tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16919060406194742522024-02-19T23:48:30.621-08:00Oliver's TailsFeline ObservationsMiss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-35472418721739278102015-10-11T12:31:00.001-07:002015-10-11T12:34:34.505-07:00Finding My Place in the World"Why Oliver, I see you are broadening your horizons. Good for you, old buddy." I didn't have to turn around to know whose voice it was that called to me from the neighbor's deck. Vincent Jack Lewis, Vinny for short, and I have been best friends for nearly as long as I can remember. I'd know the sound of his voice, and the sound of his three-legged limp, anywhere. Vinny lost one of his legs to feline diabetes years ago. He said it was due in part to his indulgent lifestyle. He ate too many kitty treats and didn't exercise. Since the surgery, he has mended his ways. In fact, he's gone a bit too far if you ask me. He follows a vegan diet and does yoga several times a week. He is constantly trying to get me to follow his example, but I think I look good with a little extra cushion around the middle.<br />
<br />
"Vinny, check this out! It' a world map!" I exclaimed as Vinny joined me on my deck. I could barely contain my excitement.<br />
<br />
"I see that," Vinny replied in that cool, calm voice of his. Why couldn't he ever get as excited about stuff as I did? "My question is why do you have a world map? Are you planning a trip and did you forget to tell me about it?"<br />
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I shook my head in response. "No, of course not. You would know if I were planning a trip. I am using this map to try and locate the kids in Miss R's class."<br />
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"Ahhh, I see," nodded Vinny in that thoughtful way of his. "If I might make a suggestion? Perhaps it would help if you began your search in the correct hemisphere." He motioned with his paw to the Northwest quadrant of the map.<br />
<br />
"Thanks," I mumbled as I renewed my search efforts. I wasn't sure what a hemisphere was, but I wasn't about to let Mr. Yoga know that.<br />
<br />
"Ummm, Oliver, forgive me for stating the obvious, but shouldn't you be looking in the continent of North America?"<br />
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"Duh, that's what I was going to do," I grumbled aware of the irritation entering my voice. Just what was a continent and how many of them were there?<br />
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"There are seven continents," Vinny said as if he had read mind. "Miss R.'s class is in North America." Vinny motioned again with his paw to the words North America.<br />
<br />
"I know that," I snapped as I began searching an area in North America with Mexico emblazoned boldly across the paper.<br />
<br />
"Wrong country," Vinny said simply.<br />
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"I know that!" I yelled back at him. I shouldn't have yelled. Vinny was only trying to help. I guess I was jealous of the fact that he was so much better at holding a map in his head than I was. He knew so much more about geography and.......everything. I just wanted to be the one who had the answers for once.<br />
<br />
"Look Oliver, I can see you are getting upset. You can do this, little buddy, you really can. Just find the right hemisphere, then look for the right continent, then country, then state, then city."<br />
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"I know all that!" I snapped at him. I could tell I hurt his feelings. I shouldn't be so grouchy when he was only trying to be helpful.<br />
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"All right, I will leave you to it then," Vinny said and his head drooped as he walked away. I needed to apologize, but first I needed to be able to show to Vinny that I could locate Miss R.'s classroom community on a map. Boys and girls, can you help? In what hemisphere, continent, country, state and city is your classroom community located? And do you have any suggestions about how I might make things better with my best friend, Vinny? Please leave your suggestions in the comments below.<br />
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<br />Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-87670662334099739582012-03-12T19:41:00.003-07:002012-03-13T13:51:15.270-07:00Oliver the Great Writer<a href="http://sphotos.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-snc1/8127_1261718063585_1248695173_780571_6234087_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://sphotos.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-snc1/8127_1261718063585_1248695173_780571_6234087_n.jpg" /></a><i>"It was a dark and stormy night.</i>" Bob's voice read over my shoulder.<br />
"Hey, stop reading over my shoulder!" I screeched as I quickly slammed Miss R.'s netbook shut. "If I wanted you to know what I was writing, I would've shown it to you!" I continued.<br />
Ignoring my complaints, Bob began to critique my work. "You do know that's the most clich<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">é beginning ever</span>, right?"<br />
"Of course, I do.....duh." I retorted.<br />
"Oliver, do you even know what clich<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">é means?" Bob asked. His voice was kind, but I was miffed. Miffed, that's a new word I learned from Bob's Word of the Day app on his smart phone. It means annoyed. "To be </span>clich<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">é," Bob continued without waiting for a response, "is to be the opposite of original. In other words, it's not a good thing. You don't want to be </span>clich<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">é in your writing."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">"Oh," I responded. I worried if I said anything else it would come out </span>clich<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">é. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">"Oliver, tell me about your story." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">"Well, Young Authors Day is coming up at Miss R.'s school and I was thinking if I wrote a story and it was good enough then maybe I could join the celebration."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">"I see." Bob said. "Well, now I know </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; line-height: 23px;">why </i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">you're writing, but I still don't know </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; line-height: 23px;">what</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;"> you're writing."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">"Well," I hesitated. "I don't really know what I'm writing either. I thought I would just start with a stormy beginning and see where my story takes me."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">Bob paused for a moment and I could see he was trying to think of how to break down his advice for me so that I would understand it. After an awkward and uncomfortable pause, he cleared his throat and began."Oliver, I don't think it's a very good idea to ramble your way through a story. The best writers compose their stories with an end in mind. They know where their story is going and they make sure that each sentence moves them closer to that goal."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">"Oh," I said again. I had run out of original responses. It seems this writing thing is tougher than I originally thought. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">"I think I can help," Bob said and he disappeared into his apartment. When he returned he was carrying a piece of paper in his mouth. He hopped onto my deck and dropped the paper at my feet. "This is a story map," he explained. "See, there are blank spaces for you to brainstorm your ideas about who the main characters in your story will be, and what sort of problems they'll face, and how they will solve those problems, and what they'll learn as a result of it all. See, there are more places for you to jot down ideas for the main events and such." I must have looked confused because Bob tried again. "It's like a skeleton. This story map will give shape to your story. Once you know what all the important parts are then you can begin fleshing out the details."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">"A skeleton," I said. "I like the sound of that. It's spooky and exciting. I'll do it." I said. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">Bob grinned and said, "You'll do great, Ollie. I'll leave you to create your </span><b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;"><i>magnum</i></b><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;"> <b>opus</b></i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">." I didn't ask him what a magnum opus was. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. "It means your </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; line-height: 23px;">great work.</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">" Bob offered anyway. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">"I know that," I lied. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 23px;">All right, boys and girls. I really do find story maps rather intimidating. Are you using story maps for your Young Authors Day stories? What are some things you've written in your story maps? Do you find that using story maps have helped you write your stories?</span>Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-63608028684644583072011-07-13T10:25:00.000-07:002011-07-13T10:32:40.813-07:00Working Out"I hear congratulations are in order, my <b><i>elephantine</i></b> friend." I heard Bob's voice, but I was too famished to even bother asking what <i><b>elephantine</b></i> meant. Besides, I was pretty sure it was NOT the compliment he was pretending it to be. "Did you hear me, my <i><b>corpulent</b></i> companion?" I swear, ever since Bob discovered that "Word of the Day" app on his human's smart phone he's been impossible. "I was just observing that you've lost a few pounds."<br />
<br />
"I did not lose those pounds," I retorted. "They were stolen from me! Stolen as surely as Miss R. has begun to mix my magnificent Fancy Feast with.....with......with...." I couldn't finish the thought. It seemed irreverent to use the word <i>diet food </i> in the same sentence as Fancy Feast.<br />
<br />
"But Oliver, look at you! You're trimming down. Well, maybe that's putting it too strongly, but you're definitely less obese than you were. Doesn't that thrill you?"<br />
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"No! It makes me hungry! I'm hungry, Bob, and the only thing waiting for me in my food dish is that tainted Fancy Feast. It's a cruel, cruel world, Bob." I sighed and dropped my head into my paws in what I hoped was a dramatic fashion.<br />
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"Well, if you followed my example and exercised more you'd burn more calories and be able to eat a bit more." He did one of his yoga poses called The Plank to prove his point, the show-off.<br />
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"I do exercise," I insisted. "I run a lot."<br />
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"Running to your food dish does not count as exercise."<br />
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"Oh," I mumbled. "Well, that's not the only time I run, I'll have you know."<br />
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"Well, running to catch the nearest sunbeam for a nap also fails to count as exercise." Dang it! Just then Miss Kitty dropped onto the deck seemingly out of no where. She has a way of doing that. I scrambled to a sitting position and sucked in my massive gut as best as I could.<br />
<br />
"Hi Boys," she grinned. "What are we talking about?"<br />
<br />
"Working out," I replied, but my voice came out all high-pitched the way it does when I've been sucking in my gut for too long.<br />
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"Hmmmmm," she said with that observant manner of hers. "Well, Oliver, I had noticed that you were looking..." she paused here as if trying to find the right words, "less obese than usual." Bob grinned in that triumphant way of his, but I found myself blushing with pleasure.<br />
<br />
"Yes, well, I've been cutting back, you know, on food. Trying to be healthy and all that. Bob was just showing me some yoga poses that I might want to incorporate into my routine." I tried to do the plank just then and ended up in a massive belly flop with folds of fat vibrating so viciously that they blew the deck dust into mini whirlwinds. I blushed again, this time from pure mortification.<br />
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Miss Kitty stifled a cough and then said, "You know, Oliver, working out doesn't have to be work. You can exercise plenty just by getting out and playing. In fact, exercise should be fun."<br />
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This time it was my time turn to cough. "Fun? Working out? How is that I even possible?"<br />
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Miss Kitty just smiled, reached out to pat me with a paw and said, "Tag! You're it!" With that she was scampering around the deck like a mini whirlwind herself. Bob and I joined the game and you know what? She was right! I did have fun. Maybe, just maybe, I will get used to this healthy lifestyle.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbhFOpXeNLkZnb0j6at0zDEseeiUNLFeVDL24PvQkD5UcDLG6fJjz7jwofxtGhms1d9pC6VwKST56P1dh1HIbwf-7qc9_RGebW7gDTLBfaxbtPzme5mMTkjCyVtRnmr7GieE0Bo7mGDMs/s1600/34917_1503613470819_1248695173_1418933_1686941_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbhFOpXeNLkZnb0j6at0zDEseeiUNLFeVDL24PvQkD5UcDLG6fJjz7jwofxtGhms1d9pC6VwKST56P1dh1HIbwf-7qc9_RGebW7gDTLBfaxbtPzme5mMTkjCyVtRnmr7GieE0Bo7mGDMs/s320/34917_1503613470819_1248695173_1418933_1686941_n.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post Workout Snack</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-72383103266354616542011-05-23T13:44:00.000-07:002012-03-13T14:16:13.225-07:00Soft, what light in yonder window breaks?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Soft, what light in yonder window breaks?" That's how Othello started the conversation on Friday afternoon. He had jumped down from his deck to join Bob and me on my deck. <i>Soft, what light in yonder window breaks?</i> What does that even mean? Bob just chuckled.<br />
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"Well quoted, my thespian friend, well quoted." Honestly, sometimes I just don't understand those two. It's like they're speaking a different language. "Othello is quoting a line from one of William Shakespeare's plays called <u>Romeo and Juliet.</u> It's the part where Romeo compares Juliet's radient beauty to that of the sun. Of coure, today Othello is remarking about the radient beauty of the sun itself."<br />
<br />
Really? Well then, why doesn't he just say so? Still, I have to admit, Friday was a beautiful and lovely day. The three of us spent all afternoon snoozing in the <i>radient beauty of the sun. </i>I've observed human kittens taking off their shoes and socks to run and play on days when the sun warms the ground. I don't get it. We cats prefer resting in the sun to playing in the sun. I'm curious, boys and girls of Room 204. What do you like to do in the sun?Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-68225752562304447102011-04-19T16:09:00.000-07:002011-04-20T09:20:48.462-07:00School Daze<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqRvPcwH0iohIOXl0d4VyodaBK8seV9syVKhB2SeaQOEuP5R2ebNbizJ1FD3_-Nu2Gtblp5TtwinyqaDp8WDZisUIW0CWOwTBbaoo8GwCa3rjY20rH1xDgUDoSQpScVTG7wLBMiFwk3yI/s1600/2011-04-191.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqRvPcwH0iohIOXl0d4VyodaBK8seV9syVKhB2SeaQOEuP5R2ebNbizJ1FD3_-Nu2Gtblp5TtwinyqaDp8WDZisUIW0CWOwTBbaoo8GwCa3rjY20rH1xDgUDoSQpScVTG7wLBMiFwk3yI/s320/2011-04-191.jpg" /></a> </div><br />
"Soooooo............how did it go?" asked Vinnie, Bob, Miss Kitty, and Othello the moment I came home from my school day adventure. They were waiting for me out on their respective decks as I knew they would be.<br />
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"Piece of cake," I replied nonchalently. OK...between you, gentle reader, and me, it wasn't <em>exactly </em>a piece of cake, but I do like me some cake now and then. I digress. Today, I'm afraid I got a little.......anxious. Ever since Miss R. told me I would be visiting the boys and girls this morning, I've been too excited even to eat! Visiting the boys and girls in Miss R.'s class is such a big deal. Miss R. even bought a stylish new carrying case for me. It's black which I understand is very slimming. The ride to school this morning was filled with anticipation. As Miss R. carried me through the halls, I felt my pulse quickening. Then we rounded the corner into her wing and I heard the crowds (and by crowds I mean the kids in the third grade wing) screaming my name and I panicked. So much pressure. Miss R. let me into the room before the students came in so I had a chance to explore, but I could see all the faces of the human kittens pressed against the glass of the door and I got the worst case of stage fright, ever. I tried to make a beeline for the hallway when the door at last opened, but Miss R. was too quick. She scooped me up before I could make get-a-way. Once the kids came in and settled in I began to relax, but I didn't feel completely calm again until Miss R. returned me to my slimming carrying case. Miss Lisa picked me up to take me home and I was sad to say good-bye to my friends. Anyway, here are the pics I showed Vinnie and the gang of my adventure. Boys and Girls, my favorite part of the day was meeting you! What was your favorite part of your Hundred Star Party day?<br />
<div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img align="middle" alt="Posted by Picasa" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" style="-moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; background: 0% 50%; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></a></div>Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-60361097816817186532011-04-12T19:33:00.000-07:002011-04-13T15:45:52.106-07:00Bald and Beautiful<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8BAQ7kF9sfoAqf0MLUuTZfajN6fbs5vjTjR25wqdcXXj-hIFwcKqziO2zgy3uIbh4U5lvL5KkO7OTIrcTH9EJ0HHZn24IDE58vFQ-k0nwBdS436cCQZXKK8mrDxZAxdpnEaNrVnPvcIo/s1600/Oliver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8BAQ7kF9sfoAqf0MLUuTZfajN6fbs5vjTjR25wqdcXXj-hIFwcKqziO2zgy3uIbh4U5lvL5KkO7OTIrcTH9EJ0HHZn24IDE58vFQ-k0nwBdS436cCQZXKK8mrDxZAxdpnEaNrVnPvcIo/s320/Oliver.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>"All right, Oliver. I pinkie swear promise not to laugh," said Bob but under his breath he added <i>as if cats even have pinkies. </i>I ignored that. "Tell me again why your tummy and, um, your rear are shaved smoother than a baby's bald head?"<br />
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"Well, there are quite a few reasons one would have to shave one's belly, " I retorted somewhat miffed.<br />
<br />
"Really? Name one."<br />
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<i>Drat! </i>He called my bluff. "Well, to begin with, it's a fashion statement, very trendy. I predict cats everywhere will soon be shaving their bellies and their bottoms." I returned.<br />
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"Indeed," murmured Bob. Sometimes he can be so smug!<br />
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"Also..." I paused, "...the vet needed to shave my belly so the radiologist could perform an ultrasound to determine what was wrong with me. I was very sick." I tried my best to look pathetic. It must've worked because Bob's expression grew softer.<br />
<br />
"I am glad to see you back to your old self, friend. You know, I was pretty worried about you."<br />
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"Thanks, Pal. I am better. The people at the Sunset Pet Hospital were really nice and they helped me to feel a lot better."<br />
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"I told you there was nothing to worry about. Vets help animals." Bob smiled again and added, "So, what was wrong? Did you ever find out?" <br />
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"Ummm.....yeah....it was....." I hesitated. <i>It was kind of embarrassing. That's what it was. </i>"I was...ummm....that is to say.....Iwasconstipated." The last part came out in a rush, like it was one long word.<br />
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"Constipated? Did I hear that right?" Bob tried to hide a smirk but I could see it playing about his whiskers.<br />
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"You promised you wouldn't laugh," I reminded him. "You promised."<br />
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"I'm not laughing. I'm ummmm......coughing....that's right....I'm coughing."<br />
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Coughing? I don't think so! I guess I can't blame him for laughing, though. I do look pretty silly all bald in places. I have no one to blame but myself. Maybe it really is time to start....uggghhh....I can barely say it.....dieting. It wouldn't hurt to start eating a healthier diet, lose a few. I don't know where to start. Boys and girls, I need some healthy yet delicious recipes to help me get through this ordeal. What's your favorite healthy recipe? I need your tips. I can't handle any more constipation jokes at my expense!Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-92083979541501136442011-03-21T17:17:00.000-07:002011-04-13T15:56:51.728-07:00Sick Ollie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoScBZeOcYyFE7dkRuX6hxCv61yz8ilDQB8gzNxxJhahJkFRNpCmbrn6eftnXfXGKaI3mjRVoPy4ljfhONTY64nh0p-Mb72Svf27S2XibVFkNAAtJ2ikX9LHxu0-LLBo5sgho4ptub/s400/sick+cat.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoScBZeOcYyFE7dkRuX6hxCv61yz8ilDQB8gzNxxJhahJkFRNpCmbrn6eftnXfXGKaI3mjRVoPy4ljfhONTY64nh0p-Mb72Svf27S2XibVFkNAAtJ2ikX9LHxu0-LLBo5sgho4ptub/s400/sick+cat.gif" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Whenever Bob seems to be having a streak of bad luck he likes to say, "When it rains, it pours." I never understood that until this week. For the past few days, I've had a bit of a stomach bug. Don't get me wrong. I would never let a little thing like an achy stomach keep me from eating, but my tummy has been hurting. Vinnie suggested I try eating less, but when has <i><b>less food </b></i>ever cured anyone? On Saturday, Miss R. took me to a place that wasn't nearly as scary as I thought it would be. That's right, boys and girls. She took me to the see a vet and I discovered that the people at the Sunset Pet Hospital really did want me to feel better. I won't tell you where the veterinarian stuck the thermometer,but <strong><em>that </em></strong>was less than pleasant. You would think that after enduring the aches of a tummy bug, and the indignity of having my temperature taken, that I would be left alone to pout in peace, but no. After all this, I heard Miss R using a four letter word.....that's right, she said, "DIET!" As in Miss R and the doctor want to put me on a diet! Apparently 26 pounds is too much cat for some people to handle, but I say there is just more of me to hug. Who wouldn't appreciate a big, furry Ollie hug now and then? Oh, the indecency of it all. Like Bob says, "When it rains, it pours." It is definitely pouring now. Stay tuned, children. I go back to the vet on Tuesday. In the meantime, maybe it wouldn't hurt to try eating a little healthier and maybe exercising a teeny, tiny bit. Boys and girls, do you have any healthy eating tips for me? What about exercise? Do you have any ideas on fun ways I can get my body moving a bit more? I need to hear from you and soon....before that horrible four letter word is spoken again.Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-86366798422795398062011-03-14T17:21:00.000-07:002011-03-14T17:23:08.702-07:00Bob's Book Club<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://petsadviser.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/cat-reading-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="264" q6="true" src="http://petsadviser.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/cat-reading-5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
"Oliver, now that you have begun your career as a, um...er.....writer," remarked Bob, "perhaps it is time for you to begin thinking about your reading habits. After all, all good writers are prolific readers."<br />
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"What's that? Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Bob." I replied. My brain was still trying to figure out why Bob had coughed out the word <em>writer, </em>almost like he didn't believe it to be true of me.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">"Oliver, pay attention," instructed Bob. "I'm issuing you an invite to my book club.We meet regularly to discuss great works of literary art. If you're serious about being a writer than you should be serious about joining this book club. After all, there is no better way to acquire great writing skills than by discussing the writing style of successful, famous, published writers. Don't you agree?"</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div>"I guess so." I replied. I wasn't really paying attention to what Bob was saying. I was more concerned with whether or not there would be snacks at a book club. I might not mind sitting around with Bob's stuffy friends if food is being served.<br />
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"Oliver, are you thinking about food again?" Bob demanded to know. "I see that dazed look in your eyes and you're starting to drool!" Drat! He was on to me. "Oliver, pay attention. Our next meeting is this Friday at my place. We're discussing the book <u>Prince Caspian</u> by the highly esteemed C.S. Lewis. You only have four days to finish the book. I'll see you then." With that final comment, Bob leaped through the pet door that led back to his own apartment. I remained out on my deck wondering how in the world I could ever finish a chapter book in time to take part in the book club meeting. I'm not a very fast reader. Then I remembered that the boys and girls in Miss R.'s class had learned about summarizing which is word that means saying a little about a lot. And, they also just finished reading <u>Prince Caspian.</u> There are a lot of words in <u>Prince Caspian</u> but if you summarize, or say a little about the most important events in the story than maybe I can be prepared for Friday's meeting. Can you help?Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-33224300787975035212011-03-06T22:29:00.000-08:002011-03-06T22:29:43.826-08:00Young Authors Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6fikqrxOD_s3KG5V4TkCYwy15XtSDKKCAtnzM1Qc5PT-fOIvWlEKgfab4zcFu_ZAGzTIxTwO7S6WF6FAi4MH4LUuYI_rnKU7XKzBsZviTCIrAhwwcCxxgx-z5nTFbpAOJL3pPgWj1m7z/s1600/Cat-CatReadingBook03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6fikqrxOD_s3KG5V4TkCYwy15XtSDKKCAtnzM1Qc5PT-fOIvWlEKgfab4zcFu_ZAGzTIxTwO7S6WF6FAi4MH4LUuYI_rnKU7XKzBsZviTCIrAhwwcCxxgx-z5nTFbpAOJL3pPgWj1m7z/s320/Cat-CatReadingBook03.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI6fikqrxOD_s3KG5V4TkCYwy15XtSDKKCAtnzM1Qc5PT-fOIvWlEKgfab4zcFu_ZAGzTIxTwO7S6WF6FAi4MH4LUuYI_rnKU7XKzBsZviTCIrAhwwcCxxgx-z5nTFbpAOJL3pPgWj1m7z/s1600/Cat-CatReadingBook03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div>"It was a dark and a stormy night."<br />
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Now I know what you're thinking but no fair copying, boys and girls. That is the opening line to the literary masterpiece I plan to write for Young Authors Day or YAD as it is commonly known . Of course, felines have been historically barred from participating in YAD festivities for reasons that make no sense to me. Apparently, the fun of writing and celebrating stories is restricted to students only. That is why my next literary masterpiece will be a brilliantly persuasive letter to the powers that be informing them of my discontent. I mean, really! Aren't I a student as well? Just because I am not enrolled in school doesn't mean I'm not learning. In fact, just this weekend I learned an exceptionally valuable lesson. I learned that Miss R really doesn't like being woken up at 3AM to fill my dish with my favorite kitty treats. <br />
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<i> </i>I digress. Back to Young Authors Day. I'm curious, boys and girls. What story ideas have been percolating in your non-furry brains? Are you writing fiction or non fiction? Where are you in the writing process? Are you still working on your story maps or are you writing your first draft? I can't wait to hear from you all!Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-30158816117314525142011-02-14T13:35:00.000-08:002011-02-14T13:40:21.642-08:00Happy Valentine's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.funny-poems.co.uk/images/valentines-shape-poem.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
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This poem is by one of Bob's favorite writers, Anonymous, but it perfectly expresses my affection for the boys and girls in Room 204. All my love, Oliver!Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-8806000502838098902011-02-04T16:31:00.000-08:002011-02-05T09:45:49.319-08:00Oliver's Place<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUnpJYWuTMdDtoclvfrpBw-dE0yacYsuvjG5tiRLxr2HWHXJYyBHp85hnLoTszPd0yz-b38xJQbcYUWoR4dJH41nfsfDoY0G4wX1KGvvFuRmrWh77JU_tsTZCWABmsmAYtuLxycIt_fRM/s1600/oliver%2527s+place.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" h5="true" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUnpJYWuTMdDtoclvfrpBw-dE0yacYsuvjG5tiRLxr2HWHXJYyBHp85hnLoTszPd0yz-b38xJQbcYUWoR4dJH41nfsfDoY0G4wX1KGvvFuRmrWh77JU_tsTZCWABmsmAYtuLxycIt_fRM/s320/oliver%2527s+place.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>A great artist by the name RM #11 has created this rendition of the building where I reside. As you can see, RM #11 also drew in the homes of my neighbors. That's Bob next door to me. He calls himself an intellect which is a fancy way of saying he's smart. His human is a professor at an university and often brings home textbooks that Bob loves to read. He also loves to share his knowledge with the rest of us. Bob has an adopted sibling named Miss Darcy Kitty. That's her sky diving off the side of the building. She is a brave adventurer, as you can see, who often strolls the trails in the park nearby when she's not sky diving. Hanging around Bob, she has learned to love books, but she prefers adventure stories to textbooks. A good book will often inspire her to seek her fortune. Last week she found her fortune in the form of a half-eaten burger in the garbage can behind Kidd Valley. She was generous enough to share her fortune with me. Othello lives in the apartment directly above me. He's a feline Shakespearean actor who has a funny way of talking. Bob tells me that Othello speaks in iambic pentameter and I have no idea what that means, but apparently it's a Shakespearean actor kind of thing. Next to Othello, lives Vinnie. Vinnie is old and lost a leg to diabetes many years ago. He keeps a garden on his deck where he grows vegetables to help him stay healthy. Whereas Bob is book smart, Vinnie is what I like to call life smart. When I told him that, he just smiled his gap-toothed smile and said, "That's because I've learned from my mistakes. And when you make as many mistakes as I do.....you learn a lot!" And now, thanks to RM#11, all my regular readers can have a picture of where my buddies and I live. Thank you, RM#11!<br />
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Boys and girls, can you tell me something about the place where you live? Is it a house or an apartment? Do you know your neighbors? Without using their names can you tell me what makes them unique? I'd love to learn more about you.Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-35566767272835191262011-01-28T10:31:00.000-08:002011-01-28T11:14:10.044-08:00Vinnie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikrpkVPGRMZDCNpEwVIgO_CGVkVgWWE1skjeICtv2c78WmMd5_XEf-2WqtffSKBM8TODMK_LGXMgZQMrr63BORfQxSYBsw53wqQHCriU57GycYrPYXR5GrLSkcNzQBxq9000edrO-BF8U/s1600/vinnie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikrpkVPGRMZDCNpEwVIgO_CGVkVgWWE1skjeICtv2c78WmMd5_XEf-2WqtffSKBM8TODMK_LGXMgZQMrr63BORfQxSYBsw53wqQHCriU57GycYrPYXR5GrLSkcNzQBxq9000edrO-BF8U/s320/vinnie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="left">"Hey, Vinnie, what'cha ya doin'?" I called to my three-legged neighbor. Vinnie appeared to be scratching around in a small, rectangular box of litter, but what strange litter. Usually litter is light grey. The stuff he was digging was a dark, blackish-brown. Clearly not litter.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">"I'm sorry, Oliver, what was that? These old ears aren't what they used to be." Vinnie smiled up at me with that semi-toothless grin of his. I love Vinnie's gap-filled smiles. They always warm my heart.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">"I asked what you were doing."</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">"I'm tending to my vegetable garden, young man." replied Vinnie with what seemed like a small amount of modest pride. "Yessirree, nothing beats fresh vegetables harvested from your own deck garden."</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">Before I could stop myself the word, "Eeeuuuuwww" escaped my lips. "Sorry, I don't mean to be rude. I just don't like vegetables." I explained.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">"Quite all right. I understand. I used to hate 'em myself. That was back in the day before diabetes claimed my leg."</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">"Dia...what...ese?" I asked.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">"Diabetes. It's a disease that we felines are susceptible to. It comes from eating too much unhealthy food and not enough veggies. By the time my vet discovered the disease it had already progressed to the point where I needed to have my leg amputated." He patted the stump that served as his leg. "Yessirreee, this here ol' stump is my battle wound in my fight against the disease, but I've come out the winner. I changed my unhealthy eating and have started growing my own healthy food." He looked at me again and I could see his old eyes twinkling. </div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">"I don't see any vegetables." I said.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">"Well, no, not yet. They take time to grow. Right now, I'm just tending to the soil." He motioned to the blackish-brown stuff and I recognized it then as the stuff Miss R.'s plants grow in.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">"Soil. I know a little bit about soil. Miss R's students are studying soil right now at school. I bet they might even have information that would help your garden grow." I was pleased to think that I might be able to help Ol' Cat Vinnie. He's just a cool guy.</div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">"Oliver, that would be marvelous. I sure would appreciate it," Vinnie said and he grinned that old gap-toothed smile of his. </div><div align="left"><br />
</div><div align="left">So, boys and girls, I need your help. What can you tell me about soil? How does soil help plants grow? Do you have any information that would help Vinnie?</div><div align="left"><br />
</div>Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-32506195606242742012011-01-23T14:23:00.000-08:002011-01-23T14:32:59.144-08:00Something is rotten in the state of Denmark<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz4iIWM7C2X5V4wKaLhyrzgbSIqQFYJKM3T39RokXKOWRx3YLmipvrB6OgXDVuy52Yp7CBQFxGzVADSC3LRV4_hbug6zVdZVN_16TMhIxtOciEkvHIh8JYQTCW6QU4RAgRLIcuakk8uWM/s1600/Othello.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz4iIWM7C2X5V4wKaLhyrzgbSIqQFYJKM3T39RokXKOWRx3YLmipvrB6OgXDVuy52Yp7CBQFxGzVADSC3LRV4_hbug6zVdZVN_16TMhIxtOciEkvHIh8JYQTCW6QU4RAgRLIcuakk8uWM/s320/Othello.jpg" width="242" /></a></div><br />
What a coincidence that the boys and girls in Room 204 happen to be studying soil on the same day that I visited my new neighbor, Othello. Why is that a coincidence, you ask? Well, it just so happens that Othello was preparing for a new role in an upcoming feline production of Shakespeare's "As You Like It." Apparently, his preparation called for tearing into and rolling around in his human's 20 pound sack of garden soil. When I asked him what garden soil had to do with acting, Othello just rolled his eyes and replied, "Lord, what fools these mortals be." Bob later told me that's a line from another one of Shakespeare's plays. Anyway, Othello's human was clearly not impressed with that particular exercise in acting because she rewarded the little guy with a bath. I don't think the post-bath scowl and the attitude that you see photographed here had anything to do with role preparation. I hoped the catnip cookies I baked would cheer up the little guy, but when he smelled the cookies he just rolled his eyes again and said, "Oft expectation fails, and most oft here." At first, I thought that might be a compliment to my cookies, but Bob suggested otherwise. I think maybe Othello just needs to learn to avoid activities that require tub time. Maybe you boys and girls in Room 204 could summarize what you know about soil and then I can show Othello why it's not a good thing to prepare for acting roles by rolling around in dirt.Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-35258026814258718342011-01-20T13:47:00.000-08:002011-01-21T15:56:47.939-08:00MLK<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://allahcentric.files.wordpress.com/2010/09/martin-luther-king-jr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" s5="true" src="http://allahcentric.files.wordpress.com/2010/09/martin-luther-king-jr.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Monday morning dawned wet and cold, the kind of day where I prefer to stay in bed and sleep in. You can imagine my irritation then when a deep, booming voice resounded from outdoors, reverberating throughout my apartment. Irritation gave way to awe and wonderment as I heard the beautiful words, "I have a dream...." The poetry of the words and the tone of the voice wrapped themselves around me. "I have a dream," the voice repeated. I love hearing about people's dreams so I jumped through the pet door and launched myself onto my deck where I could hear better. I could see my neighbor Bob sitting at attention on his deck next to mine. "Hey Bob," I whispered. "What's going on? Who is that?"<br />
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"Shhhh," whispered Bob. "That's the new guy in C403. His name is Othello. He's one of the few successful feline Shakespearean actors. Today he is honoring the late Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. by reciting the leader's best known speech.." <br />
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"Huh?" I said. What I meant was <em>who ever heard of a famous feline Shakespeaerean actor?</em><br />
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<em>"</em>Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr." Bob repeated. "He was a leader in the area of civil rights."<br />
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"Civil rights? What does <strong>that </strong>mean?" I asked outloud but my brain was still trying to figue out what a feline Shakespearean actor was.<br />
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"<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Shhhh, Oliver." Bob sighed. I could tell he was getting annoyed, but seriously a feline Shakespearean actor? </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"Just listen, Oliver. It'll make more sense if you just listen."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So I curled up on deck table and listened as the new cat, Othello, continued reciting the words that first moved a nation so many decades ago. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: 'We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.' " I continued to listen as the words washed over me making me feel a strange sense of hopefulness and peace. I wish I had known this leader of civil rights.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm curious, kids, what can you tell me about Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.? I'd like to know more about the man that penned those words. And what are your dreams? I'd like to know what human kittens dream about. In the meantime, I'm going to bake some catnip cookies to bring to the new cat, Othello. I've got to see this feline Shakespearean actor with my own eyes. Who knew?</span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: x-small;">I </span>Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-65907757572874911062010-12-16T17:58:00.000-08:002010-12-16T18:24:13.814-08:00Miss Darcy Kitty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPfqmAUOfcgOtG8KBEE01E6sCYN3UML2Il4jKNANk1lkPZXcfIEDWRyMcJ8g68LjeJ4au7B6ObycNSNkFXqTm9OMBavbbfpxBdRSVGGwccg9rPlJ0sQ_XMw21ZLh9PoKQ6N6gV5UQXYis/s1600/CIMG_2010-12-10-222306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPfqmAUOfcgOtG8KBEE01E6sCYN3UML2Il4jKNANk1lkPZXcfIEDWRyMcJ8g68LjeJ4au7B6ObycNSNkFXqTm9OMBavbbfpxBdRSVGGwccg9rPlJ0sQ_XMw21ZLh9PoKQ6N6gV5UQXYis/s320/CIMG_2010-12-10-222306.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"What ARE you doing, Oliver?" asked my nosy neighbor Bob.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"If you must know, I'm wrapping a gift for Miss Kitty." I retorted. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> I shouldn't be so snappy with Bob. He is my friend, after all, but he teases me about being friends with his adopted sister, Miss Kitty. Actually, Miss Kitty's real name is Darcy. She was named after a famous character named Mr. Darcy in a famous book called <u>Pride and</u> <u>Prejudice </u>by an even more famous writer named Jane Austen. At first, Bob's human thought Darcy Kitty was a boy so he picked a boy's name from a book in Bob's personal library. As it turns out though, Darcy Kitty, unlike the character in the book, is actually a girl, so sometimes the humans just call her Miss Kitty. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Bob's human brought Miss Kitty home a few years ago on Valentines Day as a playmate for Bob, but Bob doesn't really like spending time with her. Bob calls it a classic case of sibling rivalry. Whatever that means. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Darcy Kitty and I get along all right. We both like watching the water skiers on the lake. Still, Darcy has always been rather shy. I guess anyone would have a hard time coming out of her shell with Bob around, but I was feeling bad for me Miss Kitty. I think she could use more friends. Chunkier friends. Friends like me. So, I used my allowance and went online and bought her that famous book by Jane Austen, the one that has her name in it, so she can have her own copy of it. Who knows? Maybe she and Bob will find some common ground and start getting along better. I can't wait to give it to her for Christmas. I think she's really going to like it. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What about you? Have you ever been so excited to give a gift to someone that you couldn't wait for them to open it and see what you got them? I'd love to read about it. Now, if only I could get this tape out of my paws.</div>Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-64434522428111299032010-12-05T14:54:00.000-08:002010-12-05T21:09:41.779-08:00On PoetryA little bird told me that Miss R.'s students are going to be hosting an International Poetry Potluck on December 15. In preparation, they will be learning to write all sorts of different kinds of poems AND they will memorize a famous poem to recite in front of their parents at their classroom potluck. Talk about your lucky loons (Bob tells me that is an example of <strong><em>alliteration</em></strong>, whatever <strong>THAT</strong> means.) My neighbor Bob considers himself a jack-of-all-trades. I don't really know what that means either since his name is Bob, but I do know he is pretty good at poetry. In fact, at night when our humans are sound asleep in their beds, the cats in our building like to hang out on our decks and converse. Sometimes, though, we just listen as Bob recites poems. Some of the poems he recites are from famous writers but others he has written himself. Last night he taught me this poem. This one was written by Bob's favorite writer, Anonymous. It's about a cat who owned a human named St. Jerome. I don't know why the human was called a saint. Seems to me, we cats are the saints putting up with all their crazy human antics. Whatever. Here's the poem. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">St. Jerome's Cat<br />
St. Jerome in his study kept a great big cat,</div><div style="text-align: center;">it's always in his pictures, with its feet upon the mat.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Did he give it milk to drink, in a little dish?</div><div style="text-align: center;">When it came to Friday's, did he give it fish?</div><div style="text-align: center;">If I lost my little cat, I'd be sad without it;</div><div style="text-align: center;">I should ask St. Jerome what to do about it.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I should ask St. Jerome, just because of that,</div><div style="text-align: center;">for he's the only saint I know who kept a kitty cat.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Anonymous</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht1AeRpoJ8vsAoZfW-GYl9QKYiwBocn22PcltdCj_0Y_Ch4zUQPI0MV_IvDMZLRq4QN3scOCp_OQdd_MpAg_f051mm1RQdT756OxfWBPgO9Wa7q3DWk0P97fVC1qDqWRL0YpaB_L_2hhE6/s1600/St.+Jerome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht1AeRpoJ8vsAoZfW-GYl9QKYiwBocn22PcltdCj_0Y_Ch4zUQPI0MV_IvDMZLRq4QN3scOCp_OQdd_MpAg_f051mm1RQdT756OxfWBPgO9Wa7q3DWk0P97fVC1qDqWRL0YpaB_L_2hhE6/s320/St.+Jerome.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Tell me boys and girls, do you have any favorite poets? Have you decided which poem you will recite? Better yet, have you written any poems? I'd love to read them if you have.</div>Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-41973728022755168422010-11-27T15:49:00.000-08:002010-11-29T07:29:09.284-08:00Santy Paws<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpUzhw2bmDyfG9TdbXhLvTCh_85NrrXfiALEscXXf0_XOavedVe90BL8YVxySxc2fvS0SnrxOqlRkmhDSuMYorPUv7jAZ5EwFA_MAM44MQxeRDoqMi1CSA0cH4i11PZuWjLU3IeHWN74g/s1600/santypaws.jpg" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpUzhw2bmDyfG9TdbXhLvTCh_85NrrXfiALEscXXf0_XOavedVe90BL8YVxySxc2fvS0SnrxOqlRkmhDSuMYorPUv7jAZ5EwFA_MAM44MQxeRDoqMi1CSA0cH4i11PZuWjLU3IeHWN74g/s320/santypaws.jpg" style="clear: both; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px;" width="320" /></a></div>Ha Ha Ha, Miss R. Very funny. I get it. So, I ate so much at Thanksgiving that I'm as big as Santa Claus. Dressing me up in the suit when I'm helpless and asleep. Very funny. Maybe I should've written, Ho Ho Ho, instead. See? I can be funny, too!<br />
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Still, it was a great week. First, all the snow and then all the food, and now? All the decorations! I love seeing all the beautiful lights this time of year, and the tree, and the presents under the tree....especially the presents with my name on them! Oh boy! I can hardly wait to open them! Bob and I made snow angels....well, he says mine looks more like a snow sumo wrestler than an angel, of all the nerve! Miss R and I made pumpkin bread that's supposed to be healthy but it tasted good to me so I'm not so sure about that. She bought me a "special treat" which turned out to be a low calorie cat treat. Really? Do I strike you as the kind of cat that counts calories? I'll stick to the pumpkin break, thank you very much!<br />
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So, tell me, boys and girls, What did you do with your snow days? Did you play in the snow? I want to read all about your long break.<br />
<a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img align="middle" alt="Posted by Picasa" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" style="-moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; background: 0% 50%; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; border-right: 0px; border-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" /></a>Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-67504092625770926492010-11-21T21:56:00.000-08:002010-11-21T21:56:01.527-08:00Snow?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://questgarden.com/47/13/9/070516135658/images/snowflake1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="http://questgarden.com/47/13/9/070516135658/images/snowflake1.jpg" width="290" /></a></div>I've been watching the weather reports all day and am so excited to see all the reports of snow. Miss R says she loves the way a fresh blanket of snow covers everything in a white robe of cleanliness. Sheesh! She likes snow because it's clean? Give me a break! I like snow because my neighbor Bob and I make snow angels on our decks. My angels are always bigger than his...hee....hee....hee. I saw a few flakes gently drifting on a breeze late this afternoon. I watched them as they touched down on my icy cold deck and I couldn't help but notice how beautifully different each one was. Amazing. Yet they were all made of the same stuff, frozen water. It reminded me of what you all wrote about what you learned during multi-cultural week. You all said that while our differences make us interesting we're all the same in the ways that matter most. Just like the snowflakes on my deck. I'm curious. Can you think of an interesting way that makes you different from your friends? Can you think of a way that you are the same. <br />
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My neighbor Bob and I are both cats, but we're very different. He's a vegetarian that loves to read and he does lots of sit ups to keep his physique slim. Me, not so much, but we both love our humans and we both love being scratched behind the ears and we both like making snow angels on our decks.Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-13867762930359235502010-11-07T21:04:00.000-08:002010-11-07T21:04:12.353-08:00Culinary Writers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/83/271870440_9aa54c9253.jpg?v=0" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/83/271870440_9aa54c9253.jpg?v=0" width="244" /></a></div>Wow, the kids in Room 204 sure get to read interesting books. The Witches by Roald Dahl is a favorite story of mine, too. I think the little mice are adorable. I know, cats aren't supposed to like mice; they're supposed to eat them, but eeeeuuuuuwwww......yuck! Why would I want to do that? I especially like Bruno Jenkins. That boy appreciates a fine meal interspersed between lots of fine snacks. I think if Bruno were real instead of a fictional character we would get along really well, whether he were a mouse or a human. Who's your favorite character in the story? Why?<br />
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I'm currently rereading a book by one of my favorite authors, Betty Crocker. She writes fascinating,detailed descriptions about my favorite thing in the whole world, food. Miss R. says reading a cookbook doesn't really count as reading, but what does she know? She's a terrible cook! What books are you reading now?<br />
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<em>Posted by Oliver</em>Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-37557356503402212212010-10-31T21:00:00.000-07:002010-11-01T10:08:35.176-07:00Happy Halloween<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZQ5SF7HykqCI50IMmoNlpHUrPA3CLlzZjDeAf_xeAvJB3j-uLFvnoIG0QBrUBFx-wr51bF5ICMR3gg4DRpLgAGbLEZ4aLkYUGGSYNrDV3V5fzkTYI7uDmu1mllI2UrFMo3Zx2JZnBBo/s1600/pictures-of-cats-halloween_tiger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZQ5SF7HykqCI50IMmoNlpHUrPA3CLlzZjDeAf_xeAvJB3j-uLFvnoIG0QBrUBFx-wr51bF5ICMR3gg4DRpLgAGbLEZ4aLkYUGGSYNrDV3V5fzkTYI7uDmu1mllI2UrFMo3Zx2JZnBBo/s200/pictures-of-cats-halloween_tiger.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>You regular readers of my blog know that this particular holiday, while one of <em><strong>my personal</strong></em> favorites, has always produced a bit of anxiety in my neighbor Bob. The reason, as you may well remember, is that Bob's human insists on dressing up the helpless guy in the most humiliating costumes. Poor Bob. I asked him once why he didn't resist, run away, hide under the bed etc. Anything must be better than the forced indignity of wearing those idiotic costumes. Bob just replied, "Resistance is futile." I have no idea what that means, but it must not be all bad because this year Bob's costume was AWESOME! Check him out. He had me TOTALLY convinced he was the real deal....a tiger living in my building. He even got to go trick-or-treating and brought home a giant bag full of CANDY!!!! He is so lucky. Miss R. never lets me go trick-or-treating. Once when I tried to sneak out the door she said, "Really, Oliver? Do you really think YOU need more CANDY?" Ouch that's hitting in the flabby part of the belly. I mean, does anyone NEED candy? Of course, not. Candy is it's own reward, which is what I told Bob and do you know what he answered me? <br />
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"Candy, my weight-challenged friend, is sugar-coated poison that wreaks havoc on one's physique. I let my human have my bag since he seems to enjoy taking insane health risks like that. I prefer my vegetarian diet complete with soybeans and tofu."<br />
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Uggghhhh......and Bob calls himself a cat?! So boys and girls, what did you do this Halloween? Did you celebrate the holiday at all? Did you dress up? Did you get candy? Mmmm....candy....Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-55867916236417027262010-10-30T11:25:00.000-07:002010-10-30T11:29:54.166-07:00Claiming Your Spot<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQEB5WHJwtqDc1ScaGCfHwkNVeWXHMiF_IqRYcVR0yUBzja1qS_wQiUnuI2TE6_jCjNQhrS939cTaLaizDjmRAH3AdCO1WZI2f6v1QByQzEJiBfjUmeUdNRwaVa4MyuzoXwp8lFM1Ga9M/s1600/CIMG_2010-10-29-173708.jpg"><img style="CLEAR: both; FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 189px; HEIGHT: 234px" height="207" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQEB5WHJwtqDc1ScaGCfHwkNVeWXHMiF_IqRYcVR0yUBzja1qS_wQiUnuI2TE6_jCjNQhrS939cTaLaizDjmRAH3AdCO1WZI2f6v1QByQzEJiBfjUmeUdNRwaVa4MyuzoXwp8lFM1Ga9M/s160/CIMG_2010-10-29-173708.jpg" width="171" border="0" /></a>Not too long ago, as you may remember, I posted a picture of myself in my new digs i.e. a lovely cardboard box that Miss R. brought home from her shopping expedition at Sam's Club. The box proved the perfect size for a cat of my, ummmm, shall we say, impressive girth? I don't know what it is about us felines that makes boxes seem so inviting. We just can't resist the allure of their straight sides and perpendicular angles. No doubt, they appeal to these mathematically-inclined brains of ours. At any rate, Miss R., sensing my affinity for this new possession, graciously added a squishy cushion for my comfort. She even placed the box in a prominent spot in the living room right next to the television. For weeks, I would sleep no where else. Then because I like to keep things fresh and because I like to keep Miss R. guessing, I began finding other places to sleep; in the closet, under the bed, on top of her running shoes. I knew what would happen next. Miss R. would wait awhile and then when she believed I was no longer interested in the box she would try to remove it to the recycling bin. The day came. I saw her move the box near the front door. <strong><em>Any minute</em></strong> I told myself as she slid open the hall closet door to retrieve her shoes. Just as she finished tying her second shoe I hopped into the box and stretched and yawned and blinked my eyes in her direction. (I know she can't resist that.) "You've got be kidding me!" she said. "For three weeks you've completely ignored that box like it wasn't even here all the while it was taking up precious space in our tiny living room and now you want it again? Seriously?" I heard her sigh as she walked away leaving me in the box. I napped awhile just to show her serious I was and when I knew the box was no longer in danger of being tossed I hopped out of it and wandered over to my food dish. Miss R. sighed again as she picked up the box and moved it away from the front door into her own bedroom where she placed it at the foot of her bed. I'll sleep there again for awhile before I replay this whole scenario.<br /><br />This brings me to my next lesson in the care and training of your human. Humans like to think they own the place. They like to feel like they are the ones who make decisions and we are here merely to keep them entertained. Perish the thought. They are here to keep our food dishes full, to keep our tummies scratched, and to keep our spots on the couch warm. We are the ones in command. It is imperative that we remind these forgetful humans of that fact. That's why it's important that we periodically mess with their heads. You know what I mean. Wait for you human to get comfy on the couch and then pretend to want to go outside. Meow by the door. Then as soon as your human as gotten up from the couch to open the door for you, walk away and try to take the warm spot on the couch. You can vary this method by begging to sample a bite of whatever it is they're eating then, as soon as they've grown weary of your whining and placed a tidbit of their food on the floor, turn your nose up at it and walk away with your tail up in the air. Your imagination is the only limit you have on coming up with ways to mess with your human's head, but trust me. This is an important element in training your human to be appropriately subservient to you. In the meantime, I'd love to hear from you. What other mess-with-your-head methods can you recommend for our readers? I look forward to your responses. <div style="CLEAR: both; TEXT-ALIGN: left"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img style="BORDER-RIGHT: 0px; PADDING-RIGHT: 0px; BORDER-TOP: 0px; PADDING-LEFT: 0px; BACKGROUND: 0% 50%; PADDING-BOTTOM: 0px; BORDER-LEFT: 0px; PADDING-TOP: 0px; BORDER-BOTTOM: 0px; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial" alt="Posted by Picasa" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" align="middle" border="0" /></a></div>Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-9880870596551539302010-09-03T10:56:00.000-07:002010-09-03T11:50:09.880-07:00Oliver the Movie<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpfoOgeMqeSO_oKvW39XIhEkVzcLip93fhA7sV517WH3lFKHN7MMKhzUtLQvj8XPXhorwlXwnNFZ6mpSOStxtJG6R_pSkS7IOc7mFhcGtJ31icusSJRapBYd2d7Kk8xjI-tGLz7NalHA/s1600/CoverShot.jpg"></a><br /><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhll7W92N91hjLbTpMtPz5I243kTDY-kT1lMls7pg2BK9fTUrxbCN5daoGmdk0ic_1ekmRByZO-A9AeKOis2as4rmh9kbY54-E8vJg0mUGMVv03fV_LZgVZaRZI-EGU8yFMQg6o2yKu344/s1600/CoverShot.jpg"></a><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dysC-gNcxXtCOg3vqrrJDsblEo6xV2NDTw4rZXO34iAIfrE-omhE4TH9PWOZr30TYf4HWn1rDgd6SmuWMtYXQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p>That's right, boys and girls! Check out the movie event of the decade. Just click on the picture of yours truly. Watch the adventure as the cameras follow me during a day of my life. This is family friendly entertainment at its best. </p>Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-17714009557796770832010-07-30T11:11:00.000-07:002010-07-30T11:12:13.354-07:00Can you see me?<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvzM1c3sulwqsyAJMNFwLw0OOl2ACJRZH-R7CjFYM-Oo7i5_sfXOxu-zWs4ujhELP3SuIOSC2P2HEXe25Vd7R_bFJMU0viYqrW_9P39jYljVM8P55nvDfLlM-qoUtKBIwHtQYA5Yim-4c/s1600/CIMG_2010-07-30-110530-733355.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvzM1c3sulwqsyAJMNFwLw0OOl2ACJRZH-R7CjFYM-Oo7i5_sfXOxu-zWs4ujhELP3SuIOSC2P2HEXe25Vd7R_bFJMU0viYqrW_9P39jYljVM8P55nvDfLlM-qoUtKBIwHtQYA5Yim-4c/s320/CIMG_2010-07-30-110530-733355.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5499763749793280578" /></a></p><span style="font-family:Prelude, Verdana, san-serif;">Here I am!<br><br></span><span id="signature"><div style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;color: #999999;">-- Sent from my Palm Pre</div><br></span> Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-84182318893749044632010-06-19T20:54:00.000-07:002010-06-19T21:15:31.937-07:00Born to Run<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8CR6-zgIE0rD_IQAtp4VNy4GL-kzHHEz2ZxoBBbBUKHmHXiSlwNFj3kpV2M71OCYf2373QBa6Udk_rLbRE8trwnyJtWBt0T0EunKx3ASoax-7W_riwx_dWuU3AJdb9LOUlGlphnCDVRw/s1600/CoverShot.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484703956810506850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 160px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8CR6-zgIE0rD_IQAtp4VNy4GL-kzHHEz2ZxoBBbBUKHmHXiSlwNFj3kpV2M71OCYf2373QBa6Udk_rLbRE8trwnyJtWBt0T0EunKx3ASoax-7W_riwx_dWuU3AJdb9LOUlGlphnCDVRw/s200/CoverShot.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Nearly every morning for reasons I have never before understood, Miss R. gets up while the rest of the world is still asleep and laces up her shoes to go running. Watching her adjust the setting on her mp3 player before she heads out the door I ask myself why anyone would run just to be running. I mean, as far as I can tell, she isn't running toward food, or away from anything that might be chasing her, like a dog. So, why run? Fast forward to the last day of school. Miss R. came home from her classroom bearing gifts from her students, and one bag was for me! It contained gifts from MO #14! There was a fun catnip ball (mmmm, catnip brings out my inner kitten) and a beautiful peacock feather teaser. Plus, a live catnip plant that Miss R. put on the breakfast bar, but which I am determined to eat just as soon as she leaves the house for any length of time. Anyway, I have been playing nonstop with my new cat toys and even though I don't like to brag, I am sure I have already lost a few inches. My abs are now rock hard. You just can't see them under all the fat. Nonetheless, I think I am beginning to understand why Miss R. would work out just for the fun of it. Thanks MO #14 for helping me to see the light. Now, I just need to nap...that work out left me exhausted.</div>Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1691906040619474252.post-36090521404877854882010-04-08T14:26:00.000-07:002010-04-11T13:20:16.785-07:00Spring Break<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcV0N4cIjKiz2Or3zbrn4FdvDrCitah-05BvXczmHZQXjQVnRgqgR-Vxn-2dgAMDBHEasI_Vmf7GGR-316L3aYId4Al4buldP605gLBBH1GbVd6HMJ7mM95m60n0UDyvNKTprsSu9brvs/s1600/ShoeboxOllie.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457884998007599602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcV0N4cIjKiz2Or3zbrn4FdvDrCitah-05BvXczmHZQXjQVnRgqgR-Vxn-2dgAMDBHEasI_Vmf7GGR-316L3aYId4Al4buldP605gLBBH1GbVd6HMJ7mM95m60n0UDyvNKTprsSu9brvs/s200/ShoeboxOllie.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Don't judge me when I confess to you the following: I'm jealous of all of you students in Room 110. Why am I jealous, you may well ask? I'll tell you. It's because you get a whole week of that wondeful luxury known simply as "Spring Break." That means you get a whole week to "break" from all your labors. Labors is a fancy word that used here means hard work. You get to relax, read a good book, have fun writing your Young Authors Day stories, or just stare out the window and day dream. Well, what about me? When do I get to take a break from all my labors? When do I get to relax and do nothing? You know, I don't like to complain, but my life is not as easy as I make it seem. For example, I spend a lot of anxious hours at night poised, waiting for Miss R. to sleep, before I began meowing for food, water, or to be let out. That kind of waiting is stressful and takes a lot of energy. During the day, I have to interrupt my napping to get up, yes get up, and move across the floor in order to keep up with the sunbeams. That's a lot of moving. Then again, no one brings my food to me. I actually have to walk all the way to the kitchen if I want to eat or drink. That's a lot of work. Far be it from me to complain, but my daily schedule is grueling and I could use a Spring Break from all my labors. (Here "labors" is a word that means I have to actually walk from my napping spot to the kitchen if I want to eat.) So, free me from my life of slavery and share with me what you did or are doing during your lovely break.</div>Miss Rhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10075787902616188877noreply@blogger.com7