Thursday, April 29, 2010
Benjamin Franklin McDreamy Thunder Cat
Personally, I do not understand how he achieves this pious-puss expression. Our Mr Benjamin Franklin Thunder Cat. He is a handsome boy. He is a stinker too. Beware his scratchy impulses, his sudden change in temperament.
Do your pets have nicknames? Our cats do. Benji's belly has magnetic powers of attraction, that lead me, face first, in to his fur, where I murmur "Woojie-woojie Fur Baby." He just loves that. Not. He also ignores me when I call him "Fur Monster,"" Beasty Benji," "Rat Slayer," and "Muffin-wuffin of Love."
Maria got a new pair of pants yesterday. She's grown a lot since last summer. Besides enjoying making her clothes, it also spares us from buying tr@mp pants... he-he-he... yeah, that's a judgmental poke at the garment industry for filling the clothes racks with slutt-y little low rise pants that say "princess" on the posterior. Give me a break.
Even Benjamin objects to the objectification of children, so he likes to supervise when I am making patterns and cutting pieces. He likes this green floral print. He approves of the contrasting pocket with the fresh cherry print. "Make two pockets," he purrs. He knows she will collect flowers, rocks, and other treasures.
In her new pants, Maria can run around the yard, dig in the sand, and come down the slide... easily and comfortably. And she can dance the Paradox Dance, and scoop up her hen, Betty. She can even get her arms around Benjamin, at the end of day, and bring him in for the night. He can't get scratchy when Maria has her arms firmly wrapped under his arms, his legs dragging between her feet... he must submit.
The sun is shining.
Life is good.