Yes, Virginia, Cats Do Purr in Heaven (and Here's Why)

So yesterday - in a typical bout of deep thought - I found myself questioning (for the first time ever) whether cats purr in Heaven. And if they do, why? I mean, since it seems that cats purr on Earth mostly to express contentment, wouldn't it be redundant, or wasted energy, for them to purr in Heaven? Because, duh, it's Heaven, and they'd be purring non-stop!

But then, the thought of never getting to hear cats purr in Heaven made me sad (assuming I'll be joining them there), because besides Dewi making wookiee noises, babies laughing, mockingbirds singing and waves crashing, I can't think of many other noises from nature that I enjoy half as much as a cat's contented purring. sigh

But before I could get all sad about not wanting to go to a Heaven without cat purrs, I told myself to step back and consider the question from another angle: maybe cats purr because they're happy on Earth, but for some other reason in Heaven? Then I looked over and saw Maddox, and thought, Maddox doesn't purr a whole lot, but when he does he gets all into it, with gurgling noises and kneading...and then, I thought of my new t-shirt that shows a kitty baking bread, and I thought, GREAT SCOTT, THAT'S IT! Cats purr and knead when they're happy on Earth (due to memories of their mama's milk bar, I suspect), but in Heaven, cats knead and purr BECAUSE THEY'RE MASTER CINNAMON BUN BAKERS! SQUEE!

shirt.woot.com Makin' Bread

Yes, that had to be it! Cats purr in Heaven while they knead the bun dough! (Think about those dwarfs whistling while they work!) And even more, because it's Heaven, cats' breath will no longer smell of tuna, but of vanilla icing, and they won't need claws or teeth, nor will they shed (but they'll still look the same, just a little fluffier, like unicorns) and EVERYBODY will love them, because in Heaven, everybody loves warm, kitty-made-with-love cinnamon buns! 

Oh, and then I remembered that my Maddox (like lots of other cats) has extra toes on his paws (polydactyl), and was like, OH MY GOSH! Polydactyl cats, in Heaven, are like Jedi Master bun makers! They're the cats in charge of teaching all the standard, 5-toed kitties how to knead cinnamon bun dough to angels' standards! And, you guys, the stars (might have) aligned in the East and it all made perfect sense! Imagine how soundly I slept last night!

And now? I'd like a warm, sticky Cinnabon, thank you! Wouldn't you? ☺

***

This post is dedicated to the life and memory of my dear, sweet Eva kitty, whom my family unexpectedly lost last week (from what was likely advanced lymphoma). I wrote about it on Facebook, where you can find more details. 

Post by The Chronicles of Cardigan.

Three years ago, I wrote another post about Eva; her purrs were top-of-mind that day, too (though for different reasons). It was, and remains, a celebration of my unlikely bond with this cat. Here it is again, in its entirety. Thank you for celebrating Eva with me!

Originally published on March 22, 2012...

Why I'm Head-Over-Heels for My Oft-Hateful, Once Borderline-Feral Cat

We (I) rescued Eva a few years ago from a life on the lam. She showed up on my front porch out of the blue one day, covered in ticks and half-starved. She was far from reciprocal of my attempts at friendship, but grateful for a meal.

For weeks after taking her in, I agonized that I'd made a HUGE mistake in keeping her. She never came out of the basement except to eat, and she distrusted (and therefore, treated with disdain) every human in my house. It was awful.

But then slowly, after - I presume - she began to view us (especially me because I'm the one who was with her most of the day) as not threats so much, but colony members, she made more and more appearances and even allowed some limited handling (meaning, only from the front and only her head and neck).

It wasn't much, but it was enough to give me hope.

Weeks and months passed, and so did Eva's penchant for lonely basement living. And while she still preferred to see the human's hand before it made contact with her fur, once it did, she clearly enjoyed it, narrowing her eyes and belting out choruses of idling lawn mower engines in the distance.

Then one day she followed me.

Not to her empty bowl. Not to the pantry where the cat treats are dispensed. Not to the couch where the bowl of ice cream I'd just finished would be placed on the floor for her licking pleasure (yes, I do).

But simply to the place where I was going.

Because on that day, in that moment, all she (this borderline-feral, emotionally-scarred animal) wanted was me.

***

On a typical morning around here, the cats curl up in their favorite out-of-the-dogs'-reach place and nap for a good two-three hours.

Eva's preferred napping place is in my bedroom, even though I have to shut the door behind her to keep the dogs from running in and wreaking havoc.

When I opened that door today, Eva raised her head in typical fashion, had a good stretch and was eager to participate in the morning's activities (eating, cat box-visiting and self-grooming in a sunbeam, in that order).

So today, like most days, she made her way to the kitchen - where the dogs eagerly awaited their after-breakfast snack. However, unlike most days, she didn't keep to the rest of her routine.

You see, while the dogs were still frolicking in the kitchen, I'd made my way back down the hall to my bedroom. I almost got there, too.

But then, I heard the bell on the cat's collar, then galloping footsteps, and just as I was about to cross the threshold of my bedroom door, she flew past me in a blur of black fur. And when she turned, flashed me a look of adoration that beckoned like a magnet to steel.

And it hit me like a ton of bricks.

Eva'd returned to the very place she'd just eagerly left. However, not for food nor water. Not for an after-dinner grooming session, nor to satisfy any other cat-ly need. 

It was simply because it was where I was going.

Because today, in that moment, all she (my borderline-domestic, cherished family pet) wanted was me.

So, I shut the door behind us and held reverie in the chorus of idling lawn mower engines in the distance.

Tacky Cardigan With Words on It, Squared: The Ugly Sweater Paradox (and photo fest)

paradox (noun): 3. Any person, thing or situation exhibiting an apparently contradictory nature. dictionary.com

I bought this "ugly" holiday sweater with the words "Let It Snow" on it for Jon Farleigh.
(Hint: That is why this post is a Tacky Cardigan squared. It's a "Tacky Cardigan" about an actual tacky cardigan. And, it has words on it. This achievement, to me, is like another person's completion of a half marathon. Not sure what the equivalent of a full marathon would be, perhaps this post. Anyway...)

I guess - notwithstanding it's in the shape of a dog's torso (vs. human's), which intrinsically detracts from the manufacturer's "ugly holiday sweater" marketing strategy - this sweater is ugly. I mean, I probably wouldn't purchase a similar design for myself, but ugliness is kind of subjective (even where dogs are concerned), you know?

Anyway, let's just assume the sweater - all by itself on a hanger - is ugly. But, look what happens when it's on Jon Farleigh.

Wait, there's more...

So, what do you think, now? Is it (the sweater) still ugly?

Here's my answer:

[represses gurgling noises] Ugly? How the flip can it be ugly when it makes my already-cuddly, floofy, loaf-of-Wonder-bread-shaped, doe-eyed, squishy, pookie-bear Jon Farleigh even more adorable than a diapered cherub shooting love arrows off the top of a cottony cloud next to a rainbow shooting out of a baby unicorn in a field of kittens?!

And, therein lies the paradox. But that's just my opinion. ☺

By the way, dog-sized, red buffalo-checked trapper hats aren't ugly (nor dorky) either.

OK, on three...one, two, SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Look at all the corgi fur exploding out of Jon Farleigh's sweater! Not even *I* realized he was that fluffy! It's killing me! More sweaters, please! For Dewi too! A lumberjack one! And maybe some snow shoes! ☺

But wait, there's even more! While y'all were celebrating, or sleeping in, or something, Jon Farleigh turned FIVE years old on New Year's Day! I can't believe he's five (and that Dewi will also be, in February). Where has the time gone? Here are a few pics from the day (some appeared previously on Facebook).

I purchased the Gingerbeg cookies, personalized bone biscuit and mini-cake from our local Three Dog Bakery. The sock monkey is just for show, and yes, the dogs got steak leftovers from New Year's Eve dinner at Ruth's Chris. Please don't tell them that it probably won't happen again, until maybe 2020, when Jon Farleigh turns 10. 

Happy New Year, everybody! 

Classic Cardigan: When Dewi Made Like Charlie Brown and Crushed on the Little Redheaded Girl (Tabloid Edition)

I'm not too tired to post something original today. It's just that the original I wrote today has to wait until another day (soon). But that's okay, because this humdinger gem of a story is due to come out of hibernation. Especially since the "season of love" is just around the corner. ;-)

Originally published on June 10, 2011, please enjoy the classic (with cheesy, 80s musical interlude)...

When Dewi Met Georgia (A Red Hot Cardigan Love Story)

Quote for the day: If your camera hands you trash for pictures, call "Dwayne."

The following blog post is rated NC-17 (No Corgis over 17 admitted), due to highly ridiculous content. Reader discretion advised.

As reported by "Dwayne"

(Identity changed to protect the doofus.)

For back story, look here or here.

Cast

Sam.......................................The Patriarch (and Birthday Boy)

Georgia........................Hot Sister/Precocious Daughter of Sam
Bogey............................Georgia's Overprotective Half-Brother

Jon Farleigh (JF)..................Georgia's Nonchalant Full Brother

Dewi........................Jon Farleigh's Flirtatious, Hot Roommate 

Ginny..................................Endearing Eldest Daughter of Sam
Nick...........................................Adorable Sam Great-Grandson
Rufus............................................Nick's Sweet Old Housemate
At the party, but not on camera...
Moira..................................Super Athletic Sam Granddaughter
Bee..................................Georgia's and JF's Bashful Full Sister


It began as a sea of red (and one blue) at the watering hole...

Jon Farleigh to Rufus (with tail): "You seen any beer around here?"

JF to Georgia (under chair): "Hey, wanna meet my roommate, Dewi?"
Georgia: "Is he cute? Does he have a job?"

Georgia to Dewi: "Hey, I'm Georgia, but you can call me Princess. Wanna come under here with me in the shade?"
Dewi: "Do you like bacon?"

Dewi to Georgia: "Your coat reminds me of sweet potato jerky and a stuffed Kong. Will you be my girl?"
Georgia: "That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me. Wanna play tag?"

Georgia to Dewi: "You got me; now I'm 'it!'
Hey! Whatcha doing up there?!"

*We interrupt this blog post for "Cheesy Eighties Love Songs" as selected by "Dwayne."*

(Hint: Right click link and open in a new window to play in background.)

Dewi's Song: Don't Disturb this Groove (1987) - The System

Georgia's Song: I Get Weak (1987) - Belinda Carlisle

*And now for the exciting conclusion of this blog post.*

Bogey to JF: "Dude, Dad's ticked. You better do something about that blue boy or there's gonna be trouble.
JF: "I think we're gonna have to lock her in the wire tower, man."

Nick: Check out the moves on Dewi...

Sam to Ginny: "I smell trouble in a merle coat. Have you seen Georgia?"
Ginny: "Bogey's on top of it, Dad."

Georgia to Bogey: "Is that coconut cake up there?"
Bogey: "Yeah, and bread, too."

 Georgia to Dewi: "Would you be a dear and fetch me a snack?"

Georgia to Dewi (again): "Hey?! Are you listening? I'd really like a snack, please!"
Dewi to himself: Man, those are some loud mosquitoes. Mmmm, caaaake.

JF to Dewi: "Good day, eh?"
Dewi: "Yeah. You gonna eat all that?"

~The End~

The dogs in this post are real; however, the story is fictional. Any resemblance to your Cardigan Welsh Corgi or real-life events is purely coincidental.

*****
In memory of Sam, a very good red dog, and Rufus.

Calling All Versatile Loggers! (in Which Forestry, Pets Named Paul Bunyan, Blogging and Fudge are Oddly Related)

Disclosure/Disclaimer: I am not, nor have I ever been, a logger (as in the forest). The following subject matter is--as I discovered partway through writing it--highly conducive to puns and/or euphemisms; however, I absolve myself of intent. Therefore, any instances you might think you see (of the aforementioned) cannot be held against me.

Hello. My name is not Paul Bunyan; however, I play him on Etsy.

And you can call me Babe (not him, silly, THE DOG).
But if you do, I'll call you something much worse.
(Image and Babe-the-Blue-Ox costume via Etsy)

So first of all, in celebration of Earth Week, I would like to recognize all loggers (actually all forestry professionals and stewards) who champion (not just in word, but in deed) sustainable forestry research, education, training and practices. You rock!

And as a small token of appreciation, please feel free to copy this "Versatile Logger" badge and paste it wherever you like. (Full confession: The badge/award used to say "Versatile Blogger*," but I edited it in Photoshop.)

Oh, and also (contrary to most blogging "awards"), there are no "rules" tied to accepting the badge. Nope. So if it suits you, it's scot-free! Yay!

However, I will now share 3 random (previously unshared) things about me (just for fun - since, especially if you're an actual logger [20 years from now, under a blue moon], this might be your first time here):

1.  I have a problem with profanity. In that every time I start to use it, "fudge" comes out.

[Insert 3 seconds of silence while Elizabeth contemplates rewording that last sentence. OK, nah.]

And by fudge, I mean the word "fudge."

2.  I am banned from using the word "fudge" (as an expletive) in my own home. Scout's honor.

3.  I prefer my fudge dark, hot and syrupy (as in a condiment) or frozen (as in a Fudgsicle), as opposed to the malleable, loaf-like varieties.

Anyone else want some fudge, now, too? :) Yum!

AND THIS IS WHERE I SEND YOU OFF WITH A LOAD OF LOGGER, AKA "LUMBERJACK," POP CULTURE TRIVIA

Hello, my name really is Paul Bunyan (and don't ever forget it).

In a recent study conducted by the career guidance website CareerCast.com, lumberjack is the 2nd worst job in the U.S. for 2013. Newspaper reporter is #1. (ouch.)

On a much lighter note...

These statues of Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox, in Bemidji, MN, are on the
National Register of Historic Places. 

For some reason, in folklore, lumberjacks like to eat stacks and stacks of flapjacks. The folks at Hungry Jack (a Pillsbury brand) believed (in the 70s) that lumberjacks also liked eating mountains of Hungry Jack (refrigerated dough) biscuits.


ca. 1970s Hungry Jack biscuit commercial "...they gobble 'em down and the plate comes back for..."

Image via Wiki

The fast food giant, Burger King Corp., in Australia (and in no other country), calls its stores Hungry Jack's. This is because the name Burger King was already trademarked there. (Also, the "Jack" is for Australian franchise owner, Jack Cowin, not a lumberjack.)

Image via Brawny Towels (a Georgia-Pacific brand)

The Brawny Man (a lumberjack) has never had a real name and is purely fictional. In 2003, after years of research, Georgia-Pacific gave the (nearly 30-year-old) Brawny Man an updated (not so 70s) clean-shaven look.

And if you're wondering why the lumberjack at all? As cited in a 2003 story on USA Today, "research found women love him."
Well, well. :)

And with that, friends,
Happy Earth Week!

(Now, make like a lumberjack and split.)


* All thanks to Julie at The Daily Dog Blog for bestowing the "Versatile Blogger" award upon me, without which, this celebratory blog post would not exist.

P.S. Thanks also to Coralee at Bark and Chatter for the "Super Sweet Blogging" award. I now know that it must have been due to my proclivity to all things Hershey fudgy. ;)