I think that’s cabbage behind the cat. Here’s some directions on how to view stereoscopic images with just your two eyes.
One of the New Year’s resolutions I forgot to mention is to put together an evening of stereoscopic images and present them (with suitable glasses) at a local venue.
Image via Wikimedia Commons.
Phoebe, our heart-challenged kitty, is still doing really well, against all odds. I almost don’t want to say anything to jinx it. She’s glossy and sturdy and full of beans. Today we celebrate with a picture of her.
Buck napping on Erik’s stinky fencing uniform
Every time I enter the bathroom, no matter what I plan to do in there, or how long I’ll be staying, I have company: at least one cat, often all three, come to join me for an impromptu party.
Yes, I close the door. But Phoebe, our little heart-challenged female, is a genius. She understands the principles of force and acceleration and all sorts of things I don’t even know the names of, and can send the bathroom door swinging inward with one precise smack of her dainty black paw. If I do lock the door, she scratches on the other side in protest–tirelessly– making a noise so annoying that I have to submit and let her in.
The boys, Buck and Trout, being handsome but sadly thick, can’t even begin to open the door without her.
Phoebe is deeply bathroom obsessed, though, so the boys will never be locked out. Wherever Phoebe is, she comes running when she hears me entering the bathroom. Maybe she doesn’t hear me–maybe she’s set up psychic trip wires. I have no idea, but she always knows.
Originally she liked to roll around on the bath mat while I was in the bathroom, giving me a rare opportunity to pet her, since she often doesn’t wish to be petted, at least by me. She’s Erik’s cat, shamelessly biased.
More recently she’s expanded her Empire of Domination and has trained me to open the bathtub faucet to a drizzle. The running water is never less than thrilling. I wonder why cats tire of everything else (toys, perches, etc.) quickly but the faucet never loses its charm. And I can’t help but obey her every wish, because, after all, she’s dying (despite looking bright and fiendish, she is in heart failure) and she’s on lots of diuretics, so water is good for her. I am her tub slave.
Phoebe says, “Hmm, the rate of flow lacks that certain je ne sais quoi, Fix it. Now.”
So, turning on the tub is my first duty whenever I enter the bathroom. If I don’t do it, she’ll stare daggers at me until I obey.
Next the boys rush in, probably having heard the water running. They each have their own objectives. Trout likes to jump into the bathroom window and balance there precariously, threatening the screen. I worry about the screen, but mostly I’m grateful he’s leaving me alone.
Trout says: “I may pop this screen, or I may jump down and break all your toiletries on the counter or I may just stare at you for a long while.”
Buck is more interactive. Not to get all TMI here, but when I am in our bathroom, occasionally I will be found sitting on the toilet, contemplating the nature of the universe or what have you, and at such moments Buck jumps up on the sink, which is just to the left of the toilet, and begins purring at full volume.Why he is so happy and excited, I cannot begin to guess.
In that position he is very near my shoulder, and a little taller than me, which is somewhat disturbing. He wants to be petted there on the sink. If I ignore him, or don’t pet him enough, he bats at my head and shoulder, to remind me of my duty.
If this does not satisfy, he jumps to the back of the toilet, where he skitters precariously on the stack of trashy free publications and ham radio catalogs Erik insists on keeping there, rubbing his cheek against mine until an avalanche of slippery magazines sends him jumping for safety, and sends me scrabbling to keep the magazines from falling down my back.
Buck says, “What…are you leaving already?”
And thus ends another relaxing visit to the bathroom.
Sorry for the bad pic–Phoebe is impossible to photograph.
All of you, our dear readers–for your love and support. And for providing a lively dialog in our comment section.
We’re also thankful that our cat Phoebe has been granted another cat life. We really thought we’d have to put her down last week but she has recovered. While her defective heart means she won’t live a long life, we’re grateful for every day she graces our presence. Perhaps I should say my presence, since she’s imperious towards everyone else, Kelly and her veterinarian.
Best wishes for a happy holiday season.
