. If you feel frisky, you can do the job quicker and better yourself and, unless your man has no hands, so can he.

In extreme cases, remember Lorena Bobbitt. She became famous in 1993 for cracking under sexual abuse (and a forced abortion) and castrating her husband. The world would be a lot safer for all women if more wives trained their husbands to sleep with one eye open, or risk waking up looking like a Ken doll.

Women need to get real and get loud about dicks. In addition to legal penalties, we need to ban Viagra, Cialis and whatever other dick-inflating pills they’ve got, as well as pumps, implants and any other pervy devices they use.

If women can’t have abortions, then men need to take responsibility for their role in pregnancy and be punished to the fullest extent if it’s unwanted.

And may every dick on the Supreme Court (including Amy the c*nt) who doesn’t like this solution be damned.

Got a Bit of Bourdain News to Share

By Karen

Found: His Chef’s Knife – If you’re in Singapore, stop by the display at The English House by Marco Pierre White, which is where you’ll find Anthony Bourdain’s beloved Bob Kramer chef’s knife, that chrome duck press he bought after seeing one in the Paris episode of The Layover, as well as a few pieces of his art collection.

Photo: AntiquesandtheArts.com

I believe Tony originally paid $5,000 for the knife. The English House got it for a cool $231,250 at the 2019 auction of Tony’s belongings. At the time, I don’t think we knew who the knife’s highest bidder was. But now the truth is out there.

The English House is also serving, in Bourdain’s honor, his favorite Italian pasta dish, Cacio e Pepe.

Unauthorized Biography Postponed – Publication of Charles Leerhsen’s unauthorized biography of Bourdain, Down and Out in Paradise, has been postponed from June to October 11 for reasons unknown.

I’m lifetime-banned from Twitter, but I was able to stroll through Leerhsen’s Twitter feed to see if I could find out more. From his retweets, Leerhsen is undeniably liberal, but his bona fides include being Donald Trump’s ghostwriter from 1988-1990 on Trump’s second book, and he wrote an article about how he is no fan of Putin’s greasy orange sock puppet (my description, not his).

In February, I found this pair of tweets…

What “intimate sources” on EARTH could he be talking about? And how would Bourdain’s “personal files” be in anyone’s custody but his family’s? And since the book is “definitely unauthorized” (according to the Amazon blurb) Tony’s family’s lack of cooperation is admitted.

I’m not attacking Leerhsen’s credibility here, but he seems to raise his own bar extremely high for delivering trustworthy, significant new facts.

From other tweets I found, he did some genealogical digging into Tony’s late mother Gladys’ ancestry. He could find the scoop on Tony’s paternal forebears right here at Cats Working — and maybe he did.

Brasserie Les Halles Has Moved On, But Not Too Far – Bourdain’s last kitchen workplace in New York City closed in 2016, but its darkened front instantly became a makeshift memorial site after his death in 2018, entirely covered with notes and flowers from fans.

It reopened recently under new ownership as La Brasserie, still with a French bistro vibe. As a remembrance of Bourdain, the signature dish of steak frites remains on the menu.

Bourdain Market Idea Revived, in a Fashion – Bourdain regretfully pulled the plug in 2017 on his vision of founding a Singaporean-style food court in NYC, to be called Bourdain Market. But the James Beard Foundation has picked up the baton and is working with the same developers Tony partnered with to transform Pier 57 into a food hall and community gathering place. It sounds like it may lack the international flair Tony was hoping for, but it proves his idea wasn’t such a pipe dream, after all.

Where Are the Crew Now? Helen Cho – While recently watching season 2 of the HBO series, Painting with John, I noticed Helen Cho’s name listed in the credits. “John” is artist/musician John Lurie, one of Bourdain’s last acquaintances. Remember Helen from Roadrunner? She seemed the one most ferociously willing to “go there” when it came to acknowledging who probably pushed Tony too close to the edge.

As it always seems to happen in life, soon after seeing her name, Helen did an interview with Eater that crossed my radar. She’s gone the freelance route with her work and seems to be making good connections. I wish her every success.

Cats Working PS – That earlier tweet by Charles Leerhsen about Bourdain’s world beginning to “shift and fade,” reminded me of one of the things I miss most about having Tony on the planet — discovering new people through him.

For example, John Lurie is a person I’d never heard of until Tony bought one of his paintings and had him on Parts Unknown. Now I absolutely love that guy and the quirks of his boundless imagination. He makes me want to dust off my watercolors and try again.

Come to think of it, Marco Pierre White is another one. When it came to celebrity chefs, Gordan Ramsay and Emeril pretty much comprised my repertoire. Bourdain introduced me to Jacques Pépin, Eric Ripert. Nigella Lawson, Ludo Lefevre, Marcus Samuelsson, David Chang, Gabrielle Hamilton, I could go on and on.

Not to mention Nancy, Ottavia, Ariane, his brother Chris. Zamir. Crew member Tom Vitale.

When Bourdain’s world stopped spinning, my world stopped expanding, in a way. No one else has been opening new doors to new people and places the way he regularly did for me, just by waking up every day and letting his curiosity lead him.

Our Poltergeist Strikes Again… and Again

By Karen

Last year, I told you how Roc and I witnessed a book being pushed or pulled out of the bookcase in my bedroom when nobody had touched it.

[OMG… in pulling up the link to that previous post, I just realized the new development I’m about to tell you started within a week or so of the book, in July 2021. It never occurred to me the two incidents might be related.]

It was a Thursday morning that July when the wall switch that powers the garbage disposal went suddenly dead. The disposal itself was fine and relatively new; I just couldn’t turn it on. I wondered if the tiny ants who sometimes invade the kitchen in warm weather might have caused the problem.

I quickly learned how you don’t appreciate your disposal until it’s gone. For the four days I waited for a repairman, I had to scrape uneaten cat food and other yucky bits into the “stinky bag” I always keep in the freezer for onions, banana peels, chicken bones, et cetera, until trash day because rancid garbage makes me gag.

The repairman removed the switch plate and didn’t see any ants. When he touched two wires together, the garbage disposal roared to life. So, it appeared to be a simple loose connection. Who knows how that happened after 39 years?

As a precaution, I had him replace the whole switch, and he showed me how he twined the wires together to be extra-secure.

All was well until last Monday morning. I’d just scraped a pile of Roc and Tony’s rejected cat mush down the disposal when I flipped the switch and it was dead again.

The repair company couldn’t send someone until Friday, so I had to scoop the now-soaking-wet cat mush out of the disposal with my hand and into the stinky bag.

As the week dragged by, I kept flipping the switch to make sure it wasn’t a bad dream, but it was futile.

When the second repairman finally arrived, I flipped the switch for him once and it was dead. Then I flipped it again.

IT WORKED!! WTF??

And it worked every time after that. He checked out the new switch and everything looked fine. And no ants.

I felt like a complete fool, now out $99 for the unnecessary call. The repairman probably thought I’m a pathetic cat lady with more money than brains who calls in bogus issues for somebody to talk to.

Now, I throw anything down the garbage disposal with trepidation. Fool me twice… Or is “something” trying to get my attention using the electricity? This incident brought to mind what happened one night in October 2021.

I told you how the living room lamp mysteriously blew a bulb at a crucial moment while I was watching the Anthony Bourdain documentary, Roadrunner. The timing of that gave me chills.

What’s next?

UPDATE – IT JUST HAPPENED AGAIN: I first drafted this post two days ago, so the Phantom of the Garbage Disposal knew I was writing about it.

Yesterday morning, I was tidying up the Man Cave Café (a.k.a. upstairs bathroom). Max was sitting in the Man Cave (bedroom/junkroom) on the end table beside the couch, and Roc was standing at the opposite end of the couch. My back was turned when I heard a thump.

It was this small Amazon box holding my collection of plastic store “poop bags” nicely folded for future use…

As you can see, the box was securely tucked between other boxes. I haven’t touched it since I put it there weeks ago, and the cats were nowhere within striking distance. Now, that box was on the floor. Max and Roc were looking at the spot where it came from, but not spooked at all.

I recreated the moment to show you where/how the box landed, and Tony insisted on assisting me…

I have logistical questions about how the box landed with its top facing up without actually being lifted (or was it?). I put it back in position and pulled it out every which way. It always landed where Tony is standing. So, whatever’s doing this stuff is flexing its muscles. I swear I’m not making any of this up.