Chapter 106: COVID Chronicles

July 12, 2020

By Karen

Day 123

Trump Finally Masks Up & Natalie Wood Still Haunts Us

Today marks exactly four months I’ve been cooped up. Last night I got another haul of Chinese takeout to put off going to the grocery store a few more days. I feel safer spending a few minutes at China Taste’s plexiglass window than wandering through a whole Aldi or Food Lion, possibly among mask-free Trumpers.

Virginia just hit 70,000 cases, with daily figures increasing from roughly 600 to 900. The foolhardy reopening, against Governor Northam’s medical training and common sense, seems to be catching up with us.

Meanwhile, Trump returned to Walter Reed to visit wounded troops — the ones who cheated Trump’s buddy Putin of the opportunity to pay a bounty on their corpses — and Trump wore a mask…

During his chopper talk before leaving the White House, Trump said he thinks it’s customary to wear masks in hospitals (DUH, ya THINK?) and that he’s “never” been against wearing masks.

His lies just keep spewing like a firehose.

Meanwhile, his little buddy Roger Stone minces off with a nice commutation from 40 months in the slammer for seven felonies, just in time for Stone to commit more helping Trump cheat to a second term.

On the home front, this morning I washed a big load of cat blankies, including the purple one at the center of Roc and Max’s struggle over the couch. I’m wondering if it’s the location or the blankie that’s drawing Max, and plan an experiment tonight if he comes downstairs.

Right after I used a pet glove to clean fur off the couch cover, Roc had to claim the sunny spot. Tony prefers to bask upright. He looks so big!…

But as soon as Tony noticed me taking his picture, he came at me like a celebrity flushing paparazzi out of the bushes…

I have almost enough to build a kitten from what came off the blankies in the dryer, but at least it’s not fur stuck all over the house…

Speaking of celebrities, last night I watched the new HBO documentary, Natalie Wood: What Remains Behind. Her daughter, Natasha Gregson Wagner, who was 11 when Natalie died, provides much of the commentary. In one creepy scene, she sits opposite Robert Wagner, now 90, as he retells what happened that night on the boat.

Natasha believes he’s blameless, but he didn’t look at all like he was telling the whole truth.

According to him, it was just another night at anchor near Catalina. Natalie was down in their cabin getting ready for bed, and when he went down later, she’d left the boat for no reason whatsoever.

Actor Christopher Walken was also on board. He’d done Brainstorm with Natalie, and its director declared they couldn’t have been having an affair because they had zero chemistry during filming. I have no opinion on that.

I’m also not saying that I think either man pushed Natalie overboard. But I do believe things turned nasty, most likely a fight between Natalie and Wagner over something. Both men know exactly why Natalie left the boat. They were probably relieved to have her go sit in the dinghy to cool down and never dreamed she’d do anything life-threatening.

If Wagner dies first, I hope Walken finally comes clean. For now, they’re sticking to their pact of mutual silence to protect somebody.


Chapter 97: COVID Chronicles

July 3, 2020

By Karen

Day 114

Apropos of Nothing & July 4th Family Drama

I don’t spend all my time watching TV. I also read. It took a few weeks to finish Woody Allen’s memoir, Apropos of Nothing, but I really loved it. It’s funny, self-deprecating, and the stories he shares about growing up, falling in love with movies, and how he became a director are delicious.

Woody heaps praise on virtually all the actors he’s ever worked with, even the ones who now claim to regret it and say they’ll NEVER work with him again, because that’s the cool #MeToo thing to do. He even extols Mia Farrow’s acting ability.

For the record, I’ve always believed Woody on the molestation accusations because his side of the story makes total sense. Also, he was exonerated in two thorough police investigations, and he was later cleared to adopt children after he married Soon-Yi.

Mia Farrow, on the other hand, I vividly remember as a flaky wack job since she became famous on the nighttime soap opera Peyton Place in the ‘60s, which I used to watch.

When Woody met Mia, she’d already begun hoarding orphans (eventually 10 total) like a turbo-charged Joan Crawford. Mia already had three boys by her second husband André Previn, yet insisted she and Woody have a child together unmarried. When she finally got pregnant, she told Woody the baby might be Frank Sinatra’s (Mia’s first husband, 30 years her senior, marriage lasted a year).

Look closely at Ronan Farrow and see if you don’t detect any young Sinatra. Ronan is apparently uninterested in learning the truth, which seems an odd attitude for a Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist.

Anyway, Woody dating Soon-Yi sent Mia over the edge, and a lot of people got hurt in Mia’s quest for revenge.

Woody and Soon-Yi have now been married 24 years and have two adopted daughters in college.

Three of Mia’s adopted children died young, at least one by suicide.

On the home front, I learned this morning that my parents are going ahead with a July 4th cookout that I’ve been hoping wouldn’t happen. Humidity’s going to make it feel like 100o, with a storm in the forecast. That means everybody will be talking and eating in the house without masks.

When my mother called to tell me, I told her I’m not coming. To persuade me, she said she’d just met with clients and nobody was wearing masks.

Then she accused me of calling her ignorant, which I certainly did. Now she’s mad at me.

That’s how most of our phone calls devolve, so this is nothing unusual.

I’m 65 years old, I have high blood pressure and excess weight. I also don’t have a husband or boyfriend to help out around here if I’m too sick to function. The LAST thing I’m going to do, after holing up in the house for nearly four months, is throw it all away by exposing myself now for a fucking hot dog.

To end the week on a more cheery note, Max was very happy to have the sunny spot on the couch this morning…

He looks a bit grouchy when he first wakes up…

And Tony is practicing to be a portrait model, posing for these two great pics atop the blue kitty perch…


Chapter 93: COVID Chronicles

June 29, 2020

By Karen

Day 110

With Trump, No Surprises Left & I Get Creative with Leftovers

As if it weren’t enough for Trump to be killing us in droves with COVID at home, we learn he’s been happy to let Russia take out our soldiers by proxy in Afghanistan.

It seems Putin pays the Taliban bounties for American hides. And Trump now denies that he and Pence have known it for months.

I’ll concede it’s possible that Trump, with his dwindling mental capacity, has no memory of it. And Pence’s standard line for everything is, “Nobody never tells me nuttin’ about nuttin’.”

And maybe whenever Chickenshit Cheetos Cadet Bone Spurs salutes a soldier, it’s not his secret “Fuck You!” signal to our generals because he’s been helping his BFF Vladdy wipe out U.S. troops without wasting any Russian bullets.

When did we make it OK for presidents who commit cut-and-dried treason say, “You can’t blame me for treason because I’m too mentally incapacitated, but you still have to let me run the country”?

What I find most tedious about this latest crime is everyone’s totally predictable outrage and continuing questions.

If there’s one thing 100% consistent about Trump, whether he’s manifesting any heinous human trait you can imagine, or behaving with such depravity that it defies description, it’s that it’s always EXACTLY as bad as it looks.

Trump has NEVER said or done anything that left anyone saying, “Well, that certainly wasn’t as bad as we feared.”

Moreover, it usually gets worse as you peel away the putrid layers of corruption that envelop everything he touches.

These bounties will be no different. Trump has been green-lighting Putin’s Kill-Americans-for-Fun-and-Profit project.

Don’t be surprised if it’s eventually revealed that Putin pays Trump a percentage on every American kill. Trump’s never been one to pass up an opportunity to demand a cut for his beneficence. This will probably be no exception.

Back on the culinary front, last night I had leftover beef lo mein in the fridge from my favorite takeout place, China Taste. I jazzed it up with onions and broccoli doused in soy sauce and sesame oil, and sprinkled it with bits of boneless pork spare ribs. It turned out delicious…

For today’s lunch, I still haven’t bought lunchmeat, and had only a dab of Mediterranean pasta salad left. It swims in olive oil, so I added some diced tomato sprinkled with oregano. Then a few Kalamata olives. And for protein I had some hard salami sitting around, so why not? For that touch of green, capers. Finished off with feta cheese. Voila! Tasty little lunch…

Speaking of lo mein, does anybody know a good recipe for whatever’s on the noodles? I’ve tried several, but have never been able to duplicate that restaurant taste.


Chapter 92: COVID Chronicles

June 28, 2020

By Karen

Day 109

Let’s Compare Notes: How Are We Doing?

As time drags on, trapped between COVID and Trump’s incessant assault on our sanity, we must wonder how or when it will end. Will life ever be “normal” again?

For 109 days I’ve only ventured out every few weeks for food and liquor, and twice to visit my parents at a distance.

I could run other errands, but always ask myself, “Is what I need to do at X worth getting sick and dying for?” The answer is always no, so I don’t do it.

My work has dropped off to part-time. Some will probably come back, some not. The lull has made time to write 92 blog posts in as many days, a feat I’ve never come close to before.

When my posts get no reaction whatsoever, I see by the statistics that somebody did look. I count those as human contact that day. But comments are the best affirmations I receive.

I stay up later, sleep later, and spend virtually every waking moment staring at a computer, phone, tablet or TV screen unless I’m cooking or in the bathroom. Too many of my meals have no green on the plate.

Even with the lighter workload, I look forward too much to flopping on the couch evenings to tune out the world with nonpolitical TV shows and martinis or a bottle of wine.

I feel guilty about all the productive things I could do but don’t. I have watercolors, but haven’t painted. I did some coloring in Chapter 5. My house is full of good books I could read every day for the rest of my life and never get through.

Instead of blogging for free, I could write a book. I’m a writer.

But not to beat myself up too much, I grew chives from nubs. I still study Norwegian (update another time). I continue this daily, mostly one-sided correspondence with somebody out there.

Essentially, two main things keep me going. One is these little guys…

They’re my reason to get up every morning (if I didn’t, Roc and Tony would probably eat me). It’s like I room with three demanding frat brothers in fur coats.

The other reason is my solid determination to survive Trump so I can see his downfall.

Trump is falling apart. I scour Twitter every day for video clips the news media refuses to use. That they continue to conceal most hard evidence of his deterioration is a crime in itself.

Trump has balance issues. His arms and shoulders jerk uncontrollably, which simultaneously causes him to mispronounce words. Watch him closely when he’s clutching the podium as he speaks. He has trouble swallowing. He can no longer form sentences. He’s incapable of conversation. When asked any question, he responds with babble he’s said thousands of times. (Ex: “We’ll see what happens.”) He expresses no original thoughts on any subject.

He is still able to fixate on criticisms he hears about himself, which he parrots as projections onto others. Right now he’s obsessed with making us believe Biden has dementia.

We must all get through this alive. As long as Trump manages to elude COVID, it’s up to us to criticize him, mock him, hold him accountable for his crimes and face down his cult of ignorant, no-class lowlifes. They are NOT a “silent majority,” but a sick, twisted minority of racist, backward-thinking traitors who will not prevail. We must drive those who don’t die of COVID through their own stupidity back into the shadows.

I agree with Joe Biden that the United States, as a whole, is a country of honorable and decent people. We let our guard down, and now we must stay strong to put an end to the rotten Republican Party that made a Trump possible.


Chapter 91: COVID Chronicles

June 27, 2020

By Karen

Day 108

Now 3 Things We Can Count On: Taxes, Death & COVID

While COVID was ravaging New York and New Jersey, remember how Trump’s red states seemed smug and complacent, like it could never touch them? Republican governors across the South and Midwest rejected even the most basic precautions, such as masks and social distancing.

Now COVID is on their doorsteps and any idiot could have predicted the results.

Doctors and nurses doing videos in Arkansas, Mississippi and Texas talk about how their hospitals are overwhelmed and people are dying horrible deaths with no end in sight. They’re like reruns of the videos out of New York that other states’ leaders laughed at.

Meanwhile, Trump and Pence refuse to set up the national response and testing we desperately need because they simply don’t care how many people die. I personally believe Trump pleasures himself every evening while looking at the rising numbers of sick and dead. To him, they’re ratings of his success as a dictator. Yes, he really is that sick.

That pair gloat over their nonexistent leadership and prance (at taxpayer expense) from one hot spot to the next like a couple of Typhoid Marys. It seems a matter of when, not if, they will both end up on ventilators — or worse, if we’re lucky. They must pay a price for preening in front of chanting mobs that undoubtedly include infected morons spewing virus. I’m counting the days.

The MAGA set thinks COVID is just one more reality whose existence they can deny. If they pretend it’s gone, it’s gone. But that’s not how viruses work.

I sincerely hope the European Union slams the door to all Americans — including Trump. Countries that did the right things shouldn’t let our potentially infected people anywhere near their citizens. They see Trump gleefully breeding a subset of Americans who will kill without mercy or remorse, with or without a gun. To that bunch (you can easily spot them by the masks they DON’T wear), nobody’s life matters, not even their own. Yes, they’re really that stupid.

My head was exploding as cases rose and yet states started relaxing restrictions and reopening, including Virginia, whose physician-Governor Northam KNEW better. Then the inevitable new wave of illness and death — especially in red states — was reported like nobody saw it coming.

Soon we’ll be seeing figures on the people who attended Trump rallies and ended up in the hospital fighting for their lives. I wonder if that will also be covered as some crazy new twist in the COVID story, or the disgusting inevitability of having an increasingly irrational monster in the White House who feeds on death. He must be stopped before November.


Chapter 90: COVID Chronicles

June 26, 2020

By Karen

Day 107

Cats at Play & Theft

In the ongoing competition over the couch’s primo spot, last night Roc politely sidled up to Max as close I’ve ever seen them. They even exchanged a few head licks before dozing off…

Roc’s display of what Max must have known was insincere affection apparently grossed Max out, because he soon left and spent the rest of the night up in the Man Cave.

Always on the prowl for fun, Tony has dug out an Easter egg that was a gift from a former Cats Working reader, also named Adele. It arrived many years ago for the original blogging crew, which consisted of the now all-late Fred, Yul and Adele. I can still make out Fred’s name on this egg. I put a little wicker ball inside to make it rattle because Tony loves a mystery. Roc was watching, so Tony did his best to stay cool…

But it was no use. Like a kitten, Tony pounced back on, dribbling the egg until it got trapped one time too many…

Nothing escapes Tony. This morning, with no cats around, I put two slices of sourdough bread in the toaster to cook after I finished cleaning the litter boxes. While I was off doing that, Tony deftly lifted a slice out, a feat of greater dexterity (and cunning) than he’s ever shown before, and was nibbling it when I returned. Lately, he’s had an intense interest in bread of all types.

Then last night, Tony had a grappling session with Rowdy Rat, after Rowdy got a catnip refresh. This particular rat has survived here 30-35 years through a succession of cats who all did their best to kill him. He’s still sold by Cat Claws. Poor Rowdy has managed to keep his tail, but his pink ears (which I’ve reattached several times) are long gone…

Tony, Max and Roc wish everyone a healthy and safe weekend and full bowls!


Chapter 82: COVID Chronicles

June 18, 2020

By Karen

Day 99

It’s Tough Being a Statue & My Tasty Tuna Salad

Richmond’s down to 10 Confederate statues (from 13). Earlier this week, protesters spray-painted and yanked off its pedestal a rather nondescript one called “Richmond Howitzers.” I’m sure I’ve driven past it multiple times over the years, but can’t say I ever noticed it existed until it bit the dust…

Alexa Welch Edlund/AP

I think my Yankee-bred radar has conditioned itself to ignore Civil War blips because they never quit. It even comes up in some of my work, in academic contexts.

But Richmond being Richmond, some tit for tat to Black Lives Matter was inevitable. Yesterday someone spray-painted White Lives Matter graffiti on the pedestal of tennis hero Arthur Ashe’s statue. I’m not a tennis fan, but the Ashe statue is truly fascinating. I get creeped out every time I see it…

Sports Illustrated

He’s posed as if he’s about to serve a stack of books. And what’s with those sawed-off children? They’re straight out of Stephen King.

The Ashe statue was placed on Monument Avenue in 1996 after a protracted battle to get it there. But they made sure he was well apart from the Confederates. Here’s a rough map of where they all sit…

Sacred Ground Historical Reclamation Project

After erecting the statue, believe it or not, Richmond honored Ashe AGAIN.

Richmond had this wide old street named just “The Boulevard.” It’s home to the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts and the new “Rumors of War” statue, and crosses Monument Avenue at one point. One year ago, on June 22, The Boulevard was renamed Arthur Ashe Blvd.

There’s some talk of renaming myriad streets around here that have Confederate names. But if they start on that path, it will directly affect a large portion of the population, cost a fortune for address changes, and nobody will be able to find anything anymore.

Footnote: I didn’t mention this because it wasn’t initially reported, but when the statue of former Confederate President Jefferson Davis was pulled down, his face got bashed in. I don’t know if it happened in the fall or deliberately. Assuming no one will pay to restore him, he’s probably toast. It’s all for the best.

Back on the home front, I’m out of lunchmeat. I only buy it at Aldi because it costs considerably more in Food Lion, so today I made tuna salad for lunch. It never turns out the same way twice, depending on what I have on hand.

I do prefer giving it crunch with radishes over celery because 1) radishes are spicier, and 2) I can never use up a bunch of celery before it goes bendy.

I eyeball the quantities and use just enough mayo make it hang together. Old Bay seasoning is excellent on just about any fish (and popcorn!). Here’s all I threw into this batch and it turned out delicious…

Of course, as soon as they heard the can opener, Tony and Roc came running for tuna juice. I gave them some of the plain people tuna as well, but Roc turned up his nose and left it for Tony.

By the way, Roc sends his regards. Windows are open today and he’s enjoying the outdoors from a kitty perch…

Max, still determined to keep his new spot on the couch, has been there since breakfast. He’s got amazing bladder capacity…

Tony just brought to my attention his resemblance to the little cat drawing that’s hung for years above the Kitty Condo near Clark Gable…

BTW, we’re all prepping Tony to watch his first Triple Crown race Saturday, the Belmont. We’ll see if horses are his thing. Adele would be so pleased.

 


Chapter 79: COVID Chronicles

June 15, 2020

By Karen

Day 96

Meatloaf Results & Trump’s Dirt About to Become an Avalanche

It’s a gloomy, drizzly Monday. After owning the couch again last night, Max is spending today upstairs. The temperature is in the low 60os, so I opened windows to air the place out, which immediately had my office crawling with cats…

Last night I made the meatloaf from yesterday’s video recipe. I used the same amounts of everything despite being four ounces short on ground turkey. I was afraid that was a mistake when the raw loaf looked more like mushroom laced with meat than meatloaf. But I forged ahead. Here it is before I baked it (left) and after 50 minutes in a 400o oven, which was long enough to cook it thoroughly…

You can see how it expanded and cracked, but there wasn’t any grease. Two thin slices I cut off broke in half, but it didn’t totally crumble. And it was the moistest meatloaf I’ve ever eaten. Although it didn’t taste like mushrooms, it was a little bland. Prepping is a lot more work with cooking onions, garlic and mushrooms, but I’d definitely make it this way again. Can anyone suggest an herb or spice that might jazz up the flavor while keeping it meatloafy?

It was too loose to move, so I lifted it foil and all from the baking tray into my storage container…

The upside: no cleanup!

Maybe you’ve heard that Trump’s former national security adviser John Bolton’s tell-all book about Trump comes out on June 23 despite Trump’s threats to sue. The Room Where it Happened is full of misdeeds Bolton should have told Congress during the impeachment when he could have helped get Trump removed.

Since COVID-19 blasted Bolton right out of the news, I hope his belated bombshells result in poor sales and be greeted with, “You call this news? Trump’s killed 117,000 people (and counting) since he pulled this stupid shit. Get a life.”

Bolton flogging dead horses for fame and profit feels like the MAGA crowd still going on and on about Hillary’s emails. It’s pointless and meaningless.

But ANOTHER book called Too Much and Never Enough comes out August 11. The author is Trump’s 55-year-old niece who has a Ph.D. in clinical psychology, Mary Trump.

Mary is the daughter of Trump’s older brother Fred Jr., who died prematurely in 1981, when Mary was about 16. Fred Jr. was an alcoholic whom Trump claims turned him off booze forever (so instead Donny snorts drugs, whose dust is sometimes sprinkled on his lapel).

Mary is purportedly the family insider who helped The New York Times on their Pulitzer Prize-winning exposé of Trump’s finances.

Her main beef with Trump probably began in 2000. Details about that are in this Business Insider article. But it boils down to Trump and his siblings’ indulging their greed by cruelly trying to block health care for their late brother’s children, Mary and Fred III, when Fred III had an infant son with cerebral palsy. They were all fighting over Fred Sr.’s will, which omitted Fred Jr.’s portion of the inheritance.

If any book might bury Trump under more damning personal dirt than even he can lie his way out of before November, this knife in the guts from a member of his own family has a shot.

BONUS: Brilliant Sarah Cooper, using Trump’s own words, shows us “How to Lincoln”…


Chapter 78: COVID Chronicles

June 14, 2020

By Karen

Day 95

Trump’s Self-Inflicted Birthday-Eve Fiasco & Roc Meets His Match

Today is Trump’s 74th birthday. He celebrated at his golf club in New Jersey to elude protesters swarming around the White House.

Yesterday, he gave his first and last commencement speech at West Point, where he bumbled references in the prepared test to “Ulyssius S. Grant” and “General Douglas MaGarther” (the latter several times, even though he’s said to be a big MacArthur fan). When he ad libbed that today is his birthday, he got almost no reaction.

He was also seen again using two hands to drink from a water glass and he crept down the ramp (video) from the podium post-speech in baby steps, with a soldier spotting him, lest he face-plant.

Of course, he was all “it was the ramp’s fault,” tweeting…

We know the truth. We have the video. His only honest observation was no handrail.

Over 1,000 socially distanced cadets were forced into two weeks of quarantine before they could sit in the hot sun and listen to Trump bloviate. The setting greatly muted whatever applause or laughter he got, which must have pissed Trump off no end.

But I know you’re really dying to hear how it went with Max last night. When I settled down for some TV, Max was still on the couch in Roc’s spot. Roc checked it out from all angles, seeming genuinely perplexed by this new development…

Max ignored him, and Roc finally gave up. He wrapped himself in the blankie and sat with me…

When I went to bed, Max went upstairs to the Man Cave. But this morning he promptly came down for breakfast, and then went straight back to the couch. When Max picks a new spot to hang out, he can stay there for months. So far, Roc accepts this arrangement, but he’s not pleased. (Max is the black blob with white whiskers)…

What impresses me most is how Max quietly asserted himself without lifting a paw. It’s more than I can say for the Richmond police. Last night, protesters were again rallying peacefully around the Lee monument when a police SUV inexplicably drove up onto the sidewalk to cut through them “like a knife through butter,” as Trump would describe it. Fortunately, no one was seriously hurt…

Tonight I’m making a new turkey meatloaf recipe that uses mushrooms to keep it moist. I’ve never tried this. Here’s a 3-minute video that shows the recipe far better than I can…

The recipe calls for 92% lean turkey and mine is only 85% lean. The meatloaf in the video doesn’t look very firm. That’s my problem with meatloaf; it always falls apart. I’ll let you know how it goes.

PS: After checking my remaining shopping list and finding no “must have now” items on it, I skipped my Aldi trip today. I’m so predictable.


Chapter 77: COVID Chronicles

June 13, 2020

By Karen

Day 94

I Step Out & Max Shows His Cojones

I stayed up last night until 2 a.m. watching Mister Ed (got all six seasons on DVD), then didn’t get up until 10 a.m. It felt like I’d lost half the day.

I was down to my last stick of butter and running low on eggs. Plus, I’ve got this new meatloaf recipe I want to try and needed some ingredients. My favorite grocery is Aldi because Food Lion’s pricey, but then I procrastinated, putzing around in my nightgown until 2 p.m. and pushing off shopping until tomorrow.

But the car hadn’t been driven for 11 days, so I really needed to dislodge any squirrels who again might be snacking on the fuel line.

It’s sunny and 80s, so I went to my parents’. We sat out on their beautiful deck, bitching about Trump. That was the longest I’ve been outdoors since my father’s birthday on April 25.

On the drive home, the groceries kept gnawing at me. I had my list, and Food Lion was right there, so I stopped in for a few things I knew Aldi wouldn’t have, as well as meatloaf fixings in case I blow off Aldi again.

It’s now Virginia law to wear a mask in enclosed public places, but it’s not enforced. Food Lion had a few bare-faced assholes. They might as well tattoo I ♥ TRUMP across their faces. They couldn’t see my disgust under my mask, and we mutually avoided eye contact. It’s like they know we all know they’re scum.

But I digress. I scored the LAST jar of active yeast. And I got eggs and a pound of butter. Even better, Ben & Jerry’s ice cream was 3 for $10, so I got Phish Food, New York Super Fudge Chunk and Stephen Colbert’s Americone Dream. They’ll perfectly complement Mister Ed.

This morning, Max stunned me. Remember how I told you Max gains confidence from spending time with me? Well, he boldly claimed Roc’s favorite TV-watching spot on the couch…

He even napped and didn’t stir when Tony ambled by…

You can tell a cat is happy when he looks like a pretzel…

And when he stretches out to claim maximum territory…

Max remained in that spot the entire time I was gone, and he’s still there as I write this. Roc doesn’t seem to have noticed yet. It will be interesting to see what happens after dinner when I turn on the TV.

BONUS: Comedian and song writer Lauren Mayer wrote and performs a new song defending Karens and suggesting a more apt alternative. She doesn’t have Randy Rainbow’s slick production values, but her lyrics are every bit as clever. Check it out…

DOUBLE BONUS: Here’s an article on Raw Story that provides some historical context on how Karen became a four-letter word.


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