And now, a spoonful of kitteh

to make the ughsome go down.



(h/t Ethyl)

WANT KITTENNNNNNNNN

ZOMG BABY PANDAS

("and now for something completely different")



Moar! :D

Watching this about six times a day

Its simple profundity of obseration and commentary makes me weep.

The RETURN of Engineers And Cats (Yodeling)!

You don't want to get left behind.

Too damn cute to be legal, probably

Baby otter rescued by kindly Scottish woman. As if it isn't ridiculously cute enough on its own, (tickling! tickled baby otter! "wee noisies!") it -befriends and cuddles with a tiny white kitten- ffs.

I am totally sympathizing with Fuck You Penguin's ire, and shall take up the cause forthwith. Little bastards!



More forgivable, perhaps because the Engineers understand how to put the Cats in their proper place (squeezes and yodeling), is this. (h/t Alex)

Speciesism run amok

.

Fuck you,



I do love this site. So much. Yeh, yeh, get in line. Thanks to Ilyka for tipping me off.

On the way home yesterday...

There was a guy walking his West Highland White Terrier. I grew up with one, so had to stop and fuss--really sweet adorable little dogs, if a pain in the ass (stubborn as all hell).

anyway, so he sez the dog's name is John Paul, named after the Pope.

as in, Pup John Paul.

sadly, no Pupmobile.

MAKE WAY FOR DUCKLINGS!

I used to love that book as a kid.** And last week, it's happened for reals.

thanks for sharing, Lina. too sweet.

**the Wiki review is cracking my shit up. "Poor characterization?"

Critics note that the "loosely plotted" story gives no true explanation for why Mr. Mallard leaves the island in the Charles River or why the Mallards did not simply stay on the lagoon island in the first place and avoid the bicyclists on the shore.

Yes, personally, I prefer your more gritty, naturalistic, three-dimensional duck stories. However, in a more deconstructionist reading, we see that in fact Mr. Mallard is merely a symbol of the war-torn country's existentialist anxieties; in fact, in an era of mass displacement, there IS no "true explanation" for one's actions, no way of guaranteeing one can forever evade the bicyclists, and thus we may understand Mr. Mallard's decision to leave the island as an absurdist expression of protest in a meaningless...okay I really need to stop that now.

EEEEEE!! MOAR DEATH BY KYOOT! -flails-

thanks, sarahspy! this one is my favorite, i must has on own blog. seven week old fuzzy -tux- kitten + sleepy + standing with paws on chair + butt-wiggle scoot = ZOMG SO DED.



wahhh. want a kitten now...

Okay, time for a Kitten Break, I think

Four kittens tag-teaming an empty Coke box. IZ DED FRM KYOOT TIEM NAOW


bonus! The Cupcake Blog! All cupcakes, all the time.

And now for a much more pleasant and productive conversation:

translation into HumanSpeak:

My hero. :-) <3

Wee Beastie just swatted a giant fly for me.

i know the feeling

i can't get up

& must type e with 1 finger

there's a kitty on my chest

a little night music

via multi-medium--thanks!

be vewy, vewy quiet

my kitty is s*n*o*r*i*n*g

i have fallen in love

with someone else's new kittens.

Kim, you don't mind if i come over to steal them, right?

signed,

dead of Teh Kyootness

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(no, it's not National Drunk Posting Day [NaDruBloDa] yet. that was a contribution from my cat, who had his back paw resting on the keyboard. it took me a few minutes to figure out what the problem was, which, actually, kind of scary considering i'm cold -sober-)

Sunday Vicarious Kitten Blogging

I so wish I'd had a camera on hand, but anyway:

Doing errands, on my way home. On the sidewalk, near the gutter, outside one of the small supermarkets, there is a

teeeeeeeeenny tiiiiiiiiiiiiiny

little black kitten

playing with a weed. Stalky stalky! Pouncey grabby! Bat, bat.

So, I am just standing there with my heart full of brimming luuuvvv and a drop of concern for whether this was someone's baby or a street urchin; and, if the latter, could I?.....should I?...oh, I really can't, but, tsk, it's so little, if it belongs to someone, do they know it's playing outside?

I bend down. Friendly sniffage. So, okay, socialized, must belong to someone. Maybe it's the store cat. Hope so. Batty paws, back at the weed. Heart melts.

I hear, in the wake of some woman marching by, very Margaret Hamilton, flung back at me:

"It probably has rabies."

Not a break in the stride, either. Nice. oh well.

other people are stopping to bask in the kyootness. Someone establishes that yes, it's the, or a, store resident cat, the store cat's kitten. Six weeks old. wuzza.

While I'm trying to ask the guy, who's very friendly but whose English is rather broken, whether it's okay for teeny one to be romping around like that outside,

I mean I think probably yes, it's New York, cats can well take care of themselves, but I am a Concerned Jewish Cat Mother and I Must Know For Sure, and also want to ogle some more,

but so while we're talking, kitten has abandoned the weed and is prancing merrily up the sidewalk. Absolutely fearless. I don't think I've ever seen a cat that small and that, well, bold? and yet completely unwary of people? outside before.

So I'm following this kitten up the sidewalk like a baby duck after its mother, giggling like a little girrrrrrrllll.

It scampers into a dry cleaner's. No concern at all for customers who might step on it. There's a full-length mirror on one wall.

and now this is just completely out of hand, with the cute, because the kitten spots its reflection and starts to do this great kitty Marx Brothers routine: who is that...? that is ANOTHER CAT! is it friendly? Sniff. Cold! Hiss! Arch! Crackle! Bounce around like a jumping bean! Swipe! Tumble over! Shake!--oh, look, a curtain, start to climb--what's THAT, over THERE? --wait! say! WHO IS THAT OTHER CAT? Swat! Bat!

I'm not even pretending to be a customer, of course. guy who runs the place is laughing, customer is cracking up. He whips out a digital camera--"You're taking a picture?" "Oh, I had to," he grins.

Kitten has calmed ever so slightly. I get in a pet. Just a little one. Mrrrrrrr.

Eventually, it is communicated that the lady wants to know if the store knows that it's ten o'clock, do they know where their kitten is? A young boy comes in, and, after only a moment's catch-me-chase-me, scoops it up rather unceremoniously and goes back down the street.

Sap that I am, I follow him back, too.

He gets back to the store's entrance and even less ceremoniously dumps the kitten in the entrance to some kind of cat door--what, he couldn't just bring it in? but so it uses the kitten's entrance, and wanders away out of sight behind the counter.

That's all, really.

now I really really need a camera, finally.

and a KITTENNNNNNNN

The height of cuteness

...is being wished "happy birthday" (well, "ba ba," and "hay-looo!") by your one-and-three-quarter-year-old twin cousins over the phone.

still dying of laughter