Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Okay, I am too exhausted, too lazy, to write anything today. So I will just drop in a few of the day's cat pictures. You will see that one of the Kracker cats is very big. He doesn't look like a cat. He looks like a dog. He looks like a St. Bernard. Maybe he is a St. Bernard. I am too tired to tell the difference:

In the morning, I find baby Wry Kracker lying beside his uncle, Rye Kracker, as Jim Slim Many Toes pads by.

Chicago, the calico, (yes, she was named for the Cubs) and Royce.

This is Pistol - my little Pistol-Yero!

Jim wonders how it is that Muzzy looks so much like a dog. Pistol says, "to hell with it all." Pistol is like that. He swears a lot.

My true buddy - Jim Slim Many Toes.

Jim is a housecat, but he likes to go outside, so sometimes I chaperone him. He does not want back in. He is taunting the cats who are still inside.

Our beloved Pistol-Yero!

Toast Ed has treasured this stick since he was a toddler. Muzzy, the biggest Kracker Cat ever, takes it away from him.

Muzzy runs with the stick.


lisa Hess said...

'my pistol'- I beg to differ! LRH

Grahamn Kracker said...

Well then, LRH, whose Pistol would you say he is? Yours?

I will concede one point, just in case you misinterpret my words: if you are thinking of the usage of "my" as implying property ownership, then you are right. No one can own a cat. A cat owns him/herself.

If, however, you were thinking, as I was, of usage such as "my friend" say, or even "my daughter," wherein "my" does not imply ownership but rather a close bond, then Pistol is, indeed, "my Pistol."

Yes, he is! He is "my Pistol."

Little Sister said...

What was the "Well, hell" about? I don't get it O tired one.

Grahamn Kracker said...

When I first started, I was not able to make anything appear in the blog post, so, in frustration, I typed, "Well, hell." This appeared. I figured that I might as well leave it there.