Some links to get sorted out first. Yesterday we had a Snippet Sunday post at our joint blog. Krisztina has some Fourth of July ideas at her blog. Whisk had this funny pic at her page. And Gina paid a visit to a small Texas hamlet for a somber occasion. Check these out.
Today I'm finishing off this series of dog and cat blogs, with the point of view of the cat as the evening wears on...
5:40 PM. Purring and circling around Mrs. McIntyre in the kitchen while she puts dinner together for me. I can smell strips of chicken. Very tasty indeed. She really is good people. My staff could learn a lot from her on proper treatment of a cat.
5:50 PM. Contentedly eating from a plate of chicken strips. Mrs. McIntyre even dusted it with parmesan. Now this is service. Plus I have a good bowl of milk to wash it all down. Mrs. McIntyre is having some tea, chatting about her day.
6:05 PM. Mrs. McIntyre and I have bowls of ice cream. French vanilla, mind you, but it's tasty.
6:15 PM. I escort Mrs. McIntyre to the door, purring along the way. Have a good evening, and if you hear from my staff, send her home post haste.
6:25 PM. I decide to turn on the television, see what's on.
6:26 PM. You mean they're still playing that stupid game? Or is this a new one? Either way this stupid soccer tournament is going on for far too long. Look at that guy, howling like a baby over a fake injury. Crybaby.
6:27 PM. Thanks but no thanks. I'll skip this pointless crap and turn the television off for awhile.
6:40 PM. Searching the house for an errant ball of string. No success yet.
6:59 PM. Back in living room. Let's see if that soccer game is over.
7:00 PM. Well, well, well. This is what you get when you let a bunch of psychotic soccer fans get together in the same stadium. Riots, bloodshed, a stadium on fire, and people being slaughtered in the stands.
I wish I could say I was surprised, but I'm not.
7:05 PM. Watching one group of fans being tortured live on television by other group of fans. Here I thought drawing and quartering a man was something left behind centuries ago...
7:15 PM. The broadcaster actually said it. Took him long enough. O the humanity indeed!
7:20 PM. The head of FIFA turns up at a press conference. This despite the fact that the rioters are still in full bloodlust mode, the stadium is on fire, and scores of people are already dead. You'd think he'd be trying to stop the riot.
Let's hear what Blatter has to say.
7:21 PM. Blatter apparently thinks that decapitations and mass slaughter are just an isolated incident, and it shouldn't mar the rest of the tournament.
Sure. And I've got beachfront property in Saskatchewan for sale if you believe that.
8:05 PM. Staring out the front window. Really, what's taking the staff? How long does it take to say I do, cut the cake, give a few speeches, and peel a garter off a leg without using your hands?
8:35 PM. Turning on television again. Hey, it's that Star Trek reboot sequel. Okay, what the heck, at least it'll keep me awake.
8:50 PM. Five minutes of listening to Scotty talking and I'm finding myself seeing clan tartan colours everywhere.
9:10 PM. Ah, there's Benedict Cumberbatch. It's strange, but he kind of reminds me of a cat somehow.
The staff is in lust with him. She keeps wishing there were more Sherlock episodes in a season.
10:39 PM. Here we go. The whole Kirk is dying, but the audience knows he's not really going to die, because it's way too early in the reboot series to do that, and besides, Kirk only can die by having a bridge thrown on him.
You know, aside from switching the characters around, they already played this scene in Wrath of Khan, right?
10:59 PM. Movie over. All's well that ends well. Kirk lives to be a charming scoundrel another day. Spock continues his streak of looking constipated. McCoy looks like he needs a drink.
11:00 PM. National news coming on. Anchor looks grave as she announces hundreds of dead rioting fans of both teams involved in the World Cup game earlier tonight. On behalf of all cats, knowing how insane soccer fans are, I'll just say it: I told you so.
She says the images might be shocking for some viewers, which of course is meant to get everyone to pay close attention.
11:10 PM. Remote camera footage from the interior of the stadium. Even at this late hour, people are still bludgeoning each other.
A guy looking strangely like Mel Gibson is wearing blue warpaint and holding a severed head in his hand, screaming something incoherent.
Nicely done, humanity, you've thrown yourselves right back into the Dark Ages.
11:40 PM. Local news. Forecaster deliriously cheerful. I don't understand how they can be that cheerful.
I really don't understand how they can be wrong 90% of the time and still keep a job.
3:10 AM. Awakened out of a doze by the sound of a car door closing. Is that the staff? Finally???
3:11 AM. Meowing incessantly as the staff comes in and greets me. Sniffing at her as she takes her shoes off. Hey, wait a minute...you had sex!
Staff, what have I told you many times about your horrible taste in men?
3:18 AM. The staff heads for upstairs. I find myself quite perplexed and put out. At least she didn't bring the guy home.
Tomorrow morning, staff, you and I are going to have a long talk about your wretched taste in men, is that understood? I said, is that understood?