Pumpkin Spice Insanity

Princess Bed Hog

Written by Hans Christian Andersen, The Princess and the Pea is a fairytale that makes even modern royalty look undemanding.

It tells the tale of an incredibly picky prince who was having trouble finding himself a bride. 

Actually he knew who he wanted for his bride but she was a married woman who chain-smoked, and frankly she thought the whole idea of being under a microscope as the wife of the future king was rubbish.

Oh wait. That was a more recent prince. 

Anyway, he was forced to look far and wide… rather, told his staff to look far and wide… yet continuously found himself paired with women who he didn’t believe were princesses because of things like bad table manners or being too thin. Or too fat. 

Woody Boyd - a Real Yankee Doodle Dandy

Celebrating the memory of the incredible Woody Boyd, a cockatiel born on the Fourth of July 1987.

In hindsight I should have called him Yankee Doodle.

We adopted Woody from a not-professional breeder cuz we were young n stoopid. But he was so sweet and incredibly smart.

He came to live with us maybe around 12 weeks of age. I had him saying his first word inside a week: Pretty. Which morphed into Pretty Pretty Pretty which morphed into Pretty Boy.

He learned his name. He called himself Woodo. “Hello Woodo” he would say into a mirror.

I recall saying “I don’t believe it” to him. He flew to my shoulder and pressed his beak to my mouth, his way of wanting to learn. He picked up that phrase incredibly fast and used it a lot.

A Severe Case of Do Too Much-itis

 

Hi everyone, it's me, Dori *wavy paws*

Well, it's been another crazy week here at Casa Wonderpurr, the place where I live. The tempurratures here in our small beachside town are already stinking up the place at 90 degrees making my pawrents sweaty and crabby. Not a good combination, I assure yoo.

This month we have been in this house two years. Yes, time is flying like hungry owls circling our Catio. Daddy continues to find stuff to repair, and Momma continues to be extremely vocal about how this house is like living in a shoe box.

Yesterday Daddy found a screw in the tire to Momma's car. Of course all four tires now need to be replaced as the car is at a certain age where stuff happens. The inside also stinks like an angry cat. However as there have been no angry cats inside the car, it's anybody's guess as to how that smell is purrmeating the inside. Mom thinks maybe a stray cat sprayed under the hood cuz that's where Daddy tucks a bag of stinky mothballs to discourage Sassy Squirrel from hiding his nut stash. He did that during the winter and also chewed the insulation around the engine.

The Struggle is Real

Greetings to all of yoo who are still reeling from the aftermath of Monday. My best intentions to banish the Cujo of weekdays and replace it with Funday has sadly failed. 

Even my nemesis Wabbit tried his best to send the M-day packing, but it came back like an unscrupulous snollygoster who just won't go away.

Go ahead and Google that word. I'll wait.

Anyway, this morning at precisely one second after midnight, Tuesday safely arrived, so yoo can all simmer down and catch yoor breaths. There's no use worrying about the inevitable until Sunday anyway.

By now I had hoped to report the completion of the novel my momma is working on, but sadly she continues to struggle to find quiet time to allow her brain to function where words flow into sentences and sentences flow into paragraphs that actually make sense. I fear the struggle is real, especially when a certain AssWabbit has his floofy foot in her back and spends his days pressuring her to work.