Merry Goshdarned Xmas

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The house, it is about as clean as it gets. (Don't ask about the goddamned bookshelves, though.)

Dog hair and dust and dander has been removed as much as is possible for purposes of attempting to not kill Mom.

Cooking preparations have been made for leg of lamb, fancy-pants mashed potatoes, and asparagus (I know, it's out of season, but my grammy likes asparagus with lamb so she's damned well getting it - shabby-looking as it is.)

Cookies have been baked and distributed to neighbors as appropriate.

Dogs have been looked askance at, cats have been bawled out and sprayed with water, again as appropriate. (And I assure you that it *has* been appropriate in the case of the cat. Get your dusty little paws off my our artfully set dining-room table, you... you CAT you. And stop trying to eat our friggin' centerpiece!)

A special cookie was left out for Santa, which cookie has been nibbled and crumbs artfully left, as well as peels from a Clementine "Cutie" orange, designated to be divided into nine pieces, one for each reindeer and one for Rudolph.

Presents have been wrapped or bagged and placed under the tree, except those presents which contain chocolate which will remain safely out of the dog zone.

Merry Christmas to you and yours, folks. I'm happy to be having ours here. Really!

Why I Do Not Believe In God, Part 2

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We have previously seen that I have called down the entirely deserved and righteous wrath of God upon this kitty (and been disappointed), but there is another side to the kitty, as well as to God.

I often - quite often - find myself begging God, Jesus, and/or anybody else who will listen to make the kitty leave me alone. It's probably no surprise to you that, in fact, the kitty does not, despite my pleas for divine intervention.

No matter how many times I place her upon my lap and pet and scritch, sometimes for hours, she will patiently wait until I am done (twitching and moving and trying to get up under the petting as if to indicate that she will perhaps accept it for now but that we both know what is coming) and then jump onto the couch cushion and waggle her ass in my face.

Many, many, many times I have been sitting at the computer and put her on my lap and scritched and petted, or scritched and petted when she was standing off to the side so that I could still get to the keyboard and view the monitor; it was more important to her to ensure she was right in my face (see above re: Waggling ass in face.)

Also, should I be sleeping, if I'm cold she's nowhere to be found, but if it's warm, she will want to cuddle up and sleep on my legs. She may also bite my fingers and, well... you know what's coming, right? Yes, that's right. Waggle her ass in my face.

I guess what I'm saying is that this kitty makes me certain that there is no god, but that there probably is a Devil. And his agent on this earth is my cat.

Oh, sure, I've heard a lot of philosophy about how good and evil have to be balanced, but if so, then HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN MY CAT, FUCKERS? Huh? Yeah, that's what I thought. You got NUTHIN'. Evil exists and its name is "my cat."

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Have you heard the Good Mews?

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My cat has a message for all humanity, and that message is this: Meow.

She has a calling to spread this message. Had you thought that there might be time to eat, to live, to sleep? How can one sleep when everyone, everyone, needs to know about Meow?

For it does say in the gospel of Cat 23:14, Cat 6:58, Cat 19:43, and indeed Cat 1 through Cat 143 inclusive... "Meow." This message of Meow continues, and abides.

Modern scholars have interpreted the scrolls I wrote the other night and this morning and also that one time to mean "Please, please, please stop meowing at me. I don't know what you want. You have everything you could want. Why do you keep meowing at me?"

But of course that is archaeology and linguistics, and all my cat truly requires from you is to know. To know about this:

Meow.

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