Case of the Disappearing Cat

Bear Tail or Bear Tale

Bear had an appointment with Dr. Bratton at 8:45 this morning. Today was the day for his annual wellness exam and rabies shot.

Normally, my feline pal is ready to bolt out the door long before 8:45, but not this morning. He was nowhere to be found, even when I called to him and shook a bag of treats. It's amazing how cats know when it's time to go to the veterinarian. I swear I never tell him.

When I went into the basement to retrieve his cat carrier, Bear briefly reappeard at the top of the stairs, with a, my-suspicion-was-confirmed, look on his face. It took another five minutes to find the guy. He was trying to hide under the sheets. As intuitive as he is, he's not always that great at hiding. His tail usually gives him away.

Trying to extricate a 15 pound cat from a bedsheet is worse than trying to lead two 1300 pound thoroughbred mares back to the barn, through a thunder and lightening storm. The bedsheet got tangled up and knotted between Bear and me, with black cat fur flying in at least 100 directions. When I finally got a secure hold of him sans the sheet, I attempted to put him in his cat carrier. I'm not kidding when I tell you he became the 15 pound cat from hell, attaching himself to the top of the carrier with his scimitar-like claws. The cat carrier was supposed to be housing him, instead Bear was carrying the carrier. More fur.

Needless to say, we were late to the vet's office. I came in covered with black cat hair. A cute, white Scottie terrier, also there for spring shots, cowered in the corner because he was terrified of this large growling cat carrying its own cat carrier. 

One really good thing, Bear is always good for the vet. Dr. Bratton gave him a clean bill of health with a "See ya next year, Bear."

Bear liked driving back home in the truck, IN his cat carrier, with the seat belt around the carrier. Currently he's napping, the rabies shot knocked him for a loop. I may be taking a 20-minute happy nap later this afternoon, myself.

Flamingo Girl

As I said in a previous blog, I get inspiration from you wild and wooly Horse Pucky readers. In this case, it's a loveable Floridian who claims I'm a "tacky-flamingo girl", which is  based on a comment I made on one of his blog posts.

I hate to admit this, but I LOVE those tacky, pink flamingo statues. "How could you," you ask, as you roll your eyes in disbelief? Because I think they're hilarious. Every time I see one, I laugh. They're especially funny when they come in groups of 50.

Cohorts of mine strategically placed 50 pink flamingo statues in a neighbor's yard to celebrate their friend's 50th wedding anniversary. What a comically clever and whimsically wacky idea!

For those of you who are into these delightful, amusing "birds", you can also purchase a 17" high neon flamingo. Think of all the fun you'll have, especially if the neon "bird" flashes its feathers on and off. 

Now I know what to get my friends and family for their birthdays. By the way, when is everyone's birthday?

Lern How 2 Rite Good

Riting Writing good well creatively effectively (the hell with it) is hard difficult.  Its It's an art form. Peeple People hoo who write rite write understand watt I'm saying. Thare are sum daze when I cant come up with a singel idea, such as this evenings blog poste post.

The moral of this minee lesson: Lern how 2 rite good. U may becum a famus riter sumday Sunday sumday. And that aint no horse pucky.

Potty Mouth and the IRS

One of the worst careers in the world, for me, would be to become an accountant. Just ask Jon. He'll tell ya'. I was working on my income tax on Friday and decided to call him to vent about the IRS. I used  every profanity known to mankind.

The Federal tax forms weren't too bad. It was those @#%* New York State forms that sent me into a mental state of major meltdown. There is no personal exemption this year, no break for senior citizens, and just no way I could get around paying the bastards in Albany.

To add injury to insult, our NYS judges just received a $10,000 stipend added to their six figure incomes. Part of that $10K goes toward the purchase of judicial robes to the tune of $400 each. All I can say is, there must be mighty large, deep pockets sewn into those robes.

Next year, I'm going to have an accountant do my taxes early. Jon insists on it. He was shocked to learn some new swear words he's never heard of before; especially from his "sweet, little, lotus blossom". AND he was in the Army.

 As far as accountants are concerned, I'm going to send each one I know a sympathy card. The cretins in Albany, aka NY politicians, are getting a bag of horse pucky as soon as I get my passport updated.

Thanks for the Inspiration

It's about time I thanked all of you who follow Horse Pucky and especially those of you who take the time to comment on my blog posts. You give me mucho  inspiration, Your comments are funnier than the Horse Pucky posts. They make my day and give me incentive to write more frequently.

Be sure to follow some of my favorite blogs listed in the column, to the right of these posts. There are some very talented people out there, from all walks of life, who have become an online family for me.

I just want to say: YOU'RE APPRECIATED. Consider yourselves hugged and thanks for the inspiration.

A Bear in the Driveway

I hit a bear in our driveway. The next thing I did was call my auto insurance company to file an accident report. A very pleasant young lady answered the phone and asked what type of vehicular accident I had.

"I hit a bear in our driveway", I exclaimed! "Omigosh", she said! "I didn't know there were any bears in your area." It was at this point when I realized, she thought I hit a real bear.  'H-m -m-m,' I mused, 'I can have a lot of fun with this one.'

"Are you okay", she asked? "Yeah, I'm okay, and the bear is still standing, but my brand new pick up truck is in really bad shape." The young lady asked, "Is it safe to send out a claims adjuster. I mean with bears and all in your area?" "Sure," I said. "Just make sure s/he brings along a very large sack, a tranquilizer gun, and a can of tuna." "TUNA?!" "Yeah, it's Friday, and bears eat tuna on Friday, during Lent."

By this time, I had the poor girl, who was only trying to do her job, all flustered and nervous about the possibility of the claims adjuster being mauled by a slightly wounded, disgruntled bear. So, I told her the truth. "I hit a carved bear in our driveway. It came with the house when we purchased it. I got my three month old pick up truck wedged between the stone wall that lines the driveway and the wooden bear. In order to cause the least amount of damage to the truck, I had to gun it forward to dislodge it from between a literal rock and a hard place." "Whew," she said with relief. "I'm glad it wasn't a real bear."

The wooden bear was fine; a carving from a 100 year old maple tree. My pick up truck wasn't. There was $3600 worth of dents, scrapes, and scratches to my recently purchased Chevy Silverado. The damages were totally covered by my insurance company with one stipulation. The claims adjuster said, "You WILL remove that bear from the driveway asap...RIGHT?!" "You bet," I enthusiastically responded!

The truck was restored to brand new. (In fact, I still have it.) We moved the bear to the side yard and called the place Bear Hollow Farm, where Mr. Bear got decorated for all the holidays and eventually went back to the original owners when we sold the farm.

And we all lived happily ever after. Except for the poor girl who is still confused by the bear accident.