tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33497701154732724772024-02-19T08:10:22.770-05:00Cat TailsJoin us for the shenanigans that occur when the Jólasveinarnir plague the yarn lady and MR's catsAnde Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.comBlogger352125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-2837978809324692132023-12-26T21:37:00.005-05:002023-12-26T21:37:47.293-05:00Boxing Day<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32aUT3RHa6JcdyKJrXsb1a22MDRKVAJeAL-gO051UNYzYyhL_9QF7qzlMkRVGg91uw4Dz3SNWw9fUxTc9sJKxNzh9_R8dbjnSyNAyAurcwvRkqrNZcQBibysCxtpARSFPHcnGs0_zQGkOsIJltP9sDq-bMUAalf4oufu4ZvC7SEyslGWXEr3uqEwPhWk/s664/pylsur.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="524" data-original-width="664" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32aUT3RHa6JcdyKJrXsb1a22MDRKVAJeAL-gO051UNYzYyhL_9QF7qzlMkRVGg91uw4Dz3SNWw9fUxTc9sJKxNzh9_R8dbjnSyNAyAurcwvRkqrNZcQBibysCxtpARSFPHcnGs0_zQGkOsIJltP9sDq-bMUAalf4oufu4ZvC7SEyslGWXEr3uqEwPhWk/w230-h182/pylsur.jpg" width="230" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">The
yarn lady was up early on Boxing Day, already thinking of what she’d need to do
before the </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir arrived
that evening. She started out with shopping for the ingredients for tonight’s “feast”
of pylsur and crispy onions. As she checked out she regretted the idea of
offering to host thirteen hungry trolls for dinner. She was sure not all would
show up, but just in case she needed to have enough for all of them, so she had
a LOT of meat in her cart. The good thing was that she could repurpose it to be
meatloaf if there was meat left over. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">She
spent the afternoon crafting the remoulade and sweet mustard and then mixing
the pork, beef and lamb for the pylsur. She unearthed a bag of skewers to use
to grill the not-quite-sausages, checked to make sure she had enough plates and
sat down to read until they arrived. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">The
</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir arrived a little after 6:30pm. The
yarn lady knew they’d need to wait until there was no sun left in the sky, lest
a stray sunbeam reflected onto one and turned him to stone. When she went to
answer the door she saw <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kertasníkir (the
candle stealer), Ketkrókur (meat hook), Gáttaþefur (the doorway sniffer), </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Gluggagægir (the
window peeper), Bjúgnakrækir (the sausage stealer), Hurðaskellir (who carved
doorstops to keep doors from slamming) and </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Giljagaur (the milk drinker).
Seven out of thirteen was pretty good. </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Kertasníkir
explained that most of the earlier trolls were having a party with some of the
folks at Destiny’s Bridge, but it would involve lots of alcohol and ones here
weren’t interested in spending an evening getting drunk and sharing stories. Askasleikir
had decided last night to head back to </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Ísland early. He said his job
was done here and that he was resigning, effective immediately. He said he was
going to look into getting a job as a brú troll. The other trolls then made
snide jokes at how he was much more suited to be the mean troll who hid under
bridges and asked people trick questions like “What is the weight of a sparrow?”
The yarn lady laughed at that. She wished that MR had been able to come over to
meet the trolls, as she might have found that joke as funny as she did. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">She explained to the trolls that
she would be setting up a camp grill in order to cook their dinner and invited
them to all take seats. The trolls and cats started a conversation about what
the life of a house cat was like here in New Jersey. The yarn lady headed to
the kitchen and Kertasníkir followed. She told them she had all the makings for
pylsur and his face fell. It turned out the trolls had been looking forward to
some real American cooking. The yarn lady buried her face in her hands. Yes,
she could make meatloaf with all the meat, but not in time for dinner any time
soon. Would the trolls like Oscar Meyer wieners she asked? Kertasníkir answered
that it would be perfect. Their pylsur were nowhere near as good as and
American hot dogs. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The yarn lady grabbed a package
out of the fridge and began to cook them up. In about 20 minutes she had the
hot dogs, rolls and a full selection of condiments (including the sweet mustard
and remoulade) on the table along with the crunchy fried onions. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Everyone grabbed a hot dog and
some crunchy onions and for a few minutes the only sound was chewing and a discreet
belch or two. The yarn lady was surprised at the number of hot dogs these
trolls could eat. Yeah, they like their Oscar Meyer wieners, she thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As they were finishing, she
asked them what they’d thought about their time here in New Jersey. The smiles
faded from their faces and they looked at each other, wondering who dared to
speak. Finally </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Ketkrókur (the meat
hook guy without a meat hook) sighed and said, “This has been a disaster.
People don’t know about the </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir,
and when they think of trolls they think of bridge trolls, Shrek or those cute
little dolls with the colorful hair. We’re none of them for sure, and to be
honest we’re a lot closer to the bridge trolls than anything from a kids movie.
We’ve agreed that we’ll go back and bring our case to the summer gathering to
stop being </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir, or at
least to let those who don’t want to be allowed to do something else. To be
honest, the folks at Destiny’s Bridge have invited us to stay, and they’re a
great bunch of folks most of the time. The trouble is they’ve said that sooner
or later the town will come in and break up the camp and everyone will have to
move on. That’s no way to live, and those folks agree. Most of them would
prefer to live in a house, but they can’t deal with rubbing up against too many
people. They’ve tried shelters and the lack of privacy there or in some congregate
housing doesn’t work for them.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">“As
I told BC and Sparky, I intend to enroll at Háskólinn á Akureyri and study
Social Sciences to learn to help us develop a new purpose for our lives. If
Gryla doesn’t agree, well our section of caves is far enough away from where
she lives that I can be convincingly somewhere else if she drops by
occasionally. I plan to come home on weekends and she can find me then or I’ll
go visit. If need be we’ll lie and sneak around behind her back until we’re
ready to make a complete break with the clan at </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Dimmuborgir.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The yarn lady listened to this
with an open mouth. She thought she’d need to convince the group to rethink
their purpose, but they’d already decided they needed to on their own. One
after the other, each of them discussed their possible plans for their return. The
candle stealer </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">wanted to find an
environmental group to work with, the door sniffer would apprentice himself to
a master baker, the window peeper would be looking for a homeless outreach to
work with, as he’d listened to many of the seniors’ stories at Destiny’s Bridge
and figured it would be even worse in </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Ísland. The carver of door
stoppers already had a trade, so he was already set, and the milk stealer would
look for a dairy that needed someone who was good with cows, as he was very
good at milking cows. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">When they finished telling the
yarn lady their plans </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Gluggagægir looked hopefully at Clementine and Ursula, who were
perched on a long pillow in front of the dresser. “The only thing left to make
our life perfect would be if perhaps one of you kitties would choose to return
to </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Ísland
with us. We’ve all been charmed by your personalities and your care for your
humans. Might one of you consider moving to Dimmuborgir to live with us in our lava
caves? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The yarn lady answered before
the cats could even come up with a polite refusal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Gluggagægir, and all of you, the cats have
become quite fond of you, but they can’t possibly go with you. The rules for
bringing animals into your country would leave them in quarantine for weeks all
by their lonesome. I’m sure there are kittens for adoption there, especially if
you wait until late spring. That’s when there are generally more kittens than
anyone can deal with!” As she spoke, the cats had stood up and were making
their way around the room, greeting each of the trolls with a rub or a paw
touch. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">On this note, </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Ketkrókur
rose and thanked the yarn lady for her hospitality and the cats for their
welcome and friendship. He said they’d be returning to </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Ísland
within the next few days, as there was no tradition here to uphold of J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir pulling their pranks for a two week
period after their first visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">The
yarn lady shook hands with each of the trolls, and hugged Ketkrókur. She wished
them all well for their return trip and their endeavors in the future. She
handed Ketkrókur a slip of paper with some email addresses and names on it –
hers, Clementine’s and BC’s. “Keep in touch if you can, and Góð jól!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-46679291421997901042023-12-25T13:55:00.000-05:002023-12-27T17:02:17.681-05:00December 25th<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMlZjTxdGsgg9KsXvuq_PokQYvYdi0wgcJUsyxo8jUGoU_SCQUX2hvFJrEUjzqgMzGkQYqYd7UV5P3ZcExX9qXUFZCPb4lAAEFJzrFvVYXjTYB4rraIW9PiNuNZGaPQkFvLz8SrCVuV-1-VvpVCISjUN822x2ehygRuJPz9_dZdbAiMZQpt8bam1A3Yd8/s384/Email%20symbol.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="384" data-original-width="384" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMlZjTxdGsgg9KsXvuq_PokQYvYdi0wgcJUsyxo8jUGoU_SCQUX2hvFJrEUjzqgMzGkQYqYd7UV5P3ZcExX9qXUFZCPb4lAAEFJzrFvVYXjTYB4rraIW9PiNuNZGaPQkFvLz8SrCVuV-1-VvpVCISjUN822x2ehygRuJPz9_dZdbAiMZQpt8bam1A3Yd8/w128-h128/Email%20symbol.jpg" width="128" /></a></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">FROM: Ande <adlp@optonline.net><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">TO: <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dotsie
<dotsiefly@birdtlover.com> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">DATE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>12/25/23
9:15 am<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">RE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Jólasveinarnir</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Hi, as probably
already know, I've invited the Jólasveinarnir over for dinner on Boxing Day. It appears this new group on their maiden trip of Jól
pranks is having an identity crisis. The last two nights they've shared how they feel they need to redefine their purpose in life. I thought perhaps if they came for dinner we could have a discussion about this
if they like. You've been to Iceland, so I have two questions for you -
what might they like for dinner, and do you have any ideas as to how the
Jólasveinarnir could be re-imagined so they can have an enjoyable and useful future?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">FROM: Dotsie <dotsiefly@birdtlover.com>
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">TO: <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ande
<adlp@optonline.net> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">DATE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>12/25/23
9:15 am<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">RE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Re: </span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Jólasveinarnir</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"Traditional Icelandic foods are not for
the faint of heart" said an article that included sheep's head (svid),
sour ram's testicles (hrutspungar) and fermented shark fins (hakarl). However,
it went on, those older foods have fallen by the wayside. But you'll find
Iceland folks eating dishes with fish, like a good fish stew with traditional
dark rye bread, or dishes with lamb, such as smoked lamb. Your jolly Jola
crowd, however, will probably love pylsur, the Icelandic hot dog.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><a href="https://theplanetd.com/icelandic-food/" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: blue;">https://theplanetd.com/icelandic-food/</span></a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">FROM: Ande <adlp@optonline.net><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">TO: <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dotsie
<dotsiefly@birdtlover.com> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">DATE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>12/25/23
9:15 am<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">RE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Re: Re: </span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Jólasveinarnir</span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Wow, they have some really gross foods. No
sour ram testicles for me, that’s for sure. Even if I could find them, I wouldn’t
make them. The pylsur sounds like a good idea. I found a great recipe for them
at <a href="https://cookingrabbit.blogspot.com/2017/04/pylsur-icelandic-hot-dog.html">https://cookingrabbit.blogspot.com/2017/04/pylsur-icelandic-hot-dog.html</a>.
I hope I have enough time tomorrow to make these, or they’ll end up with Oscar
Meyer wieners! <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">FROM: Clementine
<princessclementine@kittymail.com><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">TO: <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>BC
& Sparky <rudytoots@catlover.com> <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Cc:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Archie
<pupsupreme@whosagoodboy.com><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">DATE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>12/25/23
3:15 am<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">RE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Trolls for dinner!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The yarn lady has invited the trolls
over for dinner on Boxing Day, which apparently is the day after Christmas, and
has nothing to do with prizefighters. Your human, MR is invited also. I hope
she can come. The yarn lady wants to see if the trolls will talk about what
they might do with their lives other than being </span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Jólasveinarnir. Some of them might be able to pass as
human, but not all of them. Who knows if they’d even want to? See if MR will
bring you with her when she comes tomorrow! We could have a jolly Boxing Day
and have our own boxing matches while they eat!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">FROM: Archie <pupsupreme@whosagoodboy.com><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">TO: <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>BC
& Sparky <rudytoots@catlover.com> Clementine
<princessclementine@kittymail.com><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">DATE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>12/25/23
4:47 am<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">RE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Did you have a visitor last night?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
</div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I’m happy the yarn lady invited the
trolls over, I think. It could be interesting, though I bet they have terrible
table manners. Did you have a visit by a giant black cat last night who asked
if you’d got clothes for Christmas? That happened to Benji, Pepper and Lenny
when they were here eight years ago. That cat tried to kill them because they
hadn’t been given clothing! Cats don’t WEAR clothing for sheesh sake. I hope
you have a great Christmas. Robbie and Eric are both here and I’m so happy. I
love my boys, even though they are middle aged men now. </span><b><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></p>Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-38266340088372386032023-12-24T10:00:00.001-05:002023-12-27T17:02:08.626-05:00December 24th <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnpGzJN383BFtqKp9lffjGFFm4AEkiNOrtwKO2XhJP03hgwy0Jd5cxCnSo9EeDMmblDCN5lFabTmXCH-dVzd0BW-0usMl8YwV-N24QOkjl-F_qhFMTxqLP3C-weJmih4FhhM4aek2n37RSaRQabgMeMfcQdCtwTGkyWNwWsu-BaYxc6SBjAu5lRAcvXjk/s320/Light%20bulbs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="213" data-original-width="320" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnpGzJN383BFtqKp9lffjGFFm4AEkiNOrtwKO2XhJP03hgwy0Jd5cxCnSo9EeDMmblDCN5lFabTmXCH-dVzd0BW-0usMl8YwV-N24QOkjl-F_qhFMTxqLP3C-weJmih4FhhM4aek2n37RSaRQabgMeMfcQdCtwTGkyWNwWsu-BaYxc6SBjAu5lRAcvXjk/w268-h178/Light%20bulbs.jpg" width="268" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">It was almost Christmas Eve and the cats were
happily anticipating Christmas, if only because there would be no new trolls
popping in each night. The treats and little gifts were nice, but it was nicer
to know that there would not be intruders who might or might not be pleasant guests.
So far only the bowl licker had been downright mean and rude, and it seemed
like the </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir
had shared the information about the cats with ones who hadn’t visited yet, and
the visits were much more pleasant. Tonight’s troll was Kertasníkir, who stole
your candles to eat them. The cats had discussed this very early this morning
via email. Eating candles probably made sense nine hundred years ago when they
were made out of animal fat, but now they were made from all sorts of wax, from
paraffin to soy or coconut. Paraffin is made from petroleum, so it was
definitely out for eating. The other types were at least marginally edible, but
the cats figured they’d taste terrible. Years ago, Clem had nibbled a candle
the yarn lady had on the table and it was tasteless and hard to chew. They
discussed whether or not to try to find a few candles to leave out, or perhaps just
go to sleep and ignore the whole thing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">BC and Sparky, the Jackson cats, opted for bed,
saying they didn’t think there was a single candle in the house, except maybe
an old birthday candle in a drawer. Clem and Ursula knew there were many
candles around their condo, but most were scented, except some emergency ones.
Candles don’t come with labels, once their package was opened, so there was no
way to know what type of wax they were. Clem decided to put whatever ones she
could find on the counter. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">It was probably around 3am when the yarn lady woke
up to use the bathroom. The light wouldn’t turn on, but her ocean noise was
still playing, so the power wasn’t out. She felt her way to the end of the bed
and pulled the cord for the overhead light, but it wouldn’t go on either. Sighing,
she felt her way to the bathroom, and that light wouldn’t work either. She gave
a little scream and yelled, “Enough is enough!” She heard footsteps
approaching, and one of the </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir approached with a miner’s lamp on
his head and an LED lightbulb in his hand. She glared at him and he lowered his
head and sighed. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">“I apologize, my timing is terrible tonight. If
you don’t mind?” She stepped back and Kertasníkir screwed the bulb in the socket.
“There, that is much better for the environment than that antique bulb you had
in there.” He smiled encouragingly. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">“You. Replace the other bulbs while I use the
bathroom, and then we need to talk.” The yarn lady closed the door behind her
and Kertasníkir scurried around putting new lightbulbs in the lamps he’d
removed the offending bulbs from. He carefully put the old bulbs in a box he
had put on the dining table and sat down to wait. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">The yarn lady emerged, gave him a stern look and
sat down. The </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir
looked nothing like what she expected. She’d heard them most nights for the
last week and a half but pretended sleep to let them get on with their tasks.
He wore a long-sleeved tie-dye t-shirt and jeans. His long hair was in dreadlocks
and he had a colorful knit hat on his head. “So, who are you? The environmentally
conscious troll who happens to be a fan of the Grateful Dead?” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Kertasníkir looked confused. “I am a fan of the living
and wish the world to live long enough for me to last out my exceptionally long
lifespan. The dead may be grateful, but I won’t be if </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Ísland’s glaciers melt.
So, instead of stealing non-existent inedible candles, I change lightbulbs to
energy efficient ones. He held up the fancy bulb from the bathroom and very efficient
but ugly LED bulb. “This will last four times as long and use much less
electricity.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
yarn lady held out her hand for her Edison bulb. “However inefficient this may
look, it’s an LED masquerading as an incandescent bulb. I chose this for its
look but didn’t ignore the science.” </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Kertasníkir looked embarrassed,
apologized and hurried to put the Edison bulb back in the fixture. When he
returned the yarn lady asked, “So, how has your trip to New Jersey been? I know
what you’ve told the cats, as I read their emails about you all. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Kertasníkir sighed. “Ketkrókur and I have talked
a lot over the past twelve days. He is right, it is not feasible to continue
our traditional pranking. It barely works in </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Ísland, where the people expect us and it
is more of a game. Fewer people live in the traditional villages or in any
building we can get into. Many of you live in houses in this country, but most
of them do not have the younger children. We’ve found some good neighborhoods,
but too many are like this where everyone is, pardon me, old. I doubt Gryla
will agree to disbanding the J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir, so I fear we will
resort to deceit in years to come, telling her we have done the tasks, but meanwhile
having a nice vacation somewhere warm. Honestly, other than lying to Langamma,
it sounds like an enjoyable way to pass a few weeks at the start of the hard
winter.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">The yarn lady shook her head sadly. There were so
many traditions that hadn’t survived the changing times. Some, like slathering
yourself in oil and lying in the sun for hours were plain unhealthy, others
such as kids having a newspaper route were deemed unsafe. “How about you and
the other </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir
come over for dinner on the 26<sup>th</sup>? I’ll invite MR and we can talk
about whatever comes to mind. You won’t have to steal your dinner at least for
that one night.” She laughed at her own humor. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kertasníkir
thanked her and said he’d convey the invitation. Probably not everyone would
want to come, but he was sure that at least Ketkrókur would come. As he headed
for the front door, the troll slipped some pouches of the food his friend had
left last night into the two sneakers. It had gone over so well that he figured
a repeat would be appreciated. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">The yarn lady looked at the clock. It was 4am, but
happily it was only Christmas eve, so she could sleep as late as she liked. As
she lay down in bed and pulled the covers over her she said to Clementine, “I
know you’re not asleep. I hope you don’t mind that I asked the trolls to dinner
on Boxing Day. It should be interesting. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-51298024542039033712023-12-23T12:05:00.001-05:002023-12-27T17:01:53.875-05:00December 23rd<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKeR6jQabHXhdIrFXEwj6K_4rz6jpxcsJBSPhBSmBm1WUxPfOhXdIZxcA8r-lpCNKKSMSmTem_Fs9NUYqCAeJ-xFg_kESoTD-QtSoG9WxBCLH76X4wP-0icrEtfohyFDMNCTN9SQIuUKwNmgTOYGHxfBSXMYYXDZVNqCJ6pCXnA00n-5krkORCMzDChs/s421/meathook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="421" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKeR6jQabHXhdIrFXEwj6K_4rz6jpxcsJBSPhBSmBm1WUxPfOhXdIZxcA8r-lpCNKKSMSmTem_Fs9NUYqCAeJ-xFg_kESoTD-QtSoG9WxBCLH76X4wP-0icrEtfohyFDMNCTN9SQIuUKwNmgTOYGHxfBSXMYYXDZVNqCJ6pCXnA00n-5krkORCMzDChs/w152-h139/meathook.jpg" width="152" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">BC
read the morning’s emails out loud, so Sparky would know what had come in. There
were four ads for catnip from Thailand, since everyone knows that they grow the
best catnip. There were the usual ones from women who thought Rudytoots was a male
human who liked deformed females with only two mammary glands, notices that her
package was undeliverable and an appeal to donate money to a dog rescue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As if. Archie had sent an email saying that tonight's troll had left him yummy dog food in a dish even, and had left mice for the cats,
although Benji wouldn’t let the grown kittens eat them, saying they might be
poisoned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said they’d apparently
stolen all the expensive meats from the grocery stores, so hopefully the yarn
lady and MR had already purchased their Christmas dinner meat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Clementine’s
said that this troll was called Ketkrókur, which meant “meat hook,” and that he
used a hook to reach down the chimney and steal meat where it was cooking in
the fireplace, except no one did open-heart cooking anymore, although the yarn
lady said she’d done it for a few years when she was much younger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Putting the information from the two emails
together, obviously Ketkrókur was a meat thief. And yes, MR had bought everything
she needed for Christmas dinner already so that wouldn’t be a problem. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Sparky
heard “meat hook” and headed for the bedroom, saying she should never have come
out from under the bed. Last night she’d dragged a throw blanket under there and hopefully it </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 16px;">still </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">was so she could be at least marginally
comfortable. BC wasn’t sure she had the better idea, but he decided he’d wait
up and see what this meat hook guy was about.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">It
was very late when the door from the deck opened and a nattily dressed troll
strolled in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Good evening, BC, I’m glad
you’re awake. I’ve heard such interesting things about you.” The troll winked at
him. “As you can see, I have no meat hook, and I will not be stealing your holiday
dinner. That is a barbaric tradition, and not at all in line with modern
society. Instead, I come to bring you meat, cat food meat since you are cats. I
procured fine beef entrees for you two, it even says they were crafted by cats,
although I’m not sure if that’s true. You should go get your friend Sparky so you
aren’t tempted to eat hers.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">BC
ran and told Sparky about the fancy cat food, and she hesitantly came through
the kitchen. The troll was standing away from the food he put down, and yes,
there was no meat hook in sight. BC lifted his face from the bowl and said, “This
stuff is great, Sparky. Ketkrókur, can you leave the package here? Maybe the
daddy will buy it for us.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ketkrókur
pulled the package from a bag he held, smoothed out the pouch and left it next
to the bowl. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">The
troll watched them enjoying the food and said, “This whole </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir idea is so terribly outdated. I
understand that Gryla has been around for nearly a millennium, but there is no
reason not to change with the times! I agreed to accompany the band this year in
the spirit of research, to find out exactly what it is we encounter and if it
has anything to do with our traditional tasks. I’ve been watching the others
every night, and this whole thing is laughable! The world has changed so much
and we’re stuck in the early Middle Ages. Good grief, I should probably be
hauling around a bronze meat hook! I want to bring enlightenment to the summer
gathering of the trolls. Rather than the usual ribaldry and contests of brute
strength, we can have discussions of what we want our purpose to be in this
third millennium of the Common Age.” He sighed and his shoulders drooped. “They’ll
probably laugh me out of the gathering, but if they do, I plan to enroll at Háskólinn
á Akureyri to study Social Sciences. I hope to be the first of the Tröllategund
to earn a college degree. I'm sure I can be funded as an Indigenous student.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">The cats had finished and were listening to him intently.
He was certainly quite different than the other </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir. He
talked more like the yarn lady and MR and less like, well, a cave man on a TV
cartoon. Sparky reached out a paw and touched his leg, saying, “You have a good
mind and high aspirations. We wish you luck in your endeavors and thank you for
the delicious dinner.” The troll nodded his thanks and let himself out. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Sparky looked at BC and said, “Wow, I sure wasn’t
expecting that from a guy named Meat Hook. I hope there’s a way to change your
name over there. He deserves a nice name like…Trausti. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-19380626039162331582023-12-22T12:05:00.007-05:002023-12-27T17:01:44.601-05:00December 22nd <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnnsu6F2r9n9K8pZ_yJe0y_uzMux4dT3q9h-kRYNHfqt8-TZzKFf5luERuoLd3eot0stYRXCjSAxrgQtR-Q5-BfH9vdQ-OtYYHfsahZPnLf8focaN7XhRCvLJbLdLS4NSK-ArnZ80fnqmfGLG9pk7cKZhhvnh-WSZUPa9lIlArtzJnTxLqUDiP5tJtT7c/s878/leafbread.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="840" data-original-width="878" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnnsu6F2r9n9K8pZ_yJe0y_uzMux4dT3q9h-kRYNHfqt8-TZzKFf5luERuoLd3eot0stYRXCjSAxrgQtR-Q5-BfH9vdQ-OtYYHfsahZPnLf8focaN7XhRCvLJbLdLS4NSK-ArnZ80fnqmfGLG9pk7cKZhhvnh-WSZUPa9lIlArtzJnTxLqUDiP5tJtT7c/w180-h172/leafbread.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">None
of the New Jersey cats knew quite what to expect from tonight’s visitor. He was
described on the Interwebs as “Doorway Sniffer” or Gáttaþefur in </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Íslenska</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">. Sparky thought that something that sniffed at
your doorways belonged in a horror movie and crawled under the bed. Clementine
wondered about the laufabrauð he was sniffing to find. That translated to
leaf-bread. Was that bread made from acorn flour? Bread shaped like a leaf? Whatever
it was, they didn’t have any. The yarn lady had some multigrain bread with all
sorts of inclusions, but none of them were leaves. Seeds, yes, grains, yes, but
no leaves. Unfortunately, it was in a bag that needed thumbs to open, or she’d
leave him a slice on the table with the sneakers. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">BC and Ursula were of the opinion that these
intruders were disrupting their rest too much and planned to settle down in
their coziest sleeping spot and ignore the </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir completely. It was
now officially winter and the darkest day of the year, so extra sleep was
definitely required. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">At around 2am, Clementine was awakened by someone
blowing their nose. She looked around, wondering if the yarn lady was coming
down with a cold. No, she was sound asleep, so Clem jumped to the floor and
headed out to explore. In the living room she found a troll with a long red
nose that he was wiping with a large handkerchief. “Heddo,” said the troll, “I
have a bad code in my does.” He tried to say the last word several more times
and then shook his head. Clem realized what he’d been trying to say and
replied, “Oh! You have a cold in your nose. Wow, that’s got to be a problem if
you’re supposed to be sniffing at our doors to see if we have some laufabrauð. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">The troll blew his nose so hard that it sounded
like a foghorn and was finally able to take a good breath through his nose. “Ah,
much better. Yeah, I’m not even bothering to look for it here. Practically no
one in </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Ísland
makes it anymore unless they’re trying to impress someone. From what I can tell
it’s devilishly hard to make and the finished ones break if you breathe on
them. I’d rather have a shortbread cookie. Who ever came up with the idea of
frying a cookie? It’s bad for your cholesterol and stress level. Do you have
any cookies?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Clementine
shook her head, replying that she had thought it was a bread thing, so she had
put out the yarn lady’s special bread for him. </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Gáttaþefur
examined the bag, opened it and helped himself to a slice. “Oh, this is much
better than some stupid cookie. I like this. Do you have any crowberry jam to
put on it?” Realizing that cats don’t care about jam he rummaged around in the
fridge and found some black raspberry jam and happily slathered the bread with
that. He was such an enthusiastic eater that there was jam on his nose and
eyebrows before he was finished.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">“If I find lovely bread and jam in the other houses
I visit tonight it won’t be my cholesterol I’ll worry about. It will be my
blood sugar. Sugary jams and carbs! Oh, this is heavenly. He headed for the
door and barely remembered to turn back and put small gifts in the sneakers. “Góð
jól!”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><br /></p>Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-29754107498547711742023-12-21T12:05:00.010-05:002023-12-27T17:01:24.861-05:00December 21st<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4TIn8n2wlf06bw_dmpWMOCeq-prvISYjrfzF7aVstINXpmmEmr6Ubxm24Ar-mB2Bo-pmQFZIj_IPvlrBOOE0unedBdfLm4SSI45WSuUuANud4xHE7WOCe1QilF5LLBNqFqjJ4J92HhwGGb4RHV99PCbYfSX16YlXdKOgUUZBQgaK2oNFvHMqUnyROwI/s590/night.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="332" data-original-width="590" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4TIn8n2wlf06bw_dmpWMOCeq-prvISYjrfzF7aVstINXpmmEmr6Ubxm24Ar-mB2Bo-pmQFZIj_IPvlrBOOE0unedBdfLm4SSI45WSuUuANud4xHE7WOCe1QilF5LLBNqFqjJ4J92HhwGGb4RHV99PCbYfSX16YlXdKOgUUZBQgaK2oNFvHMqUnyROwI/w247-h139/night.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Clementine and Ursula headed for bed at their
usual time on this evening. Tonight’s visitor was Gluggagægir, also known as
the window-peeper. Unlike Peeping Toms, this guy was looking for things to
steal, but Pamela made sure every curtain and blind in the house was shut each
night as it started to get dark. They might not get a treat or gift, but at
least they wouldn’t worry about a troll snooping at the window. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">BC and Sparky on the other hand had rooms full
of windows without curtains. The living room was glass on three sides with only
a curtain on the side where the sun shown in the afternoon. The kitchen had
only a valence over the windows for decoration and the bathroom window had no
curtain at all. There were curtains in the bedroom, and Sparky decided she’d
head in there as soon as it got dark. She did not want to see a spooky face at
the window peering in at her. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The cats had enjoyed last night’s baby hot
dogs very much, and hoped tonight maybe there would be tiny hamburgers. It wasn’t
quite barbeque weather, although the daddy grilled even in the snow sometimes. BC
had fallen asleep on the sofa and was dreaming about tiny hot dogs with legs
and tails invading the house. They didn’t have eyes, so they bumped into walls
and furniture and couldn’t run very fast so BC was chasing them down and biting
them in half, except there were too many of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were dozens of pieces of hot dogs
littering the kitchen and living room when a noise work BC up. He shook his
head and decided that perhaps they hadn’t agreed with his digestive system and
had come back to haunt him. He looked around to try to find what window tonight’s
</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir was peering through. All of them so
far had been pretty sizable, even Stúfur, who was just shorter than the rest. None
of the windows had a largish silhouette outside, so BC sat quietly, waiting for
the troll to show himself. Finally, he heard a scratching noise at the window
near the head of the couch. That one was right next to the fence by the laundry
room. BC eased his head above the arm of the couch, as that would put him
within a foot or two from that window. There was no silhouette, although he
could see a pair of shining eyes just above the bottom of the window. Maybe
this troll was even shorter than Stúfur. BC eased up onto the arm of the couch,
leaning toward the window and found himself face to face with a raccoon. Since
neither had expected to see the other they both screamed. The raccoon lost his grip
on the window frame and fell to the ground and BC pitched forward onto the tile
floor, landing in a very undignified sprawl. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">From
behind him BC heard a low laugh. “Ah, you were expecting one of us </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir and instead found a trash bandit!
The expression on your faces was priceless.” BC ignored </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Gluggagægir and started
grooming to get his fur back where it belonged. No cat likes to be caught being
less than graceful, and to be called out on it is inexcusable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Seeing he would not be answered, Gluggagægir placed
a laser pointer on the table by the couch and left a second one in a sneaker.
He had it on good authority from one of the seniors at Destiny’s Bridge that
cats loved to chase laser pointers. He wasn’t quite sure how, as they were kind
of long and lumpy, but the old woman seemed to know what she was talking about.
He hoped the cats would enjoy them. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3COUKLMBubOKGqIJ1QVa6vxVeZjHrW-zaep6edBlobWZgKsMBrPi5dnkMv4IKBWvLHjJotgUTIAwsV3SoRmaBIziRvN8rynQpXGxMLMsOR1BNvliJNCXWWk5GlMBKPLTvmr5PakqEs5BkMhrOAOA9zU57oCocUVO4I2fEFJtX871wyD6RMUtsrq-7eSM/s800/raccoon%20at%20the%20window.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3COUKLMBubOKGqIJ1QVa6vxVeZjHrW-zaep6edBlobWZgKsMBrPi5dnkMv4IKBWvLHjJotgUTIAwsV3SoRmaBIziRvN8rynQpXGxMLMsOR1BNvliJNCXWWk5GlMBKPLTvmr5PakqEs5BkMhrOAOA9zU57oCocUVO4I2fEFJtX871wyD6RMUtsrq-7eSM/w231-h154/raccoon%20at%20the%20window.jpg" width="231" /></a></div><br />Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-7169498697524423502023-12-20T12:15:00.007-05:002023-12-27T17:01:16.242-05:00December 20th<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCTNnQV3vrMJVAJFb7bXmiUmTMc6ge63qSNvmOXlNsQ6ZLX-HkwB_bArZEjqQABzRNv4lJmwvtp3qRHpRXsKBpzisiqhgB1Sfiwfz6SOtHYVTzEbj-mIAps0jbRnsvjsPG9TP5LEzlPMFukcK01to80L0GEKEAF6Zizi_bGwQoRb9KdyLTsVvO07gO_LU/s1200/cocktail%20sausages.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="629" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCTNnQV3vrMJVAJFb7bXmiUmTMc6ge63qSNvmOXlNsQ6ZLX-HkwB_bArZEjqQABzRNv4lJmwvtp3qRHpRXsKBpzisiqhgB1Sfiwfz6SOtHYVTzEbj-mIAps0jbRnsvjsPG9TP5LEzlPMFukcK01to80L0GEKEAF6Zizi_bGwQoRb9KdyLTsVvO07gO_LU/w68-h130/cocktail%20sausages.jpg" width="68" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir
lounged in their tent at the Destiny’s Bridge Senior Colony, warmed by a propane
heater and plenty of blankets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Early in
their visit to New Jersey, Stúfur had stumbled into this camp of stray humans
and after an embarrassing encounter with Reverend Steve the trolls were offered
a large tent, a heater, blankets and cots for the remainder of their stay. It
appeared that the </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Amerískur didn’t take very good care of their impoverished
countrymen, even the old ones who were supposedly wiser. This camp was full of
elders who had been turned out of their homes to starve. Reverend Steve had
explained to the J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir on
their first day here that there was nowhere for these people to go. They hadn’t
the money to rent a place to live because the folks who built houses made big
ones that took a lot of money to rent and run. So, they ended up in places like
Destiny’s Bridge where folks like Reverend Steve and his helpers helped them by
providing tents and heaters and food from people who gave it to them. Reverend
Steve didn’t care that they were trolls. He said that many of the folks here
were different in many ways, and as long as they kept their area clean and didn’t
cause problems that trolls, elves and even hobbits were welcome. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Among
themselves, the </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir
had decided that Reverend Steve might not be entirely in touch with reality.
Hobbits and elves weren’t real – they were from stories the humans told each
other because they had too much spare time. Well, odd or not, he was a nice
guy, and it gave them a comfortable safe place to stay during the day when the
sun was shining. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Today’s
discussion was about how to deal with the cats in two of the houses they
visited. The cats knew they would come every night, so should they stop going
to those places and find new ones? Their other targets slept through the night
and the </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir could get in and out without
difficulty. Askasleikir said that they should poison the cats and get on with
their job, but the others ignored him. As far as they could tell, he didn’t
like anyone – troll, human or animal and the consensus was that he'd be voted
off the team in the off season. No one needs a cranky pants. After some
discussion, everyone but Askasleikir agreed to just go about their business and
make sure that there were plenty of cat-friendly treats and presents. The only
cat they’d had much to do with was their mother’s monstrous cat, Urðarköttur,
who liked to eat Gryla’s leftovers whenever she happened to catch a human and
make a stew out of him. Supposedly, the cat also liked to eat babies he’d pluck
out of their cribs, but if that was true it hadn’t happened for hundreds of
years…that they knew of. The idea of small friendly cats was a delight to the </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir who’d met them. Perhaps they could
convince one of them to come back to </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Ísland with them when they were
done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Clementine had prepared for
tonight’s visitor by snagging a package of the yarn lady’s sausages out of the
freezer. He was supposed to be a sausage stealer who hung from the rafters and grabbed
them. Ursula said that the house she’d grown up in with the yarn lady and Pam
had exposed beams in the ceiling, because it had was built around the time the
earth was cooling. Clem figured she meant it was an old house, but there were
no beams in this house that she knew of. Something had to hold up the ceiling
she supposed, but it wasn’t visible. Maybe it was magic, or some really strong
glue. The sausage stealer would have to settle for getting them off the
counter, still in the vacuum sealed pouch, since she wasn’t about to mess with
that thing. Those pouches were so thick that even Ursula, who liked to chew on
anything plastic, said they were too thick for her to enjoy chewing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Everyone was sound asleep when Bjúgnakrækir
arrived. He gently rapped on the door frame and Ursula’s head shot up. Bjúgnakrækir
politely introduced himself and explained that his assigned task was to steal
sausages. Ursula told him that Clem had left a vacuum bag of a few on the
counter, but asked why each of them had a different task, and why those tasks
were…weird.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The troll sighed
and sat down on a large pillow on the floor. “It is because of tradition…and
our foremother, Gryla. We </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir live a long time, and centuries ago
Gryla decided that her sons should get some of their winter food from the
humans who had moved into our lands. I’ve met those old guys – they’re still
alive and let me just say that they are some strange dudes. Each of them had
some odd food preference that became a never-to-be-changed traditional task
that each subsequent generation must do. As I said I’m </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Bjúgnakrækir, but to be more specific, I’m Bjúgnakrækir
the 16<sup>th</sup>. I’m the oldest son in the 16<sup>th</sup> generation of lineage
of Gryla’s son <a name="_Hlk153888099">Bjúgnakrækir</a>. The younger sons and
the daughters have it a lot easier. They can be named whatever the parents want
and can chose any path for their lives. Some of my uncles are fisherman, my mother
is a master weaver</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">. I, alas, am the Sausage Stealer. In the early
generations, Gryla made all the sons take the name of their father, but that
stopped when they realized there were too many bands of </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir
and not enough villages. Now it is just the oldest sons of each generation,
well and a couple of bands of female </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir who said it was
unfair that the men had all the fun. Each band sets up their own little area in
the cave and becomes something like a small village themselves, self-governing
of their own affairs. If something happens to one of us, we recruit a
replacement from among the younger siblings of the one replaced. I’ll tell you
for sure that we’ll be replacing Askasleikir come spring. If he doesn’t leave
on his own we’ll vote him out and let him find some nice isolated place to live
where he can be grumpy by himself.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">As he shook his head, Ursula thanked him for
sharing that information and offered to show him where the sausages were. She had
so much new information her head felt stuffed with facts. </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Bjúgnakrækir thanked her and left, placing something
small in each of the sneakers on the front table. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Clementine came
out of the bedroom as Ursula was trying to arrange all this information in her
small brain. She hoped Clem had been listening as she could feel the facts escaping
through her ears into the night air. “Help, I can’t remember all that! It’s too
much information.” Clem laughed as she sprang onto the table with the sneakers.
She poked her head in one, emerging with a tiny hot dog in her mouth. She dropped
it to the floor and jumped down. “Hmm, looks like we got an edible tonight. Ha,
I’ve never seen a hot dog this small.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Ursula looked at
it and laughed. “They’re called cocktail sausages and they come in little jars,
or sometimes they’re frozen in bags. People wrap them in dough and make pigs in
a blanket. They’re yummy.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She jumped up
and grabbed hers and they happily shared a snack on the living room floor, thinking
about the troll’s story. They each decided that it was good that cats don’t do
silly things like that Gryla did. Cats were too smart for such convoluted
traditions. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-86940130164704596642023-12-19T12:00:00.009-05:002023-12-19T12:00:00.126-05:00December 19th<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMUHM_DeNSzntGY3X2bYDZIl00b0y8duH71kdBfCuhzgCYbbDGJRerbLl2fJRZlIhQooUlIcJcgbmejUu-meKs5KwGIMKWnDrhyXqexma3Dos06EFS55R-6wYO9fbwNRfzP2gTc0dDT6uLyJAVzGh9-n10rPN6GC2DMNj8DfPWiNoO8AH-1y22HZBTvs/s478/Skyr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="451" data-original-width="478" height="162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAMUHM_DeNSzntGY3X2bYDZIl00b0y8duH71kdBfCuhzgCYbbDGJRerbLl2fJRZlIhQooUlIcJcgbmejUu-meKs5KwGIMKWnDrhyXqexma3Dos06EFS55R-6wYO9fbwNRfzP2gTc0dDT6uLyJAVzGh9-n10rPN6GC2DMNj8DfPWiNoO8AH-1y22HZBTvs/w172-h162/Skyr.jpg" width="172" /></a></div><p><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: 12pt;">FROM: Clementine
<princessclementine@kittymail.com></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">TO: <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>BC
& Sparky <rudytoots@catlover.com> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Cc:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Archie
<pupsupreme@whosagoodboy.com><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">DATE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>12/18/23
7:15am<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">RE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tonight’s troll – try this<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
</div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Ok, tonight’s troll is Skyrgámur,
which means he loves Skyr, that Icelandic yogurt you can get at Shop-Rite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a pinch he’d probably eat Greek yogurt, as
that’s also pretty thick, although not as tart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The yarn lady likes the strawberry Skyr best, and I took a lick once
since I thought maybe it was like ice cream…cold and sweet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nope, it’s cold all right, but it was
anything but sweet. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I put some on the
yarn lady’s grocery order that she picked up yesterday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wondered how it got on the list, since
she already had her Dannon Coffee yogurt on there and she didn’t usually get
both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe if you leave the Skyr on the
kitchen table he’ll leave a nice treat for you two. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">FROM: <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BC & Sparky <rudytoots@catlover.com>
<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">TO: <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Clementine
<princessclementine@kittymail.com><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Cc:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Archie <pupsupreme@whosagoodboy.com><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">DATE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>
12/18/23 2:07pm<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1pt;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">RE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span> Re: Tonight’s troll – try this</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
</div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Yeah, I don’t think so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The daddy thinks yogurt is for old ladies,
and he’s not an old lady. MR doesn’t eat it either, but she’s not an old lady either,
since she still works. We do have some sour cream though. Maybe the troll would
like it if the daddy made it into onion dip? I’ll see if he’ll make some of
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">------------<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The daddy had fallen asleep on the couch,
probably from stuffing himself with sour cream and onion dip with spinach in
which he’d dipped pumpernickel bread.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d
been wondering what to make for dinner earlier when Sparky knocked the onion soup
mix packet on the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He picked it
up, looked at it and decided he felt like a treat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He'd mixed the soup mix and some squeezed out
defrosted spinach into a container of sour cream and let it set for an hour or
so to let the dried onion bits moisten up nicely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was a series he’d been watching on the
History Channel and he settled down with a loaf of pumpernickel and the dip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He fell asleep somewhere during the third
episode. Sparky had fallen asleep during the first one but BC sat up and kept
watch. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">At around 2:30am, BC heard the refrigerator
door open. He padded quietly into the kitchen, cleared his throat and said, “Mr.
Skyrgámur, we don’t have any fancy Icelandic yogurt, but there’s a nice bowl of
spinach onion dip and pumpernickel in the living room if you’d like that. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The troll jumped and banged his head on a
refrigerator shelf. “Ah, um, thank you. You’re not going to try to trap me and
hurt me, are you? I’m nothing like my cousin Askasleikir you know. I am grateful
for all the Skyr people have, and even the</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">Amerískur
yogurts are delicious. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a bit
overdone on sweet things, so some spinach and onion dip would be pleasant, is it
Westphalian pumpernickel? I do love that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">“Ah, no, it’s Shop-Rite
pumpernickel. And I heard that last night’s J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir
was a nice guy, so I’m kind of glad the trap got me instead of him. Clementine
confessed she’d tipped him off. Well, enjoy your bread and dip, but try not to
wake the guy in there. I don’t know how he’d take sharing his dip with you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BC walked into the living room with </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Skyrgámur and sat
ready to distract the daddy if he woke up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">After Skyrgámur had eaten his fill of dip and
bread he waved and headed for the door, stooping to place something in each of
the sneakers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He let himself out the
door, closing it quietly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BC looked at
the daddy, asleep on the couch and decided it would be more comfortable to sleep
on the bed tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could spread out
on a pillow or burrow under a blanket. Ultimately he decided to head under the
blankets, as it was chilly. He turned and eased just his nose out from under
the covers, making sure his ears could remain toasty warm under the blanket. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-66691977409680433662023-12-18T13:00:00.001-05:002023-12-18T13:00:00.247-05:00December 18th <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaBzDBFc2uTenznqBrKEYEtecRJbXmzahkFt5wLzvseJS833YsttiZD10xLRYsNGGJ6tDRATIM3XoKwGj27U3AnXFOfe7GW3jFr696wiEML-XUn9zKdTb2frrCuqWEdetOOze5miQ3h7qKRWPeJSsghwPk74vVHKhYWoSGqMf8mSdgcJi2A815oucP2Io/s735/mousetrap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="735" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaBzDBFc2uTenznqBrKEYEtecRJbXmzahkFt5wLzvseJS833YsttiZD10xLRYsNGGJ6tDRATIM3XoKwGj27U3AnXFOfe7GW3jFr696wiEML-XUn9zKdTb2frrCuqWEdetOOze5miQ3h7qKRWPeJSsghwPk74vVHKhYWoSGqMf8mSdgcJi2A815oucP2Io/w442-h262/mousetrap.jpg" width="442" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Emails went back and forth furiously on the 17<sup>th</sup>
whenever Archie and the cats could use a computer unobserved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BC was determined that he was going to catch
tonight’s </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir
and teach him a lesson, preferably a painful or humiliating one. Clementine and
Ursula urged him to calm down, that maybe </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Askasleiker was naturally grumpy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That didn’t mean <i>all</i> the J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir
were bad guys. They’d been given cat treats, chocolates and for goodness sake,
catnip cows! He’d been the one bad apple on the troll tree, they argued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Archie, on the other hand, said that the one
who came on the 18<sup>th</sup> has spent the night slamming doors all over
both houses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was enough to make
anyone jumpy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">BC’s eyes narrowed when he read that and turned
to Sparky. “Are you with me on this, my friend? Let’s kick some troll butt!”
Sparky, who was a little alarmed at this change in her usually good-natured
friend nodded, wondering what she’d just agreed to do. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">After Clementine had given up on dissuading BC
from going on a troll hunt, she and Ursula spent some time discussing why a
troll would go around slamming doors. Sometimes Pam or the yarn lady slammed
their door when they were particularly aggravated with each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More often than not it was Pam, as the yarn
lady had a much higher frustration tolerance. The one time they had both
slammed the door to their bedrooms resulted in Pam staying with her dad for a
long time, weeks even. Maybe this would be a grumpy troll. There was really no
other reason the two of them could think of as to why someone would slam doors.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Meanwhile, BC spend the afternoon perfecting a
troll trap. He and Sparky started by standing books up and then knocking them
over. Sparky got bored of it after the 15<sup>th</sup> time she pushed over the
book and left BC saying she was too tired and needed a nap. BC nodded distractedly,
knocking the book over again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The daddy
was out in his radio room working on something, so the cats could act as oddly
as they liked. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">By the time Sparky woke up BC had an array of
items hidden under the TV shelf in the corner. There was a space behind the wood
pig for a collection of small items, so it was often used to set up surprises
for one of the humans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could collect
a whole bunch of things there. Sparky had heard from LT who’d lived there when
she arrived about one time when the Peep was alive and she’d collected flowers
for a Mother’s Day bouquet for MR. She was so happy to have found so many
flowers, but when she dragged them out, they were all wilted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Peep had sat there and cried her little heart
out, as she’d wanted to make the Mommy (as she called MR) the best-ever present.
MR had come running when Peep started crying and found her amid the wilted
flowers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’d picked the Peep up, cuddled
her and told her what beautiful flowers they were, and how she liked her
flowers exactly like that, as she could press them faster. Peep hadn’t known
what she meant until a few weeks later when MR had shown her a lovely dried
flower arrangement on paper. All of the flowers Peep had gathered were there,
but flatter. Sparky smiled, recalling that story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>MR was such a softie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wanted everyone to feel good about themselves.
<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Today there was a very odd collection back
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One gone-to-seed dandelion in a
tiny vase, a whoopie cushion, some string tied to a stick and two blocks of
wood, one low and square and the other narrow and long. The narrow block of
wood was tied to the other end of the string.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sparky poked at them, wondering what BC had decided to do. She went
looking and found him asleep on the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She climbed up and poked him to ask what he’d decided to do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He yawned and said she’d see when he set it
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Not long after midnight Clementine was awakened
by the sound of a door shutting very quietly and a low voice humming a
tune.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wandered into the living room
and found a rotund fellow, dressed a bit nicer than the other </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir
she’d seen so far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She greeted him and
asked why he hadn’t slammed their door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The troll laughed merrily and introduced himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I am Hurđaskellir, and yes I am supposed to
be slamming your doors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is because every
last one of my ancestors has suffered from horrible seasonal affective
disorder. We’re jolly enough folks in the spring, summer and fall, but come
winter we’re as grumpy as over-tired bears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After years of misery, I did some research and found that there are
cures for this disorder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, the
main one is plenty of sunlight, but that would turn me into stone, so that
would not do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happily, there are
medications one can take, so for several years now I have been taking them as
soon as the days become short enough that there is more dark than light hours,
and I keep taking them until there are more hours light than dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One a day, and I am a happy troll. So,
instead of slamming doors, I give things to keep doors from slamming.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He held something out to her. It was a small
carved cat with long front legs that stretched far out. He took it and wedged
it under the front door, demonstrating how it keeps the door from slamming, or even
closing for that matter. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">“That’s a great idea, Mr. Hurđaskellir. And they’re
cats, just like Ursula and I. I’m glad you’re not depressed any more, but I
need to warn you about a house you’re probably going to in Jackson.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last night’s troll was pretty rude and BC
decided that he was going to take revenge on all of you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please be careful when you go there. It’s a trap
just inside the door from the deck and you’re so nice I don’t want you to get
hurt.” Clementine’s heart had warmed to the troll’s tale of familial depression
and she’d just had to tell him, even if BC never sent her another email. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">At around 2:30am the Daddy was awakened to the
yowls of an angry cat. He jumped out of bed and ran towards the sound, which
appeared to be coming from the living room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He ran in and saw an astonishing sight. BC was under an upturned laundry
hamper on the floor, spitting and growling at absolutely nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He decided to leave him there for the moment,
as he didn’t want his legs to be shredded by an angry cat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, he looked around and saw an odd
collection of items. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As his eyes went
from one to the next, an idea began to grow in his head. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Sparky watched from the couch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The daddy was pretty good at figuring things
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Would he figure out this one? When
BC was calm, the Daddy let him out, but left the laundry basket where it
was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He walked to the door and opened
it, seeing how close it was to the book that was lying on something. He closed
the door and stood the book up, finding a rubber thing under it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He picked it up and saw the lettering on
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Genuine Original Whoopie Cushion” In
the few moments he’d held it, he noticed it had filled up with air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He peered inside the narrow floppy part and
saw it contained a one-way valve and nodded. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">He put the cushion back where it had been and
looked at the floor in front of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There
was a vase with a dead dandelion on it, still with a few seeds attached.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next to the table there was a long narrow block
with a string tied to it, and the other end tied to a short sturdy stick next
to where the laundry basket had imprisoned BC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">The daddy fiddled around for about fifteen
minutes and then went into the kitchen, returning with generous handful of cat
treats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of these he placed on the
floor, after telling the cats to leave them be until he said they could have then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sparky eyed them hungrily. The daddy then
opened the door, which knocked the book over, falling onto the whoopie
cushion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It made a farting sound and the
dandelion swayed a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The daddy
dropped some cat treats to the floor and watched as the automated vacuum
cleaner MR had bought zoomed out of its base and sucked up the cat treats he’d
dropped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The daddy told the cats they
could eat the rest of the treats before the vacuum did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It continued on, next bumping into the table.
That knocked the narrow block off the table and onto the floor, pulling the
string that was attached to it and made the stick fall out from where it was
supporting the hamper. The hamper came down on Sparky who was munching the last
of the cat treats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She jumped and
yowled, just as BC had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">The daddy laughed and sat down in the green chair.
“Okay, who’s been reading my Rube Goldberg book? .You’ve created a letter-perfect
Rube Goldberg machine. Things falling down, air current and at the end, whammo!
The question is – who were you trying to catch? The cat door won’t let anyone
in but you too, you know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s programmed
to your microchips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He yawned, slapped
his knees and told the kitties good night and headed back to bed, but not
before he let Sparky out from under the laundry basket. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-81923574253914633872023-12-17T13:17:00.002-05:002023-12-17T13:17:53.765-05:00December 17th<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUNRzD3rWT2BjqGS7dKRXUmYY40stgnDd3ImahrXqJU2g8ubEy5ynorrYu68YiM-4Vp1zlesbXDv0NO1jNukDGfostoh4YJUJnTtaa2hp_6f9-sK9KaBBhKBsSstAdoV8AQ1asvqKp3sEjFGRUBmgVvSY-TtqxEUklihftweWOzf_RqEe6rYGhFwdriUk/s854/mixed%20grill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="854" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUNRzD3rWT2BjqGS7dKRXUmYY40stgnDd3ImahrXqJU2g8ubEy5ynorrYu68YiM-4Vp1zlesbXDv0NO1jNukDGfostoh4YJUJnTtaa2hp_6f9-sK9KaBBhKBsSstAdoV8AQ1asvqKp3sEjFGRUBmgVvSY-TtqxEUklihftweWOzf_RqEe6rYGhFwdriUk/w168-h168/mixed%20grill.jpg" width="168" /></a></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Via diligent internet research
(which is hard when you have paws, really) the cats knew what to expect for
each of the upcoming nights. Tonight they were expecting a troll that ate
leftovers out of bowls. Clementine joked with BC and Archie that he’d be in
heaven at her place, as Pam rarely finished a complete bowl of anything. Archie
said that when a band of J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"> had
visited New Hamster the troll named Askasleiker had eaten all the squishy food
which got a lot of news coverage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Archie
recalled it had been a pretty boring week for news, so it made some sense that
it was reported on local radio. Archie said he’d been particularly generous to
the cats, leaving a good variety of really fun cat toys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Clementine, Ursula, BC and Sparky
had all snoozed the day away, hoping to stay awake for a nice chat with the “bowl
licker” while he ate whatever leftovers he could find.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ursula had actually kept Pam from carrying
her dinner bowl of chili to the counter in the kitchen by jumping on her lap,
trilling and waving her tail in Pam’s face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Her job done, she snoozed until she heard Pam head for her room a little
before midnight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clem joined her and
they each perched on one of the ends of a long pillow Pam had put on the floor
for just that purpose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were
surprised to hear noises from the yarn lady’s room about an hour later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was zonked out in the bed, mouth open and
snoring, but from under the bed there was cursing. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Damn these folks. Why don’t
they clean better under their beds. I’m allergic to dust and every single house
has dust under the bed!” They watched as an unkempt troll crawled out, covered
in dust bunnies (they were way too big to be dust mice). He muffled a sneeze in
a raggedy sleeve and glared at them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Where’s
the bowl? Not a single house has a bowl next to the bed on the floor. You Bandaríkjamenn
are so uncivilized!” He shook his fist at the cats and stalked into the living
room, looking around. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“There is a lovely bowl of chili
on the table Mr. Alkalizer,” Ursula said. The troll gave her a disgusted look and
Clem tried hard not to laugh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pronunciation
of foreign words was not Ursula’s strong suit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He quickly wolfed down the chili, threw the spoon on the table and
banged two dried out potatoes on the table. “Bah, humbug!” he said and stalked
out of the condo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two cats looked at
each other, then the potatoes and then back to each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“We made sure there was food for
him, and what does he do? He gives us old potatoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These things are more eyes than potatoes.
Cheapskate.” Clementine gingerly picked up the potato and headed into the
bedroom. She took it outside via the cat door and returned for the second
one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t want the yarn lady to
try to figure out why they were on the table. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">A few hours later in Jackson, BC
and Sparky were also surprised by noises from under the Daddy’s bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were waiting in the kitchen though,
knowing that if the troll wanted food, he’d need to come in here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Askasleiker entered, wiping a cobweb out of one
eyebrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sighed as he looked around
the kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Daddy was much too
careful to leave leftovers on the table or counter. He’d finished his dinner,
scraped the plate and dropped it in the dishwater.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cats had figured that tonight’s troll
would need to be satisfied with the squishy food and so were watching for his
reaction. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
troll poked around the kitchen until he determined that the only thing in a
bowl was the squishy cat food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sparky
knew that he’d love it, as tonight was Mixed Grill, her favorite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It blended various types of meat together in
a finely ground pât</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond;">é </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">that the Daddy artfully arranged on the
plate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t know how he got it in
that short cylindrical shape every time. He only bothered to do this with the pât</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 13.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Garamond;">é</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">s for some reason. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Askasleiker snorted and said, “so they leave
me cat food.” He picked up the bowl, sniffed it and gingerly scooped a tiny bit
onto his finger. He touched the finger to his thick tongue and dropped the
plate, spitting out whatever he had managed to get on his tongue. He looked at
the cats and said, “You are trying to poison me! First, those kitties gave me
spicy chili that gave me brjóstsviði, what is that word…heartburn, and now you
give me this garbage food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We would not
feed this to the rats in Ísland!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Glaring at them he pelted them with two dried
up potatoes. “That is what I think of your food – I would rather eat rotten
potatoes than this, this, swill!” He stomped out of the room and into the living
room where he kicked the sneakers across the room before leaving.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-layout-grid-align: none; text-autospace: none; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">BC
looked at the floor, where the bowl lay broken with little bits of glazed
ceramic stuck in the Mixed Grill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
looked up at Sparky, growled and said, “No more Mr. Nice Cat. I declare it open
season on trolls.” He stomped off into the bedroom (which is tough to do if you’re
a cat, really), jumped up on the bed and snuggled against the Daddy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If anything would make him feel better it was
a nice, caring human. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BC wormed his way
under the Daddy’s arm, and the other one reached across and stroked BC while
the Daddy mumbled something incoherent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Smiling a tiny bit, BC began to purr and daydreamed about MR, imagining
what she’d do if she encountered a nasty J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir. She’d
pound him into the ground, he thought as he drifted off to sleep. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-15387792595711530232023-12-16T12:30:00.008-05:002023-12-17T13:18:17.683-05:00December 16th <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgea3yE4o2Llch4PVkA_ui9ipQOq_Q5Jxkn88SKi7HBqFft2keuTo-9zuFwKWw47jel7hSrZAFMMCMkFsw85_a2BtVbBoh0nxy70-dXmUWW8OJkZfXWJyLyU6WeNFw4xlhc2rH9KmythXsZwF52csw1jbZRXwX4KNmLjeTbbY62LX8-fF6Lcvl4HWUGcSY/s1600/temptations.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1185" data-original-width="1600" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgea3yE4o2Llch4PVkA_ui9ipQOq_Q5Jxkn88SKi7HBqFft2keuTo-9zuFwKWw47jel7hSrZAFMMCMkFsw85_a2BtVbBoh0nxy70-dXmUWW8OJkZfXWJyLyU6WeNFw4xlhc2rH9KmythXsZwF52csw1jbZRXwX4KNmLjeTbbY62LX8-fF6Lcvl4HWUGcSY/w244-h181/temptations.jpg" width="244" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The yarn lady and Pam had made a
lovely chicken rice dish for dinner. Being thrifty folk, they’d bagged and
frozen the leftovers for future consumption. Since Pam hadn’t come home until
nearly 6pm dinner had been late and the unwashed liner of the Instant Pot sat
on the kitchen counter. At around 2am Ursula was awakened by the sound of the
latest of the J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">
cursing. “Bölvaður heimskur menn!” She looked up and saw the troll sprawled
over Pam’s shoes that she’d left just inside the front door. To be fair, no one
used that door unless they were going for a walk along the lake right out front
of the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They used the back door,
which led onto the patio or the garage if they were bringing in groceries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Are you hurt?” Ursula was
concerned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of these guys were real
touchy, and she didn’t want them to be sued in court by some Icelandic troll. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Ah, no, I am not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You must be the one called Ursula.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am </span><span style="color: #202122; font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Pottaskefill, that is the
pot-scraper. I am here tonight to scrape all the goodness out of your pots and
eat it while my fellow </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">J</span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">ólasveinarnir
torment you and your neighbors with their pranks. At least I do not have to
steal your pots, just eat from them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Poor </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Stufur, he is bound to stealing all those pans, and he can’t
even dump them once he’s eaten out the crusts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He came back to our camp that night burdened with many pans. Now he just
bangs on them in the middle of the night at the houses he visits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ha! Children put their shoes on the windowsills,
but I suppose since cats do not have thumbs, you leave them on the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is excused.” The troll nodded at Ursula. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“No, we did leave our shoes for
you on the table by the window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
human, um, she tends to leave her shoes wherever she takes them off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sorry, Mr. Potskifiller,” she replied. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Ursula showed the troll to the
kitchen where he rummaged around on the counter until he found the liner
containing the remnants of the meal. There was already a plastic serving spoon
in it, so he used that to scrape out each little bit of meat and rice. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This one was particularly chatty, asking her
if she’d had some of the meal, as it was particularly tasty. She’d replied that
she wasn’t a fan of people food, other than tuna juice so no, she had not. </span><span style="color: #202122; font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Pottaskefill said his father had told him tales of eating some
pretty horrible foods over the years. He said how the pot-scrapers were obliged
to eat at least some of what they found in each pot in a house, and sometimes
those pots had things that even the humans hadn’t wanted. Gesturing with the
spoon he said that this, on the other hand, was delicious. He loved chicken and
he rarely had rice to eat, since it grew much further south than </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Ísland. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">When he’d scraped every last bit
of goodness out of the pot, he reached in his pocket and presented Ursula with
a handful of cat treats, spreading them on the floor in front of her and asked,
“can I trust you to not eat the ones for your sister Clementine if I leave them
here?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">She shook her head no, her mouth
full of cat treats. He nodded and told her she was a wise cat and went to the
living room to put Clementine’s into one of the sneakers on the table by the
window.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> -------------------</o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Some time near morning Sparky
noticed the outside motion sensor lights go on and a few moments later the door
to the deck opened. </span><span style="color: #202122; font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Pottaskefill entered,
greeting Sparky with a hello when he saw her watching him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was humming and told her that he’d eaten
very well that night, and unless they had a pot of dessert, he’d probably just give
whatever pot he found a quick scrape and taste and be on his way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sparky replied that the only pots out were
ones sitting full of dishwater waiting to be scrubbed. </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The
troll shuddered and thanked her for warning him. “I’d probably think it was
some horrible soup you Amerískur thought up. Some of your food is just
odd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I snatched a bag of orange balls that
were mostly air with a flavor of cheese, and not even good strong goat cheese!”
He chuckled and reached his hand in his pocket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He put a handful of Temptations on the floor in front of the chair she
had been sleeping in and put another handful in one of the sneakers by the
door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He shook his finger at her,
saying, “Now you go and wake up your brother kitty so you will not be tempted
to eat those delicious cat treats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good
night and “Góð jól.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sparky marveled that he sure
knew cats and Temptations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wanted to
eat the ones in the shoe herself but knew that BC would never believe that they’d
been skipped tonight if she tried to lie to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sighing, she went to wake him up. </span><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-57002623355636424672023-12-15T12:22:00.000-05:002023-12-15T12:22:09.172-05:00December 15th<p style="text-align: justify;"> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9vnhXQrBnKKnwpWYvUMXxSApFuwPxg13GcRbZHmcckERLEN1Ze_fm5H55pHyY8_p3tnkcohGDDti6zK9PHhWIVNDn5yIybf5kkci3K0TyXQyJ6Y5vtzngfKEQo-Xbit3xpGi1xRcS8E6jlzqomUVm7lhr4r3421XGdgoTuMxexCfa7o4lKfNucc5RRw/s329/souvenir%20spoon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="257" data-original-width="329" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9vnhXQrBnKKnwpWYvUMXxSApFuwPxg13GcRbZHmcckERLEN1Ze_fm5H55pHyY8_p3tnkcohGDDti6zK9PHhWIVNDn5yIybf5kkci3K0TyXQyJ6Y5vtzngfKEQo-Xbit3xpGi1xRcS8E6jlzqomUVm7lhr4r3421XGdgoTuMxexCfa7o4lKfNucc5RRw/w185-h145/souvenir%20spoon.jpg" width="185" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It seemed as though no one
wanted to go to bed tonight. It was
after 1am and the yarn lady was still reading in her bed and Pam was in the
living room playing World of Warcraft and neither had fed Clementine or
Ursula. Clem climbed onto her “feed me”
perch and meowed loudly. The yarn lady looked up at her and then at the clock,
saying, “Mercy! It’s later than I thought.
This book is so fascinating I lost track of time.” She called for Pam to
feed the kitties, since she it was past time to go to sleep. Within 15 minutes both cats had been fed and
Pam had retreated to her room for the night.
<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The yarn lady turned out the
lights and within about ten minutes was asleep. Clem had already done her
under-the-blanket time so she was free to roam the house. She settled on a
dining room chair awaiting tonight’s visitor.
She’d had an email from Archie earlier cautioning her not to eat the
nutmeg, as it could give her hallucinations.
Clem knew nutmeg, it was one of the spices on the rack above the
sink. The yarn lady used it sometimes
for baking. It was rather stinky powder,
so she wondered why Archie would have said she could use it to play hockey, or
why the Jólasveinar would leave spices. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Ursula was stationed on the armchair
by the picture window. The sneakers were on the table awaiting tonight’s gift
only a few feet away. They were ready to
catch some Christmas troll. Ursula dozed off as the night wore on, but
Clementine stayed alert. Finally, she
heard a faint noise in the kitchen. She quickly slipped past the edge of the
curtain separating the rooms and saw a very odd sight. Tonight’s Jólasveinar
was tall and horribly thin. He looked like a skeleton wrapped in some skin and baggy
rags. He was mostly bald had gnarled hands and a really long tongue that he was
using to lick a spoon the yarn lady had left unwashed. She and Pam had made
beef stew earlier and the spoon she’d used for serving had been still in the
empty pot after she’d vacuum-sealed the leftovers for freezing. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">He was relishing the rich taste
of the stew when he heard a voice from near the floor. “Excuse me, but why are
you licking the spoon?” Clementine asked in Íslenska. He was so surprised to be
addressed by a cat who spoke his language that he answered, “Because I’m Þvöruleikir,
the spoon-licker. That’s how I get my
nourishment, from the spoons I find in people’s houses. This spoon has prime broth and bits of beef
on it. I could lick a dozen of these.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Why don’t you just eat Pam’s
leftovers? They’re right in the living room where she left them.” Clem felt she
should be hospitable to someone who looked like he was suffering from
malnutrition. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Well, because they’re not on a
cooking spoon. That’s the only food I eat, fresh from cooking and straight from
the cooking spoon.” Þvöruleikir seemed a little confused as to why she’d
suggest he eat from a bowl. That wasn’t
his task. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Clementine nodded and told him
he was welcome to see if he couldn’t get some more stuff on the spoon by
rubbing it on the sides of the pot. He
looked at her, dumbstruck, as though that idea had never occurred to him. He scraped the pot with the spoon for about
five minutes, licking it clean each time he’d managed to get more stew on
it. This woke Ursula who wandered into
the kitchen. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Þvöruleikir introduced himself
to Ursula and thanked the two cats. He presented each of them with a miniature
spoon with some words stamped on it. “I
don’t suppose cats use spoons, but it’s what I’ve got. Thanks for the stew!” He then let himself out
of the condo by the sliding glass door onto the patio. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p>
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Well, that was weird,” Clem
declared. These trolls were ancient,
according to what she’d found on the internet.
How could he survive on what he could lick off spoons? She then looked
at the two spoons he had left. Each of
them had “Reykjavik International Games” engraved on it, as well as a year and
an outline of an athlete. So, he’d left
them souvenir spoons. They might be the right size for a small child, but
certainly not an adult…or a cat. Spoons
require thumbs. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-10472492985407336452023-12-14T12:30:00.014-05:002023-12-14T12:30:00.129-05:00December 14th<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikpQBV6dHDYfPGtJ6Kze9h6CTQQpfttSRGslzwWcsHuZDGhi-cmlwNhgPXJMibe7ZRejh6ACUa5zXSRScR3EZ9u6YAE9kkX-ItAY_IwZv-NuSUCwjXs0TiZIczwONGdbXiNzsYADy6Ue-e8-GSBgcN7_xnu6a71l2K2t93FYCNM2QfNsyUXt_yqMIv9ck/s1600/truffles.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikpQBV6dHDYfPGtJ6Kze9h6CTQQpfttSRGslzwWcsHuZDGhi-cmlwNhgPXJMibe7ZRejh6ACUa5zXSRScR3EZ9u6YAE9kkX-ItAY_IwZv-NuSUCwjXs0TiZIczwONGdbXiNzsYADy6Ue-e8-GSBgcN7_xnu6a71l2K2t93FYCNM2QfNsyUXt_yqMIv9ck/w251-h189/truffles.JPG" width="251" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">It was around 2am in the morning
when the Yarn Lady was awakened from a sound sleep by the sound of pots and
pans falling on the kitchen floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
struggled out of bed, staggered to the kitchen and saw a bizarre sight. There
was a very short ugly man standing on her step stool with a pie pan in his
hand. She’d used it to make an egg pie, and it was sitting on the counter
waiting to be washed. His eyes went wide when he saw her and still holding the
pie pan, he jumped off the stool, threw two bright baubles at her and fled into
the living room and out the front door. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The yarn lady blinked groggily
at the objects she’d reflexively caught. The were Lindoor Truffles, a favorite
of both she and her daughter. She put them on the counter, locked the front
door securely and went back to bed, quickly falling back asleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Clementine and Ursula had seen
the troll come in from their dark position under the table in the dining room.
He’d ignored the shoes placed on the table by the front window on his way in
and obviously didn’t stop to look for shoes on the way out. The cats looked at
each other, shrugged and decided that tonight was a bust. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The troll, Stufur, stood out in
front of the condo panting for breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He didn’t usually run like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Damn, his first night out and he’d been seen by one of the Manneskjur.
This was not good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were more
houses to visit, he’d have to be more careful at those.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">-----------------------------</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">About an hour later BC felt a
draft and saw the door to the deck swing open. A short squat fellow tiptoed in,
looking around to make sure he was alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>BC ducked his head until he’d moved into the kitchen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The intruder had to be one of those trolls,
he decided. Nobody around here would dress that badly (or smell that bad). <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">He jumped down and padded into
the kitchen quietly and saw the troll climb onto one of the chairs at the table
and carefully take the square pan a frozen lasagna had come in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was one of those cheap foil ones. One of
his clients had given him homemade lasagna as a holiday thank you gift.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BC had enjoyed some of it, as had
Sparky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All that was left in it now were
a few dried up noodles and sauce and maybe some crusty cheese around the
edges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The troll put the edge of the pan
in his mouth and gnawed off some of the cheese residue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He made a satisfied noise and headed back to
the living room, carrying the pan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BC
had just enough time to scoot under the coffee table before the troll came in.
Humming happily, the troll dropped a small foil wrapped ball in each sneaker
and let himself out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">BC checked out the balls once he
was sure the troll had gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t
foil, but plastic they were wrapped in and it smelled like chocolate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Didn’t trolls know that chocolate was bad for
cats (and dogs)? BC carefully removed the balls from the sneakers and placed
them on the dining room table where the lasagna pan had been.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That would be a pleasant surprise for the
Daddy when he woke up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BC yawned and
headed into the bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 16px;">-----------------------------</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">When the yarn lady awakened that
morning she recalled a dream about a troll in the kitchen and shook her
head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As if. She must have been thinking
about the Jólasveinar story she’d written for Dotsie a bunch of years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wasn’t there a Jól troll who stole the pots
from houses and ate the crusts off?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
laughed as she wandered into the kitchen to get a Diet Coke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As she was walking back into the dining room
she noticed two wrapped truffles on the counter. She knew they hadn’t been
there when she went to sleep, but maybe Pam had put them there overnight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She shook her head and thought, “that’s my
story and I’m sticking to it” and went to listen to the morning news. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The Daddy got up and started a
pot of coffee and when he sat down for his first cup at the table he noticed
the two wrapped candies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He picked them
up, noticing that they each bore tooth marks on the plastic twisted at the ends
to keep the wrapper tight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sparky was
sitting on the table waiting for him to get his cereal in hopes of drinking the
milk left when he was finished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He shook
one at her saying, “Well, at least you gave me a present after stealing my
milk.” He shook his head thinking that either he or the cats were a little
crazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps it was both. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-76714577482560010622023-12-13T11:42:00.000-05:002023-12-13T11:42:03.196-05:00December 13th<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7UU8o1PG6QkzcoeZpj8LBhvLNFjJaAn8cSVJXw-jfve755tSkIoTP63xm7OE-jV-qbrf11SlS6uwzJCKXj3U1DJLZgoDDEIPeMStvYEpYpn_AxZIZ9FDMIB4c9l5u7mkJjar5iljRMVXQPzPL1Sp6ZSSbEqdnlcj03UjUeBk8z_Xy_l9UV1i4r8Rf_-w/s1200/sparky%20on%20my%20knitting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="911" data-original-width="1200" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7UU8o1PG6QkzcoeZpj8LBhvLNFjJaAn8cSVJXw-jfve755tSkIoTP63xm7OE-jV-qbrf11SlS6uwzJCKXj3U1DJLZgoDDEIPeMStvYEpYpn_AxZIZ9FDMIB4c9l5u7mkJjar5iljRMVXQPzPL1Sp6ZSSbEqdnlcj03UjUeBk8z_Xy_l9UV1i4r8Rf_-w/s320/sparky%20on%20my%20knitting.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span></b><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">BC and
Sparky had put two of MR’s sneakers by the door to the deck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The windows in their house didn’t have
windowsills wide enough to put a shoe on, unless maybe it was a baby shoe, and
they didn’t have any of those.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sparky
was hoping that since MR had size 10 feet that they’d get either several goodies
or one large one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BC shook his head, as
his experience was that not everyone in this world wants to give you
presents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, most of his life he’d
had more negative interactions than positive ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it hadn’t been for MR, his life wouldn’t
be worth living. She’d rescued him from the nasty men and dogs at the farm and
brought him to New Jersey where he’d made his first real friend, Sparky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Sparky had
napped through most of the day in hope that she’d be awake when the Jólasveinar
arrived. So, when she heard someone open the refrigerator, she was already
alert.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Keeping close to the floor she slithered
into the kitchen doorway and listened.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Yup, she thought, whoever that is it’s not the Daddy and he’s not
speaking English.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">It’s gotta be a
troll.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">She heard the refrigerator door
close and a chair being pulled out from the table, and then heard the sound of
someone chugging something from a plastic jug.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">She could hear the sides being sucked in; the person was drinking so
fast.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Unable to resist, she poked her
head around the bottom of the cabinet and saw a large unkempt…thing finishing
the half-gallon of milk.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Without
thinking she said, “The Daddy’s not going to like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He likes cereal with milk in the morning
sometimes. You should have left him some.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Bah, there’s a whole other
carton in your cold box, kitty. Of course, I wouldn’t finish it all, well,
unless there was only a little bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m Giljagaur,
and my job is to drink your cows dry of milk, but since you uncivilized people
don’t even keep cows, I took it from the cold box.” The troll was a bit gruff,
but polite. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“You speak English?” “Of course,
I do. In this day and age, even the Tröllin speak English. Else we’d not know
what is happening in the world outside of our home in Dimmuborgir. So, are
there any children here?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Sparky was amazed at how
pleasant this Giljagaur was. She stammered that no, there were no children and
they didn’t have windowsills so they’d left their shoes by the door to the
deck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Giljagaur laughed and said, “The
kitties in my land do not wear shoes, but perhaps I will find that you Amerískur
kitties have shoemakers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come, show
me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">A little embarrassed, she led
him into the living room where MR’s big sneakers sat by the door. She looked at
the floor, because obviously these were twenty times the size of her dainty
feet. “So, little cat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you have
another kitty friend who has left their shoe or are you just a neatnik who
cannot leave a single sneaker on its own?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The troll smiled down at Sparky, who said that BC also lived there, but
he was asleep on the bed with the Daddy right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Giljagaur reached down and scratched her head
in just the right spot for exactly the right amount of time to send her into a
blissful state, and when she emerged he was gone, but the shoes each had a
small stuffed cow in them that smelled enticingly like catnip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She pounced on one, wrestled it out of the
shoe and rolled around on the floor with it until she again entered a state of
sated bliss, after which she fell asleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She dreamed of trolls milking cows in the back yard, except instead of
putting the milk in pails they were squirting it into their mouths and drinking
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a strange dream. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<span><a name='more'></a></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt;">FROM: BC & Sparky
<rudytoots@catlover.com></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;">TO: <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Archie
<pupsupreme@whosagoodboy.com><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Clementine
<princessclementine@kittymail.com><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;">DATE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>12/12/23
2:27 pm<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;">RE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nice troll<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
</div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;">BC here. Okay. Sparky said we had a
troll overnight, and since I didn’t have a catnip cow yesterday, I guess we
did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said he was a pretty nice guy,
although he did finish a carton of milk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I think he was disappointed we don’t have kids here, but he left gifts
rather than rocks, so all is copacetic. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;">FROM: Clementine
<princessclementine@kittymail.com><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;">TO: <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>BC
& Sparky <rudytoots@catlover.com> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Archie
<pupsupreme@whosagoodboy.com><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;">DATE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>12/12/23
4:28 am<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;">RE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Re: Nice troll<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
</div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Yeah, we had a pleasant troll last
night too, although the nasty one with the wooden legs racketed around in the
basement again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The nice one said that they
each stay for twelve nights, so we have another ten nights of Mr. GrumpyTroll.
We got catnip cows too!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if
he’ll leave more gifts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I like him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ursula says hi.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></o:p></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 12pt;">FROM: Archie <pupsupreme@whosagoodboy.com></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;">TO: <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>BC
& Sparky <rudytoots@catlover.com> <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Clementine
<princessclementine@kittymail.com><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;">DATE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>12/12/23
5:49 am<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;">RE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Re: Nice troll<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
</div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Cool, yeah some of them were nicer
than others, but I’m glad they’re not here this year. </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-27968230598179848912023-12-12T11:58:00.001-05:002023-12-13T11:42:29.413-05:00December 12th - Adelphia, NJ<p> <span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">Just after midnight Ursula was
awakened by something clattering around in the crawlspace below the condo and a
voice muttering in foreign language. Whoever was under there was quite clumsy,
as there was nothing down there except the cement floor, some poles that held
up the first floor and a sump pump.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">They
had to be trying pretty hard to make all that noise, since it sounded like
someone beating the floor and metal posts with a baseball bat.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">She ran to wake Clementine up, only to find
Clem heading out of the yarn lady’s room looking for her.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Who could be under our condo,
Ursula?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked under there when they
were inspecting for mold after Lucy next door had all the flooding, and it’s
not big enough for an adult to walk upright.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Clem was confused, partly because she’d been awakened from a sound sleep
tucked in under the covers with the yarn lady.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“I don’t know, but he’s speaking
in some foreign language.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I couldn’t
tell what he was saying, and it didn’t sound anything like the Spammish that
the noisy people who replaced the roof spoke,” Ursula replied. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Clem shook her head vigorously
to keep herself from laughing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Spanish,
not Spammish, Ursula.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She listened
carefully as the visitor continued to mutter loudly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, my Cat! He’s speaking Íslenska! Archie
and I decided to learn it after those weird things visited their house around
Christmastime years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was before
you moved here.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“You speak what? And who’s
Archie?” Ursula was totally confused.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“Íslenska is the language of
Iceland, and Archie is the dog who lives with the yarn lady’s sister. We send
emails back and forth about what’s going on. There was a gang of hooligans who
terrorized them and Archie and I decided we’d learn their language in case they
ever came back. Now shush, I want to hear what it’s saying.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Clem listened intently at the
cursing hooligan who seemed to be talking about…looking for sheep? Why would
anyone keep a sheep in a crawlspace, or maybe he’d lost his sheep and thought
it might be down there? It was making its way back to the front of the house,
so Clem followed the sounds and saw it climb out of the crawl space. She was
very glad that a window was between her and the…thing. It was kind of humanish,
but instead of feet and shins it had wooden legs with something at the bottom
that wasn’t a foot. It stumped its way towards the end of the building.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Clem scurried back to the
bedroom, checked to see that the coast was clear and slipped out her cat door
in the yarn lady’s bedroom window. She hurried to a spot under the huge hedge
that surrounded the patio and worked her way silently to the end of the hedge
closest to the street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From there she
could see a bunch of scruffy folks all bunched together talking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The wooden-legged one joined them,
complaining that there was not a sheep to be found here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d checked out a bunch of the cellars, as
he called them, but there were no sheep and no sheep bedding or fodder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously these people must keep their sheep
elsewhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The one who’d crawled under the
house was called Stekkjastaur by the others, and he said his grandfather had
told him specifically that everyone kept their sheep in a cellar under their
house to protect them from the harsh winters and that his job was to go and
find the sheep and disturb their rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If there were any lambs (unlikely in December) he should suckle from the
ewes, as that was his due as one of the…Christmas boys? Clem wasn’t sure if
that was the right translation, but that’s what it sounded like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Another laughed at him and told
him they needed to forget the grandfather tales, as even people in Ísland
didn’t live like that anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
different…boy?…said that he’d talked to the younger Jólasveinar (Clem decided
their own name fit better) who’d given him the score. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Few people lived in villages anymore, raising
their own animals and crops for food. Instead, they worked far from their homes
and were given bits of paper that allowed them to take food and other things
from places where it was all stored together. Nowadays, the best the Jólasveinar
could do was to recreate their traditional tasks as best they could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said the only thing that was the same was
that the children still left their shoes on the windowsills in hopes of candy
or small gifts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The band this younger Jólasveinar
had talked to was pretty split on whether they should leave rotten potatoes or
something nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all agreed that if
they could do something close to their task they’d leave something nice, but
otherwise they were 50/50 for rotten potatoes vs. treats. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Stekkjastaur snorted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“There are no potato fields around here to
take rotten potatoes from, so I put rocks in all the shoes I could find.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None were on the windowsills as they should
have been. These people are ignorant! We should head back to Ísland and find a
nice village to terrorize.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">A different Jólasveinar said
that there were no villages unclaimed by the others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were too many bands and too few
villages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More people lived in cities in
tall crowded buildings that were too well watched for their pranks (not that
they could even do most of them).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few
bands had gone to the Faroe Islands and even the Shetland Islands of Scotland. That
was why this newest of the bands had decided to bravely try something
different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Headlights from an approaching
vehicle caused the Jólasveinar to scuttle onto the yarn lady’s patio where they
would be concealed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clem hoped she was
well hidden by the hedge. A sharp debate broke out among them about what they
should do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Should they stay and do the
job the best they could?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were in a
village – the sign out on the road said so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“The Villages,” it proclaimed. They were not ignorant as their elders
were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They could speak and read English
at least a bit. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Stekkjastaur pointed out that
their tasks were about the children of the villages, and he’d found no children
in this place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d peered in some
windows after it was dark, and the place was inhabited by old people for the
most part, although there was a somewhat younger person in the one he’d
visited. Were they to provide treats for adults now? And who would be scared by
their antics, so they could make off with the best food they could find to keep
them nourished until they went back to Ísland? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Another argument broke out and
was ended by Stekkjastaur who rushed at the hedge making horrible menacing
noises and reaching into the hedge as best he could. “No, I can’t terrify their
kids, but I can terrify their cats! I saw this one inside looking at me, and
now it’s out here spying on us. Run, little cat, or I’ll take you home to
provide a snack for Gryla’s cat, Urðarköttur.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Clementine
quickly ran out of the other side of the hedge and cowered in the shadows next
to the neighbor’s condo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Jólasveinar
all laughed and stomped off across the street and down into the dingle in the
woods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were laughing and pounding Stekkjastaur
on the back, praising him for his fast thinking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When Clem
stopped shaking enough to walk, she made her way back to her cat door, hugging
the outer condo wall, checked to see if anyone was there and then shot in
through the window. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It slammed into the
back of the chair so hard that it woke the yarn lady who asked if there were bears
outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clem yowled that it was worse
than bears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were TROLLS outside,
and she was afraid they’d be back tomorrow and every night for the rest of the
month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The yarn lady said that she was
happy there were no bears and went back to sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Clem wished more than ever that the yarn lady
could understand her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio3wLSCXcdVxkfz2I9hh1TMZcJu6dYuC-gsybehxhhNsVC4AzH0h7MZZX5Azkv0kvk-iSbBZ6f83zuoZyotjw3OAqzdmNFf0VkHLxY61a8VycOp28jMglDDq7aSXGdGqc2Bp4tYGheWKWADoFWF1anUS4TJMK5fXK0Z2ixqY028iDTF_zzJO_ASvLdd0s/s832/sheep%20lad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-family: verdana; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="775" data-original-width="832" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio3wLSCXcdVxkfz2I9hh1TMZcJu6dYuC-gsybehxhhNsVC4AzH0h7MZZX5Azkv0kvk-iSbBZ6f83zuoZyotjw3OAqzdmNFf0VkHLxY61a8VycOp28jMglDDq7aSXGdGqc2Bp4tYGheWKWADoFWF1anUS4TJMK5fXK0Z2ixqY028iDTF_zzJO_ASvLdd0s/s320/sheep%20lad.jpg" width="320" /></a><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><a name="_Hlk152870187"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">FROM:
<span> </span>Clementine <princessclementine@kittymail.com><o:p></o:p></span></span></a></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">TO: <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> <span> </span></span>BC
& Sparky <rudytoots@catlover.com> <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Archie
<pupsupreme@whosagoodboy.com><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">DATE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>12/12/23
4:28 am<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">RE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>TROLLS!!!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
</div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We have an infestation of trolls!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One was in the basement and there were dozens
out on the patio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They said something
about going to other houses, so I wanted to give you a heads up, BC and Sparky,
in case they came by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were looking
for sheep in our crawlspace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As if.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Archie, they said something about some of them
going to New Hampshire a few years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Did they leave rocks in all your shoes?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The one tonight did, and I don’t know how he managed without waking us
up, cuz he has wooden legs and feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Please pass along any information you might have about them. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">FROM: Archie <pupsupreme@whosagoodboy.com><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">TO: <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>BC
& Sparky <rudytoots@catlover.com> <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Clementine
<princessclementine@kittymail.com><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">DATE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>12/12/23
5:49 am<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">RE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Re:
TROLLS!!!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
</div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Uh-oh, that sounds like the same trolls that harassed
us some years back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They showed up every
night for weeks, and sometimes they left old potatoes in the shoes and
sometimes we got nice things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One time I
even got dog cookies! And yeah, they’re noisy and rude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m glad we learned íslenska, so you can
understand what they’re saying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If they
come back here, I’ll tell them off before I bite them and chase them off. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 12pt;">P.S. Don’t forget to leave shoes on the
windowsill for them. Some of these guys are nice, but others have NO sense of
humor.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">FROM: BC & Sparky
<rudytoots@catlover.com> <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">TO: <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Archie
<pupsupreme@whosagoodboy.com><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Clementine
<princessclementine@kittymail.com><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">DATE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>12/12/23
2:27 pm<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
<div style="border-bottom: solid windowtext 1.0pt; border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="border: none; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">RE:<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Re:
Re: TROLLS!!!<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p>
</div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">What the heck have you guys been smoking?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was quiet as it can be around here with
the Daddy snoring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk152870187;"><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span></span></p>Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-64821644443210362652023-12-11T18:33:00.001-05:002023-12-13T11:42:54.623-05:00Prologue<p> </p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNFicmsWgdsIqjoJiAzytMSACJDJ_cjpZ7U_JBw0Z0mbnIE01Xi9FArTJ-t1DgwDDUiBqIIYnCqCi8fYK7mKdiV_NpMeCdgBhiNJTkZVJEs3XkvX7Fm7Mrk_XI7r6xRIrXWXGehWzEUpBCJ52zdG3tsEGc5RT7DhjKC0cJfje5KmGWGrj_SKWQ46u5-Ag/s745/lava%20field%20in%20winter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="745" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNFicmsWgdsIqjoJiAzytMSACJDJ_cjpZ7U_JBw0Z0mbnIE01Xi9FArTJ-t1DgwDDUiBqIIYnCqCi8fYK7mKdiV_NpMeCdgBhiNJTkZVJEs3XkvX7Fm7Mrk_XI7r6xRIrXWXGehWzEUpBCJ52zdG3tsEGc5RT7DhjKC0cJfje5KmGWGrj_SKWQ46u5-Ag/w463-h229/lava%20field%20in%20winter.jpg" width="463" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Hidden deep in the lava fields of Dimmuborgir in northern Iceland are many caves inhabited by Grýla, her third husband, Leppalúði and Grýla’s sons and their families.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Although the lava fields are a major tourist attraction, they’re never seen by the visitors, as the tour operators only visit during daylight hours…with good reason.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Grýla and her family are trolls, and not the type with brightly colored hair and cute smiles.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">They are large, filthy somewhat human-looking creatures who haven’t much changed their habits and customs since they first came to Iceland in the 1300s.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">They survive primarily through theft and foraging, and although most Icelanders no longer believe that trolls exist, some aren’t so sure of that as they find their animals or crops missing some mornings.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Grýla is the
ruler of the troll clan, and her husband rushes to do her bidding in hopes that
she won’t eat him, as she did her first two husbands.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Although the rest of the clan have given up
their cannibalistic ways, Grýla’s favorite food is humans, and only her extreme
laziness protects the population of northeastern Iceland.</span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Every year a few foolhardy tourists ignore
the warnings to avoid the Dimmuborgir area at night and are never heard from
again.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Grýla’s sons are also quick to
obey her demands, although they’re good at finding ways to avoid doing anything
too dangerous or exhausting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If she
sends them out to bring her the finest spring lambs from Bjarteyjarsandur, a
four-day walk when you’re not carrying a lamb, a few of them will travel a
couple kilometers to caves near Mývatn and spend a week lounging and visiting
the mineral baths at night and then steal the nearest lambs and come home
groaning about the hardships they endured to provide only the best for their
beloved mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Many centuries ago, Grýla heard
about how the humans spent much of December preparing festive foods for the
holiday,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jól, on the 25<sup>th</sup> of
the month. She sent her youngest sons, Leppalúði’s get, out to find what it was
all about, and how they all could profit from this holiday. Once she had their
reports, she fashioned a plan during the long winter months, discussed it and
refined it with the clan during the spring and summer and spent the fall trying
to convince all her sons to carry it out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>To her great anger, only Leppalúði’s sons were willing to carry it out,
probably because only they had seen the benefit of the plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To the others, it was too much risk with too
little benefit, and they convinced Grýla that they should remain at Dimmuborgir
to protect her and their families from incursions of angry humans who
occasionally tried to exterminate the trolls. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So, since sometime in the 1500s,
Leppalúði’s sons have been tormenting Icelandic families preparing for Jól. As
time went by, younger generations joined their fathers and grandfathers, always
using the same plan. Although trolls don’t breed as easily as humans do, over
the centuries the bands of Jól trolls, or Jólasveinar as they are known had to
range farther so as to not poach on another band’s territory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Garamond",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The youngest generation of
trolls have been enticed by the modern world, unlike most of their elders. They
are particularly interested in electronics, and the troll equivalent of
teenagers have become early adopters of technologies that can amuse them or
help them to find food to steal for their families. The newest Jólasveinar band,
heading out for their first assignment has been convinced by them to use some
of this new technology to find the best location ever for their Jól pranks.
They have stolen smartwatches with GPS capabilities, and the locations of some
humans related to a family another band of Jólasveinar tormented a few years
ago. Their destination is far from the lava fields of Dimmuborgir – New Jersey,
specifically Adelphia and Jackson, two towns in the middle of the state. <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-57370962328187149562020-12-12T20:42:00.003-05:002020-12-12T20:42:56.455-05:00Journey to Pottawatomie<p>When Rudy awoke in an endless field of soft waving grass,
she carefully raised her head and then stretched out to her full length. She looked over her shoulder and saw the tip
of her full fluffy tail gently moving up and down in the grass. Rudy stretched again, marveling at the
strength in her legs and how easily they extended fully in the stretch. She then leaped into the air, executed a
corkscrew backflip and landed perfectly on all four paws. She laughed and did it again and laughed even
harder when she flubbed the corkscrew and the flip and ended up sprawled in the
grass. She rolled onto her back and laughed
harder and then curled to try to catch her beautiful full tail. She’d made it! This was the real Pottawatomie. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">She was still sprawled in the grass, stalking her tail when
another cat showed up. It wasn’t anyone
familiar to Rudy’s disappointment, but she jumped up, gave the other cat a mock
blow to the head and exclaimed, “I’m here! I’m here! I made it to Pottawatomie! The Great Cat took
pity on me and didn’t punish me for being such a hissy cat. Please, take me to my friends. I know they’re waiting for me. There’s LT and Peep and the grey horse and
oh, I want to see them sooooo much.
Please, let’s go!” Rudy stood, poised
to spring off in whatever direction the other cat seemed inclined to go, but
the other cat was looking at her somewhat oddly. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes, Rudy, you are in Pottawatomie, but I’m usually the one
who tells the new cats where they are.
How could you know? My name is Gaia,
by the way.” </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“Well, you see, Gaia, it’s this way. I was a very old cat, and I’d outlived all my
friends, the cat ones you know. The new,
kid, Sparky, is okay, but she’s a little on the wacky side. I’ve been slowing down a lot these past few
months, but up until the last couple weeks, it’s been okay. The daddy feeds me almost anything I want
that he’s eating, but my tummy didn’t work the same as when I was young, but
you don’t want to hear about that. He
made sure I was on the bed to snuggle with him at night, and when the Mommy
came home on weekends she’d snuggle me and pet me and love me so much that
sometimes I had to hiss a bit to get her to let me have a nap. But just recently my legs haven’t been
working so well, and sometimes I couldn’t even move them at all. Everything started to hurt most of the time
in the past few days, so I slept a lot.
I kept having dreams every time I fell asleep. Each time the dreams grew a little clearer
until…” at this, Rudy choked up a little
bit and looked at Gaia with tears in her eyes.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“It was probably just after midnight when I fell asleep, and
finally the dream was as clear as day.
The Peep was standing in front of me, and she told me that it was time
to come to Pottawatomie, except that I should say goodbye to the daddy and the
Mommy first and ask them to help me open the door. She said that if they’d help I’d get through
nice and easy and it wouldn’t hurt and after that nothing would hurt
anymore. If I didn’t ask them, or they
didn’t understand then it would be a lot harder and probably hurt a lot until I
made it through. LT walked up out of the
mist (did I say it was misty in the dream?
It was, and we were standing with our paws in what looked like clouds)
and he said that the Peep was right, and that I should go back now and say good-bye
and ask the Mommy and daddy to send me to Pottawatomie.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“So I did. I woke
them up with the most god-awful caterwauling and I kept it up for probably two
hours to make sure they got the message.
They did, and when my legs were working a bit, the Daddy helped me to go
outside and I used the poo field and said good-bye to it also. I called out a good-bye to any of the cats
from the Cat Club who might be within hearing, telling them I was heading for Pottawatomie,
and not to miss me, because I’d be with Peep and LT. I didn’t mention the Grey horse, but that’s
only because none of them knew him or probably had even heard me talk about him,
other than complaining that he was the one who messed up my legs and made them
ache so much in the cold weather. I went
inside, sniffing at the cold air, and looked up at the stars and whispered them
a soft good-bye. I didn’t know if the
same stars would be shining here, and I spent a lot of time watching and
talking to those stars. I said good-bye
to the cat door, and to Sparky when she woke up. I explained where I was going and that I’d
see her there some day, but not for a long time, unless she did something
monumentally stupid. I told her not to
do anything like that because she’d have to take care of the daddy all by herself
when I was gone. The Mommy went to Mary’s
Land every week and the daddy would be lonely without me. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“For once, Sparky sat down next to me, not snuggly close but
close enough for a quiet chat. We’d
never talked to much, but this morning she was full of questions. She asked about my life and about the Peep, and
about what LT had been like when he was young.
I had to tell her that LT was a full-grown cat when I met him, but he’d
obviously been a lot spryer than when Sparky had come along. I talked myself hoarse, answering all her
questions. Finally she asked about Pottawatomie,
and I told her about our cross-country trip with David to the one in this
country, and then I told her about the one that Peep had told me about in my
dream just a few hours before. Sparky’s
eyes grew wide and the hair on her spine and tail began to puff out. The daddy was sitting there quietly petting
me as I’d been telling Sparky that last part, and he got a little alarmed when
he saw Sparky getting all puffy. He
probably thought she was angry because the Daddy was loving me and ignoring her,
so he picked her up and carried her into the kitchen. I called out to her not to be scared when it
was her time to go, and that I hoped she’d have a good long life. I began to doze off and I heard the daddy put
Sparky out the back door as I fell asleep.
I felt him sit next to me on the sofa and begin softly stroking my head,
back and side. He’s such a good daddy.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>“After that it’s all a bit fuzzy. I kind of remember the Mommy talking to me
and loving me and then being picked up and taken for a ride in the car. Then I smelled the smell that’s only found in
Tibet, and wondered if that was where the door to Pottawatomie was. The daddy and the Mommy gave me more loves
and I dozed off. When I woke up I was
here and nothing hurt, so I knew I must have come to Pottawatomie. Can we go see my friends now? I’m sad because I know the Mommy and the
daddy must be sad, but I’m so happy to feel all strong and energetic, and I
want to run and find my friends. Then we’ll
all run and see what else we can find.
There’s got to be all sorts of new and different things to find
here. Please, may we go?”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Gaia shook her head and said that of course they could go,
and this arrival was definitely one for the books, whatever books they might
have been. When Rudy looked ready to spring
into a dead run, Gaia smiled and said, “Well, at least there’s one thing you
didn’t already know. You don’t have to
run to get there. Turn around.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Rudy turned around and saw just in front of her an open
doorway in the middle of the field. No
frame that she could see and no door.
Just land on the other side that looked just like home in New
Jersey. Grassy, but with a lot of sand
in the dirt. A supine prickly pear
cactus lying on its side off to the left of the doorway. And then, running towards the doorway she saw
her friends. Rudy cried with joy, “I’m
coming, and then quickly turned to Gaia and said, thank you so much for your
help, but I’ve got to go now. Oh, my.” And off she ran through the doorway where she
could see the Peep, LT and the Grey horse, pawing at the grass underneath his
hoof in anticipation.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Godspeed Miss Rudy-Toots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The Mommy, the Daddy and the Yarn Lady will miss you, but we know we’ll
see you again someday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tXe4iTWcwZVnNLP5Vv1JnzH6183EOlUpejqKQR664HUWs1LvnIReggi7MuDOKMtbbEKjDrFdYNVwi3GFshla0A776YPKSpVUJn2j5ngfFasDiW4qns-WZYyn2gJPzZvXcpwjJDmcdaQ/s1833/Miss+Rudy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1329" data-original-width="1833" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2tXe4iTWcwZVnNLP5Vv1JnzH6183EOlUpejqKQR664HUWs1LvnIReggi7MuDOKMtbbEKjDrFdYNVwi3GFshla0A776YPKSpVUJn2j5ngfFasDiW4qns-WZYyn2gJPzZvXcpwjJDmcdaQ/s320/Miss+Rudy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span><p></p>Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-57749474603772245792019-09-03T21:23:00.001-04:002019-09-04T15:41:38.963-04:00It’s Not Easy Being Green – An Interview with Howie Hawkins<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Princess Clementine, Political Correspondent for Animal Rights</span><br />
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Tue Sept 3, 2019</span><br />
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Last week I had the opportunity to
meet with not one, but <i>two</i> of the candidates for President of the United
States.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Howie Hawkins, candidate for the
Green Party had a Meet and Greet at a wine shop in Highland Park on August 25<sup>th</sup>
and I thought it would be a good time to catch up with him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d sent him an email earlier in the week,
and he replied that he’d be happy to meet with me in the morning before the
event when he went to check out the venue with his team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never one to let such an opportunity pass by,
I replied that I’d be there. </span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">I had a day to do my research
beforehand, so I started with his campaign website.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It seems that the Green Party is an ecosocialist
party, or at least as far as I can tell it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It opposes corporations owning certain industries, and that those should
be socialized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Among those cited was
Facebook, and although I think some of the folks on Facebook need some
socialization, I’m not sure how trust-busting it or making it into a public
utility would make it better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I’m
just a cat, and don’t pretend to understand human interactions, especially when
they regard the green-printed paper and round metal disks or the plastic cards
that seem to be their substitute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do know
you need a lot of round disks or some pieces of paper to buy squishy or crunchy
food, but that’s about the extent of my knowledge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got a headache trying to read more of the
information on his and the Green Party websites, so I figured I just wing it
when I met the candidate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">I arrived at the wine shop at 9:30
am, as Candidate Hawkins had requested, but there was a “Closed” sign on the
door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wandered around the back, and
found an open door through which folks were bringing in heavy boxes of wine
bottles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I slipped in and went looking
for the candidate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’d said he’d meet
me in the wine cellar, so I headed downstairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Well, there was plenty of cases of wine and other things down there, but
no candidate, and it didn’t seem like a pleasant place to either hold an event
or be interviewed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upstairs I found a
brick walled room with shelves full of wine and an annoyed candidate talking on
his cell phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">“She confirmed by email that she’d
be here at 9:30 and it’s almost 9:40.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s
not even who I thought she was, I was thinking of Clementine Ford.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t find anything about her on the web,
so who knows what I’m getting myself into here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Do all the interviews you can, you said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Well, as far as I can tell, when I googled Clementine and political
correspondent, the only thing that came up was a fricking cat!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe someone was just putting me on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope someone was just putting me on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll wait another ten minutes and then we’ll
meet you for an early lunch. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">I walked into the room while he was
talking and stood below the table.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Hawkins sighed loudly and rubbed his face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I figured I’d end his suspense, and jumped up
on the table, carefully avoiding the arrangement of wine glasses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I meowed at him and looked up into his
face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He rubbed his face again and said,
“Glory be, I’ve taken an interview with a cat.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He shook his head and looked at me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Well,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>you obviously have
questions, but I unfortunately do not speak cat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me just tell you a little bit about my
candidacy and stance on the major issues in the election.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I nodded, so he repeated most of the
information I’d seen on his candidacy website.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He did have some information I’d failed to find on his position
regarding animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Clementine, I fully
support the Green Party’s position on animal rights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
position would greatly improve the lives of you and your feline and canine friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We support neutering of, um, animals of no
fixed address, prohibition of any procedures that would affect your ability to
survive such as declawing, or devocalization as well as painful cosmetic procedures
like docking tails or ears in dogs or cats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We would support the conversion of all shelters to “No-Kill” facilities,
except in cases where an animal is injured or ill and medical care would not
leave them with a decent quality of life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For your wild cousins, we want to close zoos
and return animals to their normal habitats if possible, and if it isn’t
possible move them to true sanctuaries with natural habitats similar to the
ones in which their wild…relatives live. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Green Party recognizes non-human animals
as sentient beings who possess inherent rights to live a natural life free from
human exploitation and abuse, and advocates legislation supporting these
rights. As such, non-human animals should be granted the legal status of
“person” not “property,” affording them the legal right to be represented in a
court of law. We will also ban factory farming and routine use of antibiotics on healthy animals and will also eliminate genetic modification of animals." </span></div>
<div align="center" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3349770115473272477" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3349770115473272477" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYJy2T3mHAn5jpet_pl-0Bfpgv7SQODRkIRK-P1fDQzEF6vRWZqUDLKAYYyg3yWLkoVyTNSfBM5BulS8pAB_M8cji5DU8Pu4xUbSp-o80piWWMzWXeLwJ-Un-iAa_rrDe83vPxck4gLNE/s1600/Clem+and+Howie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="481" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYJy2T3mHAn5jpet_pl-0Bfpgv7SQODRkIRK-P1fDQzEF6vRWZqUDLKAYYyg3yWLkoVyTNSfBM5BulS8pAB_M8cji5DU8Pu4xUbSp-o80piWWMzWXeLwJ-Un-iAa_rrDe83vPxck4gLNE/s320/Clem+and+Howie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype
id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600" o:spt="75" o:preferrelative="t"
path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f">
<v:stroke joinstyle="miter"/>
<v:formulas>
<v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"/>
<v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"/>
</v:formulas>
<v:path o:extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" o:connecttype="rect"/>
<o:lock v:ext="edit" aspectratio="t"/>
</v:shapetype><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_6" o:spid="_x0000_i1025" type="#_x0000_t75"
alt="A person with a cat on a counter
Description automatically generated"
style='width:360.75pt;height:195pt;visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:/Users/Ande/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image001.jpg"
o:title="A person with a cat on a counter
Description automatically generated"/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">He'd been watching me carefully the
whole time he was speaking, so I made sure to respond appropriately by nodding
my head or cocking it when he said something that I didn’t quite understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he said they would grant animals the legal
status of persons I stood up, meowed and began purring as loud as I could.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After he finished he stood there with his hand
slightly outstretched, so I reached my head out and rubbed my face against it
and then sat back down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">“You know, I think you understood
what I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That position about animals
being persons was pretty much just a platform statement to me before today, but
talking to you about it, I felt like I was probably the first candidate to make
a campaign speech to an animal and believed she took in what I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honestly, you’ve been the best audience I’ve
had since I started this campaign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>People don’t take the Green Party seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We usually get some hecklers at events that
aren’t fund-raisers, and even the guests at the fund-raising events often have quite
skeptical questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People can be so
rude, making jokes about us being the Mars Party, saying we’re little green
men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know about everyone else in
the Green Party, but I for one am not little, and many of our members are not
men.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To my knowledge, none of us are
from Mars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know, Clementine, it’s
not easy being green.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As soon as he
said that I wheezed out a suppressed laugh and he slapped a hand over his
mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Of all the things I was not
supposed to say, that was #1 with a bullet point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yes, we’re often asked by hecklers why
Kermit the Frog isn’t running, as he’d get more votes than any of our candidates.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He shook his head and reached out tentatively
to scritch my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I graciously allowed
it and leaned into his hand, purring loudly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We stood there, Presidential Candidate and sentient feline political
correspondent, for a few moments until an aide came in to talk to the candidate
about the fund-raiser. </span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">The candidate held up his hand for
the aide to wait and said, “Clementine, I’ve enjoyed this interview very much,
and look forward to your coverage of my campaign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you have any additional questions, please
send me an email and I’ll get back to you ASAP.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’d say, call me Howie instead of “Candidate Hawkins”, but you’re not
likely to say either in a language I’d understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take care of yourself, Clementine.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He turned to his aide, who gave him a
quizzical look and I jumped off the table and headed for the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I heard the aide say behind me, “Did you just
give an interview to a cat?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Howie
replied, “Yes, she’s one of my sentient non-human supporters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will you open the door for her?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as I left he called, “Bye now, Clementine.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-29953715603625674832019-08-29T21:33:00.000-04:002019-08-29T21:35:19.888-04:00Marianne Williamson - (Former) Cat Owner<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Princess Clementine, Political Correspondent for Animal Rights</span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Thu August 29, 2019</span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">As I mentioned in an earlier report, my coverage of
the candidates is currently limited by my tiny travel budget.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was able to wangle a miniscule amount of
money out of the yarn lady, but she made it clear that there were to be no last
minute trips like in 2014 when I went to South Carolina, where I was bamboozled
into believing a tall pile of pine needles was a presidential candidate and then
charged $2500 for a half hour ride back to the airport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I’ve been tracking the candidates’ schedules and saw
that Marianne Williamson was scheduled to appear in New York City at the Roxy
Hotel on 8/28, so I finished my preliminary research on her and arranged for my
transportation into NYC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was a
private fundraiser, so I also had to consider how to get in. After hours of fruitless
thought, I decided I’d just need to be a cat and walk in with my tail held high.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Candidate Williamson is running in the Democratic
primary, and to date has raised over three million dollars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The latest polls show that only 1% of voters are
planning to vote for her, but after reading her candidacy website I think it will
increase once people know more about her platform.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has very positive positions on many of
the issues, and seems enthusiastic and quite sure that she can implement her
policies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure how easy that would
be, considering how much argument goes on in Congress, but maybe her hypnotic
voice will lull them all into working together. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Ms. Williamson’s views on animals are clearly stated on
her website, although it was a bit disturbing to find them in the section
titled “Food”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To start, she says “..<span style="background: white;">the mistreatment of animals is damaging to the
American soul.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I agree with her 100% on
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mistreatment of any being is
damaging to the perpetrator’s soul, and so any systemic mistreatment of animals
would harm the collective American Soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Furthermore, she writes, “each of us must examine, carefully and
soulfully, how our dietary choices not only affect our bodies and our planet,
but how they literally affect the animals themselves.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She doesn’t go as far as the Humane Party, but
I don’t know that she is vegan, so that would make sense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Other than the statements on her
website, there is precious little about Marianne Williamson and animals, other
than her regrettable comment to a child interviewer who asked if she had any
pets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I had a cat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cat died.” It shows that at some time in
her life she might have had some interest in an animal as a companion, and all
cats do eventually die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It doesn’t speak
a lot to her ability to talk to children, or any human.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In speaking of Zeke the yarn lady says, “I
had a fluffy orange goofball of a cat named Zeke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was the man in my life, but sadly he died
suddenly last year.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s funny and
touching.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She cared about Zeke, and you
can tell that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m glad that she refers
to him as the man in her life and not something like the love of her life,
because that’s me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Aside from animal issues, Marianne
Williamson says she will establish a Department of Peace if elected President
of the United States.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Its mission will
be to promote peaceful ways of resolving problems between individuals, groups
and nations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A quick survey of US
Departments and Agencies shows that there is no one agency tasked with finding
ways for humans to get along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Considering the number of humans and the problems I’ve observed with
them waging war or simply coming to blows over a mis-heard comment, a
Department of Peace actually sounds like a good idea, providing it doesn’t turn
into an Orwellian “Ministry of Peace”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>(Who says cats don’t read classic literature?)</span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">So, to recap my evening at the Roxy
with Marianne Williamson, I’ll start off with saying that she is as dynamic in
person as she is on her videos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s a
cross between Sally Fields in the Flying Nun and Jane Fonda in her workout
videos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lots of optimism, lots of
enthusiasm, but like both of the actresses named above, also kind of
weird.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her speech was full of high
concepts and rosy clouds painted with her hands in the air but a bit short on
specifics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">I was able to get into the gathering
simply by walking in next to a particularly outlandishly dressed couple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m actually not sure they were a couple, but
they were two oddly dressed people who walked into the room together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They looked like the kind of people who might
be accompanied by their faithful feline companion, so I fulfilled that
role.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one even looked twice at
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It turned out that they were among
the elite supporters of the fundraiser, so they were able to meet and talk with
Marianne privately before the event quite got started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat there next to them as they all chatted,
and was graced with a “Oh, what a lovely kitty!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had a cat, you know.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of
the humans I’d attached myself to replied awkwardly, “ah, yes, we’d heard that.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Marianne blithely went on to discuss envisioning
possibility or some such, and then moved on to the next elite supporter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">I wandered off and looked for a good
spot to watch the presentation by Marianne and Dave Navarro, the artist who had
organized the fundraiser.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I discovered a
stand shrouded in a large blue cloth, and worked my way under it so that I was
just peeking out at the stage area, currently occupied by a pleasant jazz trio.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I may have dozed off for a bit,
because the next time I looked up, the Jazz Trio was gone and the PA system was
announcing Dave Navarro. </span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Dave bounced up onto the stage and
began speaking enthusiastically about Marianne and what she could do for the country
if she was elected President.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wove
his art through his speech and said how she’d inspired him to create a piece
for her candidacy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He bounced over to
the stand I was under and whisked off the blue cloth (maybe it wasn’t such a
good spot to watch and yet be unobserved).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And there I was, lying in front of a full-size representation of
Marianne speaking at a podium.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Applause broke out, along with a bit
of laughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Both Dave and Marianne
looked a bit insulted at the laughter until someone called out, “There’s your
cat, Marianne – and he looks fine to me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Only a few people laughed at that, and Marianne came over to me, scooped
me up and put me on the podium where she was to speak in a few moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dave continued his remarks on the piece and
how he hoped that it would help bring supporters and funds to Marianne for her
campaign.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, Marianne leaned
over the podium and said, “Kitty cat, you are the ultimate photobomber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This was my moment to connect with my base
through art, and now they’ll remember the cat, not me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, you’re going even the scales by sitting
here on this podium while I make my speech, and when I scratch behind your
ears, please do not claw me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You owe me
that much.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYc7xQrzu_68ldiH5J71x8VWwfDi_8S4fmfDkC03HeiQSLEO08E2BIuO0q6OMu6KM8h7FiMl_ZMRnX6rgQsaTLWG0b7MExXPvFTWnkAdBMFbbQ6xVtDvJdeJ2lwEOzkFBY58dWmAaymXM/s1600/Clem+and+Marianne.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="286" data-original-width="441" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYc7xQrzu_68ldiH5J71x8VWwfDi_8S4fmfDkC03HeiQSLEO08E2BIuO0q6OMu6KM8h7FiMl_ZMRnX6rgQsaTLWG0b7MExXPvFTWnkAdBMFbbQ6xVtDvJdeJ2lwEOzkFBY58dWmAaymXM/s320/Clem+and+Marianne.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="center" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype
id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600" o:spt="75" o:preferrelative="t"
path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f">
<v:stroke joinstyle="miter"/>
<v:formulas>
<v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"/>
<v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"/>
</v:formulas>
<v:path o:extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" o:connecttype="rect"/>
<o:lock v:ext="edit" aspectratio="t"/>
</v:shapetype><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_5" o:spid="_x0000_i1025" type="#_x0000_t75"
style='width:330.75pt;height:214.5pt;visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:/Users/Ande/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image001.png"
o:title=""/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Since I was mortified by being caught
catnapping on the stage, I agreed to her demands with a demure “meow” and
reached out to touch her fingers with my nose. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Dave had finished, Marianne spoke for
about fifteen minutes about her ideas of how she could make America a nicer
country and how she needed the help of people in the room to realize her dream
for America.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s definitely a person
who speaks with her hands, but one would occasionally come down and gently
scratch behind one ear or the other, and when she discovered how soft my fur
was, she buried one hand in my fur and made tiny little circles with her fingers,
just like the yarn lady does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I purred,
because it felt nice and also because she seemed like a very nice lady.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">When she finished speaking, Dave
Navarro said, “let’s have a round of applause for Marianne Williamson and, uh,
the cat.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the applause died down, he
asked, “Whose cat is this, anyway?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
recognized my exit cue and giving Marianne’s fingers a farewell sniff, I jumped
down and sauntered toward the exit, skirting the guests who were trying for a
last minute photo opportunity with either Marianne, Dave or both of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was able to make a clean escape and was upstairs
with a few minutes to spare before my ride arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A doorman let me out with a nod, saying “Be
careful out there, kitty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are some
mean cats in this town and you don’t want to go home all battered.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I meowed in thanks, and conscious of his
warning, waited close to the entrance of the building until my ride arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">In closing, I must say that Marianne
Williamson is a lovely person with a good positive animal agenda.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She also knows how to give a cat a really
good head-scritch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-27714463614771464482019-08-28T13:39:00.000-04:002019-08-28T16:56:06.417-04:00Humans Bet on Politics??<span style="background-color: white; font-family: calibri, sans-serif;">Princess Clementine, Political Correspondent for Animal Rights</span><br />
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Fri August 28, 2019</span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I
decided I’d need to find a wide variety of websites to do my pre-visit research
on the Presidential candidates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some websites
are partisan, others seem to be made from the gasses given off by rancid cheese,
but a few seem to report on the candidates honestly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The candidates’ own pages might be great for
initial information on their positions on animals, but so far none that I’ve
looked at have any information at all on the treatment and rights of
animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">One
of the oddest things I found was a British website where they post the odds on the
US Presidential Race from a bunch of online bookmakers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oddly enough, Americans do not seem to be
allowed to bet on the contest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I
explored the website further and tried to actually place a bet (sorry, yarn
lady), it said that it could not accept bets from my region.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess since we get to vote, we shouldn’t
also be allowed to bet on the race.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Come
to think of it, you bet on horse races, why not Presidential races?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, thinking a bit more, jockeys can’t bet
on any race they are in, so maybe it makes sense, at least in light of all the
rules humans have about things. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Anyway,
it blew my mind that there were people at multiple companies sizing up the
candidates and determining how likely it was that each would win.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The names are in order of likelihood, so from
this the Brits seem to think we’ll have Mr. Trump with us for another four
years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure these odds will change
considerably after the primaries, and I’ll be sure to check back then. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLWYDB8GTj8m-ZmMMVWO4clhU4jb_wfrvW1UgquFWOzfmLRTlMe_caOQEWx7ZksbDSMXG8QPZL2OlRuqKlGFQaGQSXRJ-BZReHWcpoXI27PJpKyvHiAlJQ_4-yHaRojDJ7PR25CDjLGU/s1600/presidential+odds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="655" data-original-width="960" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHLWYDB8GTj8m-ZmMMVWO4clhU4jb_wfrvW1UgquFWOzfmLRTlMe_caOQEWx7ZksbDSMXG8QPZL2OlRuqKlGFQaGQSXRJ-BZReHWcpoXI27PJpKyvHiAlJQ_4-yHaRojDJ7PR25CDjLGU/s400/presidential+odds.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-no-proof: yes;"><!--[if gte vml 1]><v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600"
o:spt="75" o:preferrelative="t" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f"
stroked="f">
<v:stroke joinstyle="miter"/>
<v:formulas>
<v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"/>
<v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"/>
<v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"/>
<v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"/>
</v:formulas>
<v:path o:extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" o:connecttype="rect"/>
<o:lock v:ext="edit" aspectratio="t"/>
</v:shapetype><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_4" o:spid="_x0000_i1025" type="#_x0000_t75"
style='width:468pt;height:315pt;visibility:visible;mso-wrap-style:square'>
<v:imagedata src="file:///C:/Users/Ande/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image001.png"
o:title=""/>
</v:shape><![endif]--><!--[if !vml]--><!--[endif]--></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Oddschecker
also has betting odds for stuff related to humans in American politics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One bookmaker lays the odds at 8 to 1 that
Melania Trump will be found to be living with another man during the current
administration and 200 to 1 that she’ll run for president herself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since she’s a naturalized citizen and can’t
run for president, that should be a zillion to 1.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Most
of these “Outrights” and “Specials” (I have no clue what these are, but they
seem to be types of betting contests) are either quite anti-Trump or making fun
of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure whether this means
the Brits dislike him that much, or whether the people who frequent these
betting sites have way too much time on their hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">And
in case you were wondering, I never found a bookmaker that would accept my
bet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d even carefully copied down all
the information from the yarn lady’s debit card so I could open an
account.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<br />Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-5268093761007227592019-08-21T18:48:00.003-04:002019-08-21T18:55:14.748-04:00A Cat’s Eye View of the Humane Party<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Princess Clementine, Political Correspondent for Animal Rights</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Wed August 21, 2019</span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">As
I was looking over the candidates for the presidency who have reported
contributions I couldn’t help noticing that most of them were Democrats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were a few Green Party Candidates, some
Libertarians, one Non-Party and a small bunch of Republicans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wondered why there wasn’t something like an
Animal Rights Party, so I did a little research on it while the yarn lady was
out of the house for the afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
found mention of a US Animal Rights party established in 2011, but it seems to
have gone toes up already, as it billed itself as a virtual political party…yet
its website has expired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s hard to be
a virtual party if you don’t have a presence in cyberspace!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Then
I found the Humane Party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since I was adopted
by the yarn lady from an animal shelter (although not the Humane Society), I
figured that would be a political party that would speak for the rights of cats
and dogs, as well as other animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Well,
they might, but if they managed to elect a president and implement the items in
their platform, house pets all over the country would likely be in worse shape
than they are now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are a vegan
political party and would abolish ownership of animals, prohibit their use or
slaughter for food production as well as establish a system for animal
guardianship through the courts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">Cats.
Are. Carnivores.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">I need my daily ration
of meat, poultry or fish, or I’ll get sick.</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">I don’t think there is a healthy vegan diet for pets, and my household
does not contain vermin sufficient to satisfy my nutritional needs!</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;">In fact, other than the young raccoon that
visited a few years ago (who I knew better than to tussle with), we’ve had a
total of one sighting of a critter, a small vole. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Well,
since most animals can’t directly communicate their needs (I guess they don’t
have Facebook pages like I do), the Humane party proposes that after animals
are emancipated, interested parties may apply to the courts to be appointed
guardian for an animal or group of animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Which court?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Family court usually
deals with guardianship issues, so probably them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if I need to go to Tibet and the yarn
lady can’t afford to apply for guardianship, or is awaiting a court date?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could suffer or even die! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">What
about spaying and neutering?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have to
admit that from what I’ve seen and read that we are at the mercy of our biology,
or zoology or whatever -ology is correct.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Females go into heat, males come running, and the poor female doesn’t
get much choice in the matter unless a human locks her up in a safe place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By their logic, someone would need to apply
for guardianship for stray cats in order to run a trap, neuter and release
(TNR) program, or even to spay or neuter their own housecat!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know from what the yarn lady has said that sterilization
of humans under guardianship requires additional legal steps, including
applying to the court for special approval.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s expensive enough to just get the operation, but add several layers
of court costs…we’ll be overrun with stray and feral cats and dogs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bad idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7wkefqUjS6yb0_m0O6GJf6uiQHoXjn4IhcrbpmffvBCd6g9X9O14ez3Z-t3VwFPw4pTz9t4FZ5loOD_6ZtLs-NcMyd8Akq1fLiGp0y2sCMrDQerqgaxZ7iJc6iR7VkfTe57Cw-iGvFU/s1600/humane+party+logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="351" data-original-width="510" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK7wkefqUjS6yb0_m0O6GJf6uiQHoXjn4IhcrbpmffvBCd6g9X9O14ez3Z-t3VwFPw4pTz9t4FZ5loOD_6ZtLs-NcMyd8Akq1fLiGp0y2sCMrDQerqgaxZ7iJc6iR7VkfTe57Cw-iGvFU/s200/humane+party+logo.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<div align="center" style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Their
logo features a romping cow, presumably running free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the Humane Party’s future world all
animals will be emancipated, including hundreds of thousands of cows, chickens
and pigs who are raised for food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m
not sure where Bossy the Cow will run free, considering the concentration of
cow feed lots in the mid-western part of the country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nebraska had an estimated cow population of
36,000 in 2012. That's going to result in a lot of cow patties for people to step in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And what about the 15 million
chickens in Delaware?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I doubt the folks
who ran the farms will continue to provide feed and staff to care for their
newly emancipated livestock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every home
in Delaware will be overrun by hungry chickens, providing the poor things can
walk that far.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">So,
whoever the Humane Party nominates for President for 2020, as an intelligent
cat I cannot in good conscience vote for him, her or it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Who knows, maybe they’ll nominate a cow?)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-3933243128949766622019-08-19T21:23:00.001-04:002019-08-19T21:23:18.609-04:00Sizing up the candidates for the United States Presidency - Bill de Blasio<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Princess Clementine, Political Correspondent for Animal Rights</span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Mon August 19, 2019</span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Four years ago, when I was a much younger cat, I set
out to learn about the humans who were running for President of the United
States.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t start until after the
first of the primaries, and only had time to meet the front runners, well, and
Mr. Pine Straw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was interesting, and
I hope that the folks I shared my information with on my Facebook page were informed by
my analysis of the candidates’ stance on animal rights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> In case you're interested my page can be found at <a href="http://fb.me/ClementinePrincessofQuiteALot">fb.me/ClementinePrincessofQuiteALot</a></span></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The yarn lady has been playing the news station on
the radio again and I’ve heard news about a few of the candidates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Recently she’d left a tab open on the
computer for the Federal Election Commission and it said, “viewing 842 results
for the 2020 Presidential Election”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That means 842 candidates!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
know, I counted them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure some
of them are real, such as Seymour Cats from Bensalem, PA, but he did submit an
FEC Form 2 – Statement of Candidacy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
true, and you can look it up if you don’t believe me. </span><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I’d vowed that I would never again be a political
correspondent after the debate between Donald Trump, Marco Rubio and Ted Cruz
in 2016.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All three of the men behaved
horribly, and even made rude jokes about me (I do not look like Donald Trump’s
hairpiece, if he even wears one).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
here I am, again wondering about the bipedal, furless and featherless beings
that believe they would do a good job of running this country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In order to meet as many of the candidates who have
thrown their hats into the ring (an odd saying, since none of them wear hats),
I am starting my quest now to interview as many of the actual contenders for
the office of President of the United States as I can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lest you think this will be a political series, let me reassure you that
I will only be reporting, analyzing and commenting on the candidates’
platforms, voting records or other reputable news items regarding animal treatment, animal rights and their own pets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you wish
to make critical political comments about the candidates, link my article to
your own social media platform and criticize there to your heart’s content.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any overtly critical political comments on my
posted articles will be politely removed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mildly humorous comments will be left, as long as they are not
mean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I decided to begin this election season with the
candidate who was probably the easiest to get to for me. He lives in NYC, and
despite the heat, I called an Uber and went to visit Hizzoner, Bill de Blasio,
one of the many Democratic candidates for president.</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVoISGSnfs_VUHM5t1ubdk7bjllCsvHbj6FGonwfl9iHRaS32I0uGvlzIl-EzWna66pIz7pF24uaymeqhCfMWO4ymD-lrOdK4UkGOzh7h2DJrxt4vSuL-wJ03y0Pq4Cz6ifZAJJi7kXiw/s1600/deblasio+at+desk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVoISGSnfs_VUHM5t1ubdk7bjllCsvHbj6FGonwfl9iHRaS32I0uGvlzIl-EzWna66pIz7pF24uaymeqhCfMWO4ymD-lrOdK4UkGOzh7h2DJrxt4vSuL-wJ03y0Pq4Cz6ifZAJJi7kXiw/s320/deblasio+at+desk.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I caught up with him in his office, where he was
thinking over the past weekend in Iowa. I believe it didn't go very well for
him. Looking into his animal rights background I did find a number of promising
items. During the recent heat wave he and the Health Commissioner spoke several
times of the danger of extreme heat to pets as well as humans. He signed into
law a ban on wild animals in circuses in New York City. No more lions and
tigers and bears traveling with the circuses, at least in the five boroughs. He
campaigned for mayor with a platform to ban carriage horses in Central Park,
but has been stymied on that. Hot or cold, the horses are still there. They
don't have to pull the carriages in super-hot weather, but they also don't have
shaded turn-out paddocks to escape the heat. They just stay in their stalls
(hopefully with at least fans or misters). He also hired an animal rights
activist to serve on his Mayor's Community Affairs Unit.</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The photo below was from a few years ago when he
invited me to one of his Halloween shindigs. I asked Hizzonette if she could
lose the crow for the photo, but she said, no, the crow stays. I'm not sure she
personally is a cat lover.</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwD4bMO0R5totj4LZ8U8nlIbYndCCD1mR5MtcuT5TiMxNIL1HGmq7nUqyvrZApFU9JeTH3mxpdTiiFNdLN6Jq6i8Dr6UHcXvoVi1faHUbJblYmkSZsaCPsgFMOwmlkaKNDSN2EeLI0atk/s1600/deblasio+costumed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="514" data-original-width="316" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwD4bMO0R5totj4LZ8U8nlIbYndCCD1mR5MtcuT5TiMxNIL1HGmq7nUqyvrZApFU9JeTH3mxpdTiiFNdLN6Jq6i8Dr6UHcXvoVi1faHUbJblYmkSZsaCPsgFMOwmlkaKNDSN2EeLI0atk/s320/deblasio+costumed.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I'm not sure he'll get far in the primaries if the
amount of support he had in Iowa this past weekend continues to be so lackluster.
If he does manage to win the Democratic nomination, I think us furred and
feathered folk could might be well-served by Hizzoner, President de Blasio.</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background: white; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-color-alt: windowtext; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/potus2020?source=feed_text&epa=HASHTAG&__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARCDNXGi9zBLm4zOktlswFwH7uPX64Ee1YLOk5QoUCYWIZdkgHCj1iLhY1h28CVK_UgXHy2AyeV0ybIrB5a8ntgcJNS3mbEkKf8p9mI7yoYHbnBVqw0XPOuj0OOpiDW1mCN7nZmQojakoNL3OCtRIHFaCUXDPwlnpNyBFBJbsJWEtUXTLcOgOEolW51fsy6eYhkXyFM0t9DuAXtbnO0FKW6K_CcYV8QMWp-tWXEi1wnJ5lg093IFbMRMD2zdxSJoOSqiX_ux9MgtCmUG1yBY_fcs0Ahcn3GjOQwAS15dhyRNaxM8H5ioXzLP01f5&__tn__=%2ANKH-R-R"><span class="58cl"><span aria-label="hashtag" style="unicode-bidi: isolate;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><span style="unicode-bidi: isolate;">#</span></span></span><span class="58cm"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">potus2020</span></span></span></a> <a data-ft="{"type":104,"tn":"*N"}" href="https://www.facebook.com/hashtag/deblasio2020?source=feed_text&epa=HASHTAG&__xts__%5B0%5D=68.ARCDNXGi9zBLm4zOktlswFwH7uPX64Ee1YLOk5QoUCYWIZdkgHCj1iLhY1h28CVK_UgXHy2AyeV0ybIrB5a8ntgcJNS3mbEkKf8p9mI7yoYHbnBVqw0XPOuj0OOpiDW1mCN7nZmQojakoNL3OCtRIHFaCUXDPwlnpNyBFBJbsJWEtUXTLcOgOEolW51fsy6eYhkXyFM0t9DuAXtbnO0FKW6K_CcYV8QMWp-tWXEi1wnJ5lg093IFbMRMD2zdxSJoOSqiX_ux9MgtCmUG1yBY_fcs0Ahcn3GjOQwAS15dhyRNaxM8H5ioXzLP01f5&__tn__=%2ANKH-R-R" style="cursor: pointer;"><span class="58cl"><span aria-label="hashtag" style="unicode-bidi: isolate;"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><span style="unicode-bidi: isolate;">#</span></span></span><span class="58cm"><span style="color: black; mso-color-alt: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">deblasio2020</span></span></span></a></span><span style="font-family: "Calibri",sans-serif; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-70597993104636659612017-01-19T18:46:00.001-05:002019-07-30T22:00:26.353-04:00Preparing for Inauguration Day<div style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">
Inauguration day was nearly here, and Clementine's plans were in place. She was determined that the White House needed a cat, a friendly cat who understood his or her role in facilitating the smooth running of the country. Finding a cat who fit that description had been a bit of work, but arranging to get the cat into the White House was the really hard part. Clem had spent hours, well actually days, figuring out who worked at the White House, and then spent weeks finding someone who was 1) a cat lover, 2) someone who might be willing to bend a rule or two and 3) willing to smuggle a cat into the White House.</div>
<div style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, sans;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans; font-size: 16px;">
All of the staff she'd chatted with (online, of course) had agreed that there were times when tension was high. They'd all experienced it and had felt helpless to diffuse that tension. And with a new president it became even more stressful. The first few months everyone walked on eggshells, not knowing the President, the First Family and their advisors and friends. This administration promised to be more difficult than the past few, even for staff who'd worked at the White House for decades. </div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans; font-size: 16px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans; font-size: 16px;">
The Bushes, father and son had been easy. Same family members, a lot of the same advisors, and the staff had experienced four years of HW's conversations with his wife about W's personality. Bill Clinton had been such a laid-back guy that staff felt comfortable with him from the beginning, even if they'd never quite learned to read Hillary's body language. And the Obama family had been so polite and gracious from day one. Donald Trump was a different kettle of fish, even if his wife and son weren't moving in right away. He was reputed to have exacting standards, and was not known for patience or graciousness. </div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans; font-size: 16px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans; font-size: 16px;">
Clementine had learned all this in her correspondence with the permanent White House staff. A few had joked that they should receive the same type of dossier on him that all new presidents received on the staff. That had promptly been followed with a request not to quote that remark. Clem had happily responded that she wasn't a journalist and had no interest in spreading any White House gossip. Her only mission was to insinuate a small furry presence into the most secure building in the country. No small task. </div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans; font-size: 16px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans; font-size: 16px;">
It turned out that David Banks, second assistant secretary to the Chief of Staff's first administrative aide, was the perfect person to get the kitty into the building. His job on inauguration day was to route boxes of the new president's belongings as they were pulled off the moving truck. </div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans; font-size: 16px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans; font-size: 16px;">
All of the boxes had been screened and then secured in a truck at the Trump hotel in Washington. David would meet the truck at the hotel and escort it onto the White House grounds. He'd carry his usual tote bag through the metal detector, but instead of his lunch and a spare shirt, the bag would contain a small calico cat named Ladybug. </div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans; font-size: 16px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans; font-size: 16px;">
Once inside, he'd put the bag under his desk, and voila, Ladybug would be in. David arranged with several other staffers for food, water and a discretely located litter box. Past that, it was up to Ladybug to work her kitty magic. </div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans; font-size: 16px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: gotham, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans; font-size: 16px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia3E8uTelTcu3c51dsQbRV2LoIph2tlzCJk128GpkcPybu5305_Xh82LY-DFvlKbG1e-mHLrHqGIuGzpDZXe7265IpufQlqWwzLmRBMVXut2uVl8v_ZCdcoMnOUUiAkzun-CihHs_BMco/s1600/449943487_31e7985b92_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia3E8uTelTcu3c51dsQbRV2LoIph2tlzCJk128GpkcPybu5305_Xh82LY-DFvlKbG1e-mHLrHqGIuGzpDZXe7265IpufQlqWwzLmRBMVXut2uVl8v_ZCdcoMnOUUiAkzun-CihHs_BMco/s320/449943487_31e7985b92_z.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo courtesy of pjmorse - <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/flashesofpanic/449943487">www.flickr.com/photos/flashesofpanic/449943487</a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, sans; font-size: 16px;">
<br /></div>
Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-81486638356154540542016-12-06T21:23:00.004-05:002016-12-06T21:23:41.106-05:00A Letter to President-Elect Trump<div class="MsoDate" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Castellar",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Princess Clementine<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoSalutation" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Castellar",serif;">84E Parkway Drive<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Castellar",serif;">Freehold, NJ 07728<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
December 6, 2016<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
President-Elect
Donald Trump<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoSalutation">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">725 5th Avenue</span><span style="color: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br />
<span style="background: white;">New York, NY 10022</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoSalutation">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoSalutation" style="text-align: left;">
Dear President-Elect Trump, <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoSalutation">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce myself. I am Clementine, the Princess of Quite A
Lot. I am a cat, and strongly believe
that the Oval Office needs a domestic feline to help with your presidency. The health benefits of interaction with cats
are well known, both physically and mentally. Petting a cat can lower blood pressure, and the
mere presence of a cat can often diffuse a tense situation simply by the
utterance of “oh, look at what the cat is doing”. While dogs can provide some of the same
health benefits, their constant need for attention might prove too distracting
in many situations I am sure you will encounter as president. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do not know if you have a family cat that you intend to
bring to Washington with you, but if you do not, I strongly encourage you to
visit the local animal shelter to find yourself a good companion cat. You probably shouldn’t consider a kitten, as
the First Cat will need to have a certain amount of personal restraint. A mature cat, at least two or three years old
should be sufficient. Shelter staff
should be able to assist you with finding the right fit – a cat who is neither
needy or standoffish. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Should you require any advice, I am available to provide any
wisdom I may have in this area. I wish
you the best of luck with your presidency. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoClosing">
Warm regards,<o:p></o:p><w:sdtpr></w:sdtpr></div>
<w:sdt docpart="9CF51329E6FD43999F9121A72302F9F0" id="379681130" sdttag="Warm Regards:" showingplchdr="t" temporary="t" title="Warm Regards:">
</w:sdt><w:sdt docpart="4184A00553814631A22367026D5FDCFC" id="1872109004" multiline="t" prefixmappings="xmlns:ns0='http://schemas.openxmlformats.org/officeDocument/2006/extended-properties' " sdttag="Your Name:" storeitemid="X_6668398D-A668-4E3E-A5EB-62B293D839F1" text="t" title="Your Name:" xpath="/ns0:Properties[1]/ns0:Company[1]">
</w:sdt><br />
<div class="MsoSignature">
<span style="font-family: Vivaldi; line-height: 115%;"><br /><span style="font-size: x-large;">
Clementine </span></span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-font-family: Vivaldi; mso-hansi-font-family: Vivaldi;"><w:sdtpr></w:sdtpr></span></div>
Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3349770115473272477.post-36307449485200194342016-11-08T15:11:00.000-05:002016-11-08T15:11:56.026-05:00An American Cat Votes <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was finally Election Day. It couldn’t have come soon enough for Clementine. Over the past several months the news had become more and more focused on one issue – who would the humans elect as their new president. Clem was absolutely disgusted at the way some humans behaved towards each other. Name calling, muck raking, complete fabrication of wrongdoing - and that was just the candidates. The yarn lady loved listening to her morning news, and in other times Clem listened along. Since late summer Clem just buried her head in the covers when she heard the sound of the radio. And Facebook? Well, if the yarn lady hadn’t blocked all those third party news sites from her newsfeed it probably would be even worse than it was right now. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Clem had tried her hardest to figure out which candidate would be the best from the animal point of view, but by the time the primaries were over her best candidate was gone. Of the two remaining major party candidates, Donald Trump had no legislative record, so she had no idea of how he would exercise his leadership for the benefit or detriment of cats and other animals. Her efforts to elect a First Cat had also come to naught, as it was impossible to introduce a new national office. She’d nearly decided to run for president herself until she’d found out that there was some silly requirement for the office holder to be a human person. After calming down, she’d realized that she never could leave her beloved yarn lady, so even if she had been successful, she would have turned down the job. In the words of the immortal Pat Paulsen, "I will not run if nominated, and if elected I will not serve." Who knows, if she’d run someone might uncover some dirt in her own past, perhaps that time she’d dug up the neighbor’s tomato planter. She’d thought it was a good place for an outside litter box, but it turns out humans don’t like it when you poop on their tomato seedlings. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The yarn lady had gone out early in the day to vote and returned quite quickly. It turns out that her little development has its own polling place, and as she gigglingly told Clem and Zeke, at 58 she was one of the youngest people there. She settled down to read, and since the weather was so nice, she opened the windows in the kitchen and living room to get a cross breeze. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Several months ago Clem had discovered a loose corner of the screen in the living room window, but had decided not to point it out in case she ever wanted to get out undetected. She sat in the window enjoying the breeze off the lake and wondered about the election day process. Rudy had filled her in on the intricacies of voting several years ago. It’s like fishing. People cast their ballots, just like fisherman cast their lines to catch fish. The idea was to hit the candidate you wanted, or since everyone in the country was doing it at the same time, hit the candidate’s name. There was a machine that displayed the names as targets, and until you pushed a special button you could try and cast as many times as you wanted until you got it right. Once the voter was sure that all the votes were cast correctly, he or she pushed the button and voting was over. Soon after she’d come to live with the yarn lady she’d discovered one of the neighbors liked to fish in the lake, sometimes for hours at a time. He’d cast his line over and over. If he happened to catch a fish, he’d take it off the hook and throw it back. It seemed like a total waste of time to Clem. He should have eaten those fish, or at least given them to Clem to eat. She liked fish. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It might be interesting to watch the humans cast their votes. Perhaps if she asked nicely, she might even be allowed to cast a few herself. She didn’t really expect that the humans would push the special button after her votes were cast, but it would be fun just to try. Plus she was interested to find out what type of bait they used for the election process. She hoped it wouldn’t be worms as she didn’t much like worms. She was partial to tiny bait fish though, and after she’d cast a few votes perhaps they’d let her eat her fish. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Clem fell asleep while thinking of eating bait fish, and awoke with vague memories of trying to maneuver a large lake trout to whack a computer monitor. It was longer than she was and in a state of advanced decomposition, coming apart as she picked it up between her paws. She’d awoken suddenly when it had turned its head and said to her, “Why are you doing this to me?” Ugh. What a horrible dream. She stood up and stretched to get the memory out of her brain. Glancing at the clock, she saw it was nearly 3pm and decided that if she was going to vote she’d better get over to the polling place. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The yarn lady was nowhere in sight, so Clem took a moment to let Zeke know what she was doing and nudged the damaged screen just enough to let her out. It was a good thing she’d gone back to her slender size – a rotund kitty might not make it out. She jumped down onto the ground next to a bush and considered her route. The clubhouse where the voting was taking place was at the other end of the lake, so it would likely be best to just circle around it. There was little cover for her, so it was not going to be a stealth mission. She’d just saunter her way down the sidewalk as though she had every right to be there. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was a matter of mere minutes before she’d made it around the end of the lake. She had encountered a grandmother supervising two toddlers and as soon as sticky hands reached out from squealing toddler bodies she’d made a run for it. Clem made her way around the pool and shuffleboard courts and squeezed between some bushes so she could make her way to the front of the building undetected. Happily, the front door was wide open, and Clem zoomed in once there was break in the flow of voters. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hugging the wall, she crept along behind the chairs set up in the room. Most of the humans were heading to or coming from one of the corridors, so she headed in that direction. As she again waited for a break in the flow of humans, she heard two women discuss how they were short of machines as one had broken down that morning. They made tsk, tsk noises and cleared the hallway. Clem made a run for it and skidded into the polling room. There were dozens of people, some waiting in line at tables, others waiting to use what Clem assumed were the voting machines. She positioned herself under an armchair to scope out the situation. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She wouldn’t have to sign in, as she wasn’t a registered voter and even if she had been she didn’t have a last name. She was royalty, and all she needed was her first name for the world to recognize and acknowledge her. She looked at the people voting but all she could see was a person walking in front of a big video screen with curtains around the top part. The curtains closed after the human entered and after some minutes the curtains opened again. There were no fishing poles evident nor were there buckets of bait. Perhaps Rudy had been mistaken? This was boring, and there were so many people here there was no way she could get to one of those machines without being seen by a dozen people. She watched for a few more minutes and decided to ditch the whole idea. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The hallway was empty, so she walked back towards the front doors. As she passed a room she glanced in and saw an unattended voting machine. Perhaps this was the one that wasn’t working. Well, she could at least check it out. She carefully entered the room, checking to see if anyone was hiding in a corner. No one. The machine was sideways to her, and oddly, there was a chair where a human would have stood to cast their votes. She jumped up on the chair and stood on her hind legs, front paws on the front of the machine. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It looked fine to her. There were rows and columns of names at the top, two sections at the bottom with lots of words and a small column of boxes to the right of the wordy boxes. Clem looked around to see what she was supposed to cast to complete the voting process. There were no fishing poles or even stones. She recalled something in the Bible about casting stones, but then she remembered that one needed to be without sin to cast them. Since humans seemed to think they all had done some sins, stones weren’t likely to be found. Cats on the other hand, were born without sin, or even the ability to sin, so she would have grabbed some and hurled them at the machine. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As she stretched to read the names at the top of the ballot her paw accidentally hit a small box next to one of the boxes full of words and the machine emitted a low beep sound. That surprised her so much she fell off the chair. When she climbed back up she looked at the machine and there was an X in the box next to the word “Yes”. Well, that was too easy. She reached up and patted the box by the word “No” and an X appeared there and disappeared from the other box. She was ready for the beep this time. For a few minutes she stood on her hind legs, randomly swatting the screen until she’d hit boxes all over the face of the machine. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Clem sat back and examined her efforts. So, who had she cast votes for? For president she’d whacked Gloria LaRiva, the Socialism and Liberation Party candidate. Liberation was a good thing. That was okay. For House of Representatives she’d whacked Chris Smith, the Republican. Jeffrey Cantor (D) for Sheriff, Rosemarie Peters (R) for Surrogate, Sue Fulton (D) for Freeholder, and Patience Nolan (Politician Without Politics) for Mayor were her other choices. One row had no box checked, so Clem decided she’d try out the Personal Choice box. When she swatted that one a keyboard popped up. Who should be Councilman-at-Large? Hmm. She couldn’t be a councilman. She was female. Clementine carefully typed in Zeke’s name. Since he didn’t have a last name she used the name of the human he’d been named after - Ezekiel Holman. She hoped it didn’t matter that he’d been dead since 1874 or had lived in what was now Jackson, rather than Howell. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She’d voted against casinos and for the realignment of money for the Transportation Trust Fund, and had Xs next to the names of various candidates for the Howell School Board. Well, now it was time to see if the machine would allow her to finalize her vote. She carefully put one paw on the Cast Vote button and pressed it. The machine emitted a nasty buzz and the ballot was replaced with a screen that stated that the voting machine was offline, and that her vote had not been recorded. It then said to report this to a voting official. The curtains opened and she turned around and found herself face to face with a very surprised human. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Hey kitty. This machine is out of order. If you are a registered voter, and I kinda doubt you are, please go into the next room, sign in and vote there.” He reached out to scratch her ears, and Clementine panicked. She jumped off the chair and headed for the door at top speed. She surprised a gaggle of old ladies in the hallway and streaked for the door, which happily was still open. She ducked behind the bushes in front of the building and caught her breath before heading home. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It was a beautiful autumn day, and Clementine admired the bright leaves on the trees as she made her way around the lake. She picked up a particularly brilliant orange and red one by the stem as she stepped onto the sidewalk that bordered her end of the lake. She waved the leaf around as she walked and then heard someone calling her name. “Clementine – where are you? Come on sweetie – I need to know you haven’t fallen in the lake! Clementine….” Oh, that wouldn’t do. It was the yarn lady, and she was worried about her. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Clem ran down the sidewalk and met the yarn lady, who looked very relieved to see her. “Where have you been? I saw the pushed-out screen and came out to look for you and couldn’t find you anywhere. I was so afraid you’d found wormed your way through the fence to go chase the geese on the lake.” Clem allowed herself to be picked up, still clinging to her leaf. The yarn lady gently tugged it away from her, and looked at it. “Did you come out to collect fall leaves? Well then let’s take this one inside with us.”</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ezekiel was waiting at the storm door, and was relieved to see Clem and the yarn lady. They’d never been out the side of the house with the lake, and although she’d said she was going to vote, Zeke was afraid maybe someone had caught her and taken her to the cat pound. As soon as they were all inside, Clem squirmed and the yarn lady put her down. “Please Miss Clem – don’t ever go out that way again. There are lots of people that walk along the lake, and I don’t know what I’d do if you were catnapped or the geese attacked you. Stay here with us – we love you.” </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Clem licked the yarn lady’s hand in acknowledgement and settled in on the sofa, Zeke next to her. It was time to share her adventure with him, and explain how he almost had become a Councilman-at-Large for the Township of Howell. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizNeu4OgdleKQBXqCbm_5psmtOXgx3_cYGTd_SKkoBbWNBHFe1nlMFWRIEFrHbMuTC2TakAWiYdsjktkBj-2vEf2OcyfQnes_Fxt9dTWgG0gy40uWsUa-AzjJEetoaWh4J6y093oM5WJ4/s1600/Clem+voting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizNeu4OgdleKQBXqCbm_5psmtOXgx3_cYGTd_SKkoBbWNBHFe1nlMFWRIEFrHbMuTC2TakAWiYdsjktkBj-2vEf2OcyfQnes_Fxt9dTWgG0gy40uWsUa-AzjJEetoaWh4J6y093oM5WJ4/s320/Clem+voting.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Ande Norenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11411013874539258631noreply@blogger.com0