Backstage at the metablog

A couple of days back, 4th Dwarf suggested, in a debunking tone, that I had not in fact eaten Bucky Katt. Well, duh. The Irregulars are never what they seem. But since Shorty has twitched up the curtain on our artifice anyway, maybe it's time raise it further, give you an ESI metablog studio tour, and show you our secrets.

Most of the time, the ESIs choose not to play up the endless rehearsals, sweat and technical know-how that go into producing this blog. We prefer to make it look all spontaneous, effortless and airy. But our cast and crew are pros, and when those megawatt studio lights are switched off, we're busy in the shadows backstage and offstage, preparing carefully for our respective roles.

It's not all glamour. The Dwarf, f'rinstance, has to wear painful elevator lifts in his bootees when he blogs, to jack him up to regulation dwarf height. He's much shorter in real life. I wear contacts onblog, coke-bottle glasses offstage, and shades on the street to stay incognito. I value my privacy. (I'll have you know, though, that my ears are just as big and pointy as they look on the blog, and all natural. No implants here. I digress.) Of course, too, every one of us has had a stunt double stand in for us during particularly dangerous blog sequences. Insurance.

So, all of you deluded bog-standard kittybloggers in Greely who were horrified by that last Bucky post - you know who you are - get a grip! Enough with the hate mail, already! There is no Bucky Katt. There never was. Bucky was played by a guest actor. But - listen up, because this is really cool - Legal has just told me that it's okay to reveal that the Bucky episodes were in fact Bloggie nomination-worthy performances by an uncredited Brad Pitt.

You didn't know? C'mon! The eyes and hair had to be a dead giveaway! I've gotta say, right here and now, that the guy's a total pro and a joy to work with. And I want his limo.

Blogging with Freya

Freya is sitting on my lap as I type this. She's purring like a muffled V-8 engine where one of the cylinders is missing a stroke. Or maybe it's more like the slant-6 on the old Plymouth Valiant. Anyway, it's loud for a cat.

I'm playing easy to get and lavishing her with attention so that she won't feel the need to sleep on my head tonight. Not that she slept on my head last night. She found somewhere to hide instead. This morning, the only evidence I had that she hadn't run off or gotten trapped down in the caves was that her food was gone and her litter box had been recently used.

But I hear that if you play hard to get with cats they sleep with you. I'm all for having a cat on my lap. It's one of life's true pleasures. But there are certain intimacies I prefer to restrict to my own species.

Perhaps it's because of a trauma I suffered many years ago in my youth. I was about 29 when a friend went away for a week. In exchange for looking after her cat, she let me drive her sports car. The cat was just a young thing, a street cat my friend had taken in. Let's call her Stella. Stella had been in for all its shots, but they were waiting until after she'd gone into heat the first time to do the operation that would prevent unwanted kittens.

As it happened, Stella experienced her first estrus while she was in my care. I knew the signs well having spent some time in a place where cats were encouraged to multiply. But I had never seen a cat in heat who wasn't allowed to run out and take care of her needs. This poor kitty was in distress, yowling and writhing. I called the animal hospital and described the situation. "Is there anything I can do to make her more comfortable?"

"Well," said the young woman, "you could take a cotton swab, like a q-tip, lubricate it with something like vaseline, and stimulate her vaginal opening. That might make her more comfortable and even help it end sooner."

Did I do it? Did I create a tiny cat dildo and then manually stimulate a kitten to the point where she got what she needed?

On one side of the issue was potential humiliation. On the other side was leaving a poor creature in distress. When I have a choice like this, I have a motto: The Dwarf does the difficult thing.

Was it good for Stella? I don't know, but she seemed a bit calmer afterwards.

As for me, there's a reason that I didn't have q-tips in my house even before they turned out to be deadly.

Now I'm a Kitty Blogger

Here she is. I wasn't blowing smoke last week. I am the proud host of a famous Ottawa blog cat. Do you recognize her? It's Freya, the friendly hunting cat who shares an apartment with Megan of Asteroideapress. Megan is away looking for g-spots or something and kindly offered to let Freya stay with me for a few days.

Unlike less sophisticated cats, Freya travels in a cosy backpack rather than in an uncomfortable plastic crate.

She seems to be settling in well. I am hoping she will get along well with the rodents and other creatures who share the place with me.

Cryptic Word Cop: A chewy fruit cookie?

Or did you mean Pure Milk Chocolate Covered Mint Oreo?

* Baylinkbot is a Fig Newton of my imagination.

* No longer a fig-newton of my imagination, Our Lady of Weight Loss: Miraculous and Motivational Musings from the Patron Saint of Permanent Fat Removal - is HERE!

* No doubt a Saxon stronghold in the 10th century, the Normans built the substantial keep in the 11th century. ... In the late 20th century the castle emerged as a fig-newton of my imagination.

* Please explain or better yet show me that coydogs and lynx cats can not exist. I have ridden a mule, was that a fig-newton of my imagination? Give us just one fact Carico, just one.

* I’m sure you wish it were so, good nurse, but alas: Lanny is merely a fig newton of my imagination.

Word Cop: have need of or desire for?

Or, did you mean WONT?

*I looked him up on the internets as I am want to do, and found out he was later in a well respected hardcore band and was even a Versace model at one point.

*After driving Dave nuts for a few weeks he created my blog then as I am want to do, I did nothing with it for another few weeks.

*I was sitting at work, muttering to myself as I am want to do, nibbling on a pistachio nut and avoiding the interminable data entry part of my job

*I'm still combining poorly, but I am taking it slow, so as not to become militant, as I am want to do with eating choices, making it difficult to stick with it.

*She was so personable and kept talking to me about all sorts of things, her piercings and experiences, and I kept babbling as I am want to do in these kinds of situations, and after a few minutes I felt completely at ease – as if it was normal for me to be lying half-naked on a table with a woman cleaning my inner labia.