lady_branwyn: (Default)
An elegy for Mike the Cat who guarded the British Museum for many years. The last four lines are widely quoted, but I finally found the entire poem on the amazing Purr-n-Fur.org.uk website.

TO THE MEMORY OF
"MIKE,"
THE MUSEUM CAT.
Died Jan. 15, 1929,
Aged Twenty Years.

All ye that learnèd hours beguile
In the Museum’s dingy pile,
And daily through its portals pass,
And marked the cat upon the grass
That sat — alas, he sits no more! —
Give ear a moment, I implore,
And mourn the fate of poor old Mike!
When shall we ever see his like?
No fate untimely snatched away
This pussy-cat Methuselah;
When Death removed him, he had near
Accomplishèd his twentieth year:
For since we are a learned crew
In the Museum — Michael knew
Of Argus, that famed hound of old
Who lived through hunger, heat and cold;
And when his lord came home at last,
When twenty years were well-nigh past,
Looked up, and wagged his tail, and died:
But Michael, stiff with feline pride,
Vowed, by a dog he’d not be beat,
And set himself to cap that feat.
He’d sit and sun himself sedately,
No Sphinx or Sekhmet looked more stately;
He cared not in the very least
For human being, bird or beast;
He let the pigeons eat their fill,
Nor even one was known to kill;
But scared them if they stayed too nigh
By the sole terror of his eye.
To public, and officials too,
He showed the scorn which was their due:
And if perchance some forward minx
Dared to go up and stroke the Sphinx —
Her hand shot back, all marked with scores
From the offended Michael’s claws.
And he who writes these lines, one day
Ventured a compliment to pay,
And for reply received a bite —
No doubt you’ll answer, "Serve him right!"
So out of all the human crew
He cared for none — save only two:
For these he purred, for these he played,
And let himself be stroked, and laid
Aside his anti-human grudge —
His owner — and Sir Ernest Budge!
A master of Egyptian lore,
No doubt Sir Ernest had a store
Of charms and spells decipherèd
From feline mummies long since dead,
And found a way by magic art
To win that savage feline heart.
Each morn Sir Ernest, without qualms,
Would take up Michael in his arms;
And still remained his staunchest friend,
And comforted his latter end.
Old Mike! Farewell! We all regret you,
Although you would not let us pet you;
Of cats the wisest, oldest, best cat,
This be your motto — Requiescat!

F. C. W. Hiley
lady_branwyn: (Default)
Not satisfied with playing with the laptop, Kimba managed to sneak into the attic yesterday. There is a half-height door leading from the upstairs bedroom into storage space under the eaves. We made the mistake of giving her a moment of opportunity, and she took it with astounding speed. She was very excited to discover this new place and completely ignored my calls to come back. Every whisker was standing on end, and her eyes were completely round. She waded in the loose insulation then wandered off into the unfinished crawl space on the far side of the house. We can't fit back there, so we had to wait for her to (hopefully) come back. Luckily, she's easily bored and needs to know where her people are, so it didn't take long. I grabbed her as soon as she was in range. Her whiskers were decorated with fluff, and I was ready for a stiff drink.
lady_branwyn: (Kimba)
This eveing, I made the mistake of leaving the laptop turned on and unattended. When I returned, Kimba was perched on it listening to Finnish epic metal. She had discovered that it makes a toasty-warm cat bed and squawked angrily when I evicted her. She had managed to
--disconnect the Internet
--turn on an audio CD
--hit the capslock
--send a command to an Excel worksheet
Not bad for someone without opposable thumbs.
lady_branwyn: (Kimba)
Originally posted by [livejournal.com profile] fidesquaerens at itty bitty outrage committee
Originally posted by [personal profile] kylecassidy at post
Via Citykitties (emphasis mine):

A good samaritan found this cat today in a gutter by Clark Park, half dead. He is now at the Cat Doctor with a body temperature of 90 (normal is 102) and blood PCV of 8. The Cat Doctor housecat, Diamond, is currently donating blood to save his life. During the exam, the vet found that this cat has a microchip. When called, his "owners" reported that he was acting sick, so they put him outside. If this makes you as angry as it makes us, please channel your anger in one of two ways: visit our website at www.citykitties.org and make a donation to help us pay for his care, or share this post and encourage others to do so.




Click to donate.





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I would prefer a third option to channel my anger: bludgeon the "owners" with a baseball bat.
lady_branwyn: (Kimba)
Very entertaining. Demented but in a good way. Some of the humor could be fully appreciated only by a cat-owner.
lady_branwyn: (Kimba)
I brought home leftover fish and chips for them and even cut the fish into little morsels. Not one of them was interested.

Edit: Ann, I'm making magic cookie bars this afternoon (though I am using half butterscotch bits instead of all chocolate chips). Nom.

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