A Day In The Life Of A Cat

And now it is the cat's turn to have her say on all things Olympics on the day of the opening ceremonies.

7:29 AM. Slowly waking up. Dreamed of watching flying lunches on my lawn. Which happens to be a good way to spend some time. Note to self: spend time today on the couch watching those flying lunches peck away at the grass, having no idea that I’m even there.

7:33 AM. Well, staff, there you are. It’s about time. Now, how about you start seeing to making me some breakfast?

7:36 AM. The staff provides me with a bowl of tuna and milk. And for some inexplicable reason, some of those field rations.

7:37 AM. Starting to help myself to some of that tuna. I will leave the field rations entirely alone. I wonder if the staff will finally get the hint in regards to that.

7:49 AM. The staff is on her way out the door for that work place she goes off to. Well, farewell, staff, and don’t let yourself get lost when you come home. I fully expect and insist that you turn up on time so that you can cater to my whims.

7:56 AM. Sitting on the back of the couch, staring outside. I hear the distant barking of that annoying mutt from down the road. What purpose hounds serve in the greater scheme of things puzzles me.

8:03 AM. Watching the flying lunches on my lawn. You’re lucky I’m behind this window. Otherwise it would be a very bad day for you. And a rather delicious one for me, but that’s beside the point, right?

8:19 AM. Staring out onto the back yard. Movement among the woods. Watching carefully.

8:20 AM. That idiot dog is at the property line, looking up at my house. He looks as if he’s wondering whether or not he should come onto my property. For whatever reason, he decides to leave. So much the better. Good riddance to you, dog.

8:46 AM. Channel surfing for a bit. A news anchor is talking with a guest, who says something about it taking three days into the Olympics before the first headless torso bobs up in the water live on television during a rowing competition. The anchor looks baffled. Well, in my experience, anchors these days generally are baffled.

8:49 AM. Turning off the television. I think I’ve heard enough of headless bodies and predictions of mass vomit for one day. Honestly, humans can’t even vomit with dignity. They could take some lessons from cats.

Time for a nap.

11:51 AM. Waking up. Big stretch. Slight yawn. Feeling peckish.

11:53 AM. With much reluctance, I eat some of those field rations.

12:03 PM. Watching the noon news. Lots about that opening ceremony in a few hours. Blather about if Rio is ready or not. Footage of crews desperately finishing last minute details. Questions about what the torch lighting nonsense will be like. Speculation as to how many visitors will come down sick with Zika or something else. Predictions by an “expert” that this will go down as the worst Olympics of all time.

You know, we cats would manage much better than humans at organizing these things, if you ask me, and of course you are asking me.

1:05 PM. Sitting on the couch, musing on what kind of events a cat organized Olympics would have. Scratching posts, jumping from high platforms to other high platforms, marks for best purrs, who can chase the red laser dot the fastest...

4:37 PM. Waking up from my latest nap. A cat can never have too much sleep in a given day, after all.

5:26 PM. The staff comes through the front door. Well, it’s about time, staff. We’ve had discussions of headless corpses and vomit on the television today. Honestly, just what is this world coming to anyway?

5:45 PM. Supervising the staff while she makes dinner. I smell roasting meat. Very good, staff. Have you considered perhaps sautéing it in honey?

6:29 PM. Dinner with the staff. Chunks of roast beef for me. That suits me very well indeed. For whatever reason, she thinks fried tomatoes and sprouts are good additions to the meat. The ways of humans are a puzzling dilemma sometimes, if you ask me, and of course you are asking me.

6:42 PM. Watching the staff while she does the dishes. You know, I’d help, really I would, but I don’t really care to get my paws wet in all that dishwater. It’s a cat thing. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.

7:11 PM. The staff has turned on the Olympics coverage. The anchors are prattling on about the opening ceremony, the last minute preparations, and the reassurances of the local organizing committee that everything is well in hand, and they have no idea whose body was recovered on the beach at Ipanema a half hour ago. 

7:39 PM. With a look at her watch, the staff fumes about how long things actually take for these opening ceremonies to get started. Staff, I will remind you that at the best of times these things are bizarre artistic displays that no one really gets, and which go on for hours and hours. And this is not the best of times, what with headless torsos and vomit and sewage in the waters at these games. I predict disaster and eye rolling and what were we thinking moments aplenty for two weeks running. I stand by what I said: cats should organize this, with gold medals given for best technique at unwinding a ball of yarn.

8:41 PM. So according to those anchors, the Parade of Nations should start anytime now. Which means it could be anywhere from fifteen minutes to an hour away.

9:31 PM. And there come the Canadians, smiling and waving. Staff? What is it with whoever designs these things that makes them hate the world so much that they design something so ugly? I mean, honestly. I hope the closing ceremony uniforms look better than this. Well, I’ll say this much for Canadian anchors: at least they know when to shut up and let the images speak for themselves.

11:42 PM. The opening ceremonies are finally finished. The staff thinks it could have gone faster. I am inclined to agree with her. And it would have been far more entertaining if the whole thing had been devised by cats. 

11:51 PM. The staff is off to bed. I will stay down here, staff, and contemplate the notion of running the hundred meter dash up the stairs at four in the morning, followed by an impressive long jump right onto your stomach.

A Day In The Life Of A Dog

The Olympics are nearly upon us, what with the opening ceremonies starting on Friday, so I thought it would be ideal to get the perspective of the resident dog and cat on all matters Olympics. The IOC and the local Rio organizing committee might not like this, but to them I can only give them a two finger salute. Middle fingers in both cases. As always, I start out with the dog's point of view.

7:23 AM. Waking up at home. Dreamed extensively. Visions of giant mosquitoes making my day an ordeal. Which is odd, because really, at this time of year, the mosquitoes aren’t that much of a problem anymore. I wonder where that came from.

7:26 AM. Staring outside. Pleasant looking conditions. I look forward to getting out there and having my first run for the day. However, first things first, and let’s face it, this is an important thing... breakfast comes first. Which reminds me, when is the human coming downstairs?

7:29 AM. Wagging my tail with a furious energy as the human arrives downstairs. Hello, human! So nice to see you. Say, have you put any thought into the whole issue of making breakfast for me?

7:31 AM. Breakfast time! Devouring a bowl of kibbles! Yum yum yum!

7:34 AM. Out the door for my first run of the day. See you later, human! 

7:39 AM. Running through the back fields, barking my head off. 

7:47 AM. Saying hello to a turtle crossing my path. Say, has it ever occurred to you to maybe pick up the pace a little?

8:02 AM. Stopping by to see Spike the Magnificent, Tormentor of Squirrels. Hello, Spike!

8:04 AM. Spike and I compare notes on movements of the enemy. The squirrels seem to be stocking more and more of their food stores at the moment. Spike thinks it might be a sign of an early winter. Well, Spike, if that’s the case, some of the humans might not like that. I don’t know why. I mean, snow’s a perfectly wonderful thing, isn’t it?

8:05 AM. I relate to Spike my dream of mosquitoes. He suggests the news might have been an influence. What with those Olympic things starting way, way, way down south in Brazil today, and all those stories over the last few months about some disease local mosquitoes there carry. Oh, good. As long as they’re not here.

8:08 AM. Spike and I wonder why there aren’t any chasing the tail events at the Olympics.

8:12 AM. Well, Spike, I’m off. I have to make sure my human doesn’t decide to go for a ride without me.

8:20 AM. Passing by the property where that cranky cat lives. I hesitate about the idea of seeing if she’s around. I decide it’s probably a better idea not to. She is pretty cranky, after all. You know, come to think of it, I wonder why there aren’t any Olympic events where dogs can chase cats up trees and get judged for their technique and barking prowess. Probably because deep down, in places where we dogs don’t even like to admit... cats really do rule the world.

Oh, come on, Loki, don’t start thinking crazy thoughts.

8:31 AM. Coming home. Human! Loki, Chewer of Slippers and Annoyer of Slippers has returned!

11:29 AM. Waking up from my nap. Oh, good, I haven’t slept through lunch. That affords me plenty of opportunities to mooch when the time comes.

12:08 PM. The human is having lunch. I have succeeded in mooching a couple of dinner rolls. With cheese! Yum yum yum!

12:26 PM. Watching the noon news with the human. A story about the Rio Olympics opening ceremony tonight and all sorts of concerns about how the whole thing is sure to be a disaster. Really? Are we talking landslide or earthquake disaster, or just someone having a bad hair day disaster?

1:19 PM. Barking at that fiend, the mailman, as he drops by with his car to leave some no doubt horrible stuff in the mailbox. Get lost, you monster!

5:51 PM. Supervising the human while she makes dinner. Smells good. 

6:17 PM. Dinner with the human. I content myself eating a couple of blueberry and bacon pancakes.  Very tasty... the dinner of champions!

7:01 PM. Coverage of the Opening Ceremonies getting underway. Cheerful faces from the anchors on television.

7:48 PM. The human wonders when the actual opening ceremonies are going to get started, as opposed to the endless preshow. She says this is as drawn out as the Oscars, which we do watch, and that Super Bowl thing, which we don’t watch.

9:31 PM. Parade of Nations during the Opening Ceremonies. The Canadian team comes out. The human is pleased, of course. And when the human is pleased, I naturally wag my tail. 

10:58 PM. The Parade of Nations finally ends. The human wakes up.

11:39 PM. The human remarks to me that when the games finally end, assuming they haven’t been a total meltdown of sewage, violence, and killer mosquitoes, they might end up being at least a little less obnoxious than the Sochi Games and the Atlanta games. She also tells me “there was once a senile old bastard who ran the Olympics who called every single games the best ever.” Her tone suggests she doesn’t think much of him.

11:55 PM. The human is off to bed. Well, good night, human. I’m going to sleep down here, and dream of doing the doggie high jump.

Booting Out The Foreign Secretary

New British Cabinet Settles In To Deal With Brexit; Foreign Secretary Can’t Find Hairbrush

London (Reuters) In the wake of the Brexit vote to leave the European Union, the United Kingdom seems not so united. Scotland and Northern Ireland voted to remain, while England and Wales chose to leave. The emotional scars between both the Leave and Remain campaigns are fresh. Former Conservative prime minister David Cameron resigned from his office. Tory politician Boris Johnson, who was one of the loudest voices in favour of leaving, chose not to pursue the post of PM. Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn lost a vote of confidence from his party. UKIP leader Nigel Farage, another voice in favour of departure, chose to resign from public life.  Theresa May has ascended to become prime minister, and must now navigate the tumultuous waters that make up the Brexit divorce from Europe, and all of its potential consequences- economic, social, political, and more. 

That has included a cabinet shakeup. While Boris Johnson has been heavily criticized for his decision not to pursue the prime minister’s office- not because that many people wanted to see him at Ten Downing, but because the man was shirking taking responsibility for the calamity he had helped unleashed- that didn’t stop the man from getting into the new cabinet. Some describe Johnson as the British Donald Trump, and others calling him a modern day Barney Rubble. Long since prone to gaffes and head shaking comments on many issues, the former mayor of London rose to national politics alongside former schoolmate and- some say- bitter rival Cameron more recently. His advocacy of the Leave campaign was in opposition to Cameron, who wanted the United Kingdom to maintain its relationship with the rest of Europe.

Johnson often has the look of a man who’s slept in his own clothes and has never heard of a hairbrush. Perpetually unkempt and rumpled, he has a long standing reputation as something of a dimwit, which makes one wonder just how he got as far as he has in life. Certainly this reporter’s experience with the man confirms that reputation. Since taking on the post, he’s refused to apologize for the “rich thesaurus” of insults and controversial remarks he’s made about many parties, caused US Secretary Of State John Kerry to shake his head with dismay in a joint press conference, and earned the disdain of the Queen after calling her the Corgi Queen.

“We are not amused,” the Queen was heard to say. “And we are considering reopening the Tower’s prison section to house that bloody git.”

Git, the English insult for an unpleasant or silly person, is one apt description for Johnson. So when his oldest friends describe him as a tosser, prat, and wanker, it’s not that hard to disagree, particularly after watching the unkempt oaf blunder his way from pratfall to pratfall. At a recent press conference, Johnson got caught up in his own turn of phrase. “Look, it’s all very simple. The timing wasn’t right for my ascension to the prime minister’s office. I wasn’t being a gutless coward, despite what you people might think. I wasn’t shirking my responsibilities. By the way, what does shirking mean?”

Johnson looked confused for a moment. One thinks that’s his default expression. “Anyway, I decided that it would be much better to not put my hat into the proverbial cube to be PM. It would be better if I ended up in the cabinet, where I could spend a year or two thoroughly undermining whoever ended up being the PM until I’m ready to be PM, in just the most underhanded and despicable way. Bwaaaah ha ha ha ha!” This reporter can attest to the fact that Johnson’s laughter is disturbing.

The secretary paused. “Wait, did I say that out loud or just think it? Please tell me I didn’t say that out loud.”

“You said it out loud,” one reporter replied.

“That’s just a matter of you said I said. You can’t prove a thing,” Johnson boasted, grinning like the halfwit that he is.

“Actually all those cameras recorded it, and lots of us have digital recorders,” another reporter told him.

Johnson’s eyes went wide. “Well... um. Yes. Right. Well. Well, all I can say to that is... I was just joking. Really, believe me, it’s just a joke, that’s all. I am not going to do a single thing to undermine the PM. I swear, my saying that was just pulling a gag.”

For the last word, we turn to the former Foreign Secretary, who was removed from his post. It was a startling decision, given the high esteem and respect given to him during his time in the position. Many world leaders expressed disappointment in the switch, while testifying to their appreciation of the former Secretary. “A wonderful diplomat, very thoughtful and articulate, always the right touch in what he had to say,” Chancellor Angela Merkel remarked.

French President Francois Hollande was in agreement. “The finest chief diplomat I can think of to ever serve the people of the United Kingdom, a true statesman and a gentleman. Why Prime Minister May chose that despicable idiot to replace him is just... baffling.”

The former Foreign Secretary is disappointed in the turn of events. Reporters met him at his home near London, asking for his statement on the cabinet switch. He stared at all of us in that quiet, wise way, his wide eyes taking everything in, his bright red hair flowing in the wind. And former Foreign Secretary Beaker spoke.

“Meep! Meep meep meep! Meep meep meep meep!”