Caturday!

And we pulled a Rupert today, too. Blog, read, blog, write, putz around, and then we're gonna watch a movie, yay.

It's getting close to surgery scheduling time.

Have I mentioned how much I hate being cut on? I like to think my integument would go with me to my grave, intact. I've been lucky, never a broken bone in my long life, and this is my fifth surgery EVER (that includes the tonsillectomy as a kid, and the replacement of my left knee, and the two arthroscopic knee surgeries which resulted from accidents).

This will also be arthroscopic surgery. They don't use anesthesia for that anymore. They give you a drug called Versed, or *twilight.* It puts you under, but you can regain consciousness during. I seem to remember doing that briefly, but they hadn't started sawing on my leg yet at the time (thankyoudeity). I seem to remember someone putting their hand on my eyelids, and a voice saying "Close your eyes. Close your eyes."

I hate losing consciousness. I don't like pain much, either, but you know what, pain is something we can all put up with. It's no fun, and it can be depressing. But if the choice is taking pain drugs that turn you into a zombie or suffering a grinding pain for the hours that you're awake, but being mentally functional, I'll take the pain. And going under is the worst kind of loss of control, isn't it? I have to do this. I keep telling myself I have to do this. But I have weird reactions to drugs, not having taken many in my life. Most painkillers just knock me out for days. Vicodin gives me projectile vomits, and the last time I had Versed, I slept for three days. I just could not open my eyes, except to drink and pee. It felt like a very bad binge drunk hangover. So I guess I can look forward to a little Percocet and a lot of pain (I hate Percocet too, but my body tolerates it -- I lose my appetite and I can't sleep, but at least I'm not horking my innards out or unconscious for more than 12 hours at a stretch).

Of the 260+ books on the list for the year, I've barely read 60. Bah. Perhaps I'll save the fiction to read post-surgery. A lot of George Eliot, some Tolstoy, Don Quixote (I'm re-reading it), some Flannery O'Connor and Wallace Stegner and William Faulkner. I guess I'd better try reading all the film books before surgery. Can I do it? There's only 20 or so. I'll have to re-read Kurosawa's Something Like An Autobiography, and also Stuart Galbraith's The Emperor And The Wolf, a book on the long filmic collaboration of Kurosawa Akira and Mifune Toshiro.

So, books, film, and music, all geared up and ready. Now to put the house in a sparkling state of cleanliness and shut down the food garden for the year. All the barrels and pots need to be scrubbed, bleached, hosed down. The deck needs to be sealed. Can I do it? I hate being a gimp, I really do. I used to do all this stuff myself, for years. Now I need to rely on others. But hopefully, this surgery will put me in a position where I can exercise my way back to a reasonable shape. I don't need to be able to run up or down the stairs in the dark, four at a time, like I used to. I just need to be able to haul brush down the hill. Weed for 10 hours at a stretch, instead of having to get down off the hill because my leg is cramping. Is that too much to ask?

Enough whining. Tomorrow we have a hike planned. Let us hope that cramps, pains, etc. are under control by mid-day and we can at least try for a mile. And then it's home, sweet home, and playing with fancy machines. And eating some fine, fine ribs and roast potatoes and stir-fried choy with my two dearest friends. The obligatory tormenting of the resident felines proceeds apace. They got their pillow moved from the middle of the bed to one side, and judging from the chorus of howls that went up, you would have thought we dissected them individually without anesthesia. How pussy-whipped are we? The pillow is back in the middle of the bed, even though all the little bastids are now sleeping sprawled out all over, everywhere *except* the pillow.

A pleasant Caturday, all!

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Health: Swine Flu

Since we had so much success with the Large Hadron Collider Rap posted here, we absolutely (and our kittehs are unanimous in this) had to, had to, fucking HAD to post this heah H1N1 Rap:



Dr. Clarke, that handsome gentleman you see, is the Medical Director for the Long Island Rail Road. He's a finalist in a contest for the best PSA about swine flu. The denizens of La Casa de Los Gatos are way too fucking hot to dance to this, but we sure did give it two pointy ears up. OK, how 'bout four pointy claws up?



Science sure is sexy, ain't it, boyz and grlz?

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Politics: Yet Another Presidential Candidate

more cat pictures

You gotz mai vote, kyootee.

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Food: Recipe For AreToo

Lizzy's great pix of AreToo

If you haven't yet met AreToo, the delightful not-so-little droid resides over at 922 Cats. Check out his portly jabot-ed form and decide if this recipe is right for him:

Split Tummies

Ingredients

1/4 cup pine nuts
2 Tbsp olive oil (regular, not extra-virgin)
8 oz ground lamb
1 white onion, ~6 oz
1 tsp cumin seeds
1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon
Pinch ground cloves
Pinch grated nutmeg
2 tsp tomato paste
Big handful flat-leaf Italian parsley
Salt and pepper to taste
8 small Italian eggplants
3-4 cloves garlic
1 bay leaf
1 red and 1 green bell pepper
1 or more jalapeno chillies to taste
Pinch of sugar
2 Roma tomatoes

Cut the onion into two unequal pieces, one approximately 2 oz or less. Peel, and finely mince the smaller piece. Chop the remaining piece. Finely mince the garlic, jalapenos, and parsley. Skin, seed, and dice tomatoes.

In a dry skillet, toast the cumin seeds. Remove from stove when browned and fragrant. Set aside to cool, then grind in a clean coffee-grinder (preferably one reserved for grinding spices exclusively). Clean skillet, return to heat and toast the pine nuts, stirring and tossing constantly to avoid burning. Remove from stove and let cool. Return skillet to pan and brown the meat until it is no longer pink. Remove from heat. Drain off excess fat in the pan, then add a little olive oil (just enough to cook the minced onion, approximately 1/2 Tbsp). Add minced onion, stirring till it becomes transparent and smells cooked. Add the meat, stir well, add 1/2 tsp. cumin powder, stir. Add cinnamon, clove, nutmeg, stir to mix, and add a little water, if needed, to keep from sticking. Mix in half the jalapeno, half the tomato paste, half the diced tomatoes, the pine nuts, and quarter of the parsley. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Stir till well mixed and set aside.

Using a vegetable or potato peeler, peel three or four strips of skin from the eggplant so that it has a striped appearance. Soak in salted water to cover, with a plate on top so they stay submerged. Let soak 30 min, then drain and pat dry with paper towels or kitchen towels.

Heat 1 Tbsp oil in a large flat skillet medium high and when the oil is hot, but not smoking, add the eggplants, cover, and cook for about 10 minutes, turn, and cook 10 minutes more. The eggplant should be a rich brown. Remove from heat and drain on paper towels.

Clean skillet, add remaining oil and chopped onion, stir for about two minutes or till golden and opaque. Add garlic, bay leaf, remaining jalapeno, stir well, then add bell peppers. Cook uncovered approximately five minutes, stirring, until vegetables are soft. Add half the diced tomatoes and stir. Dissolve remaining tomato paste and sugar in half a cup of hot water, add to skillet and cook till vegetables make a sauce. Season with salt and pepper. Set aside.

Slit eggplants to make a cavity and stuff with approximately 2 Tbsp meat mixture.

Preheat oven 375F. Place eggplants in a baking dish in a single layer, pour vegetable sauce over, and bake approximately 45 minutes. Serve, garnished with parsley.

No, AreToo, you mayn't have any. You probably wouldn't like it anyway. Have some FancyFeast instead.

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Caturday!

Leo gets a little love

This week's Caturday Guest Star is Leo of Casa de Charlotte della Luna.

Lucky Leo had the foresight to be born in Charlotte's neighborhood to a feral Maman. Obviously, Maman is not as dumb as some would believe, because she has managed to elude Charlotte, who's been trying to capture her for ethical and feraltarian spaying reasons. AND smart enough to convince Charlotte to continue feeding her and her litter through three such kitten-producing escapades. Pretty damn smart, say mi gatos, and we concur. Poor Charlotte admits as much:

Mamma cat is smart - too smart for Silly Charlotte.

Poor little Leo, though! In order to hook up with Charlotte, he had to get beaten bloody by the fan and fan belt on which he was sleeping.

Charlotte found poor little Leo under said vehicle after work on Friday, shivering and wet with a bloody, swollen eye. Silly Charlotte took Leo in, wrapped him in a warm towel and administered a saline drip and he made it through the night.

The handsome redhead in Charlotte's life shows off his cast

Wow! That Charlotte is one competent, caring hoomin! We here wouldn't know the first thing about administering a saline drip. All that, and she's quite the artist and photographer, too. Not to mention one of the best things to happen to New Orleans. Just reading her blog will make you want to take the next plane there.

Leo's little adventure left him with two broken legs. Fortunately the damage to his eye was not as bad as it looks. He got a splint for one leg, pain meds, oral antibiotics and otic antibiotics. And he got himself a hoomin who was bringing him meals in bed. Is that a sweet deal? Way sweet!

Leo gets his munchies on

Despite his many injuries and medications, Leo decided to be extremely feisty, which led to poor Charlotte having to hold him and pet him and watch him, as she says, like his maman should have. At any rate, all the luvin' had a soothing effect on Leo, who is smart enough to figure out when he's got a good deal. He has decided he luvs Charlotte right back (good move, dude).

Leo succumbs to Charlotte's charms

Charlotte took Leo to a kitty specialist to get his poor damaged legs fixed. We bow our heads in respect, having a few gold-plated gatos right here at La Casa. It's not cheap fixing what ails them.

Charlotte's description of that demanding little kitten's life right now:

Silly Charlotte has been holding Leo in her lap since she got home from work today. If SC puts Leo down he meows loudly and belligerently. He cranes his neck to keep SC in sight. He only hushes when SC puts him back in her lap and strokes his soft orange fur. Leo doesn’t want anyone other than SC.. Leo luvs SC and SC luvs Leo.

Does that sound like a silly kitty to you? He's got it all figured out. Charlotte's wrapped around Leo's little paw.

Lucky Leo has a caring hoomin

He's had surgery on his two broken legs at Southeast Veterinary Specialists in Metairie. (They deserve a plug for fixing Leo!) Leo had a break near his right hip and in his left front leg between his elbow joint and shoulder. Dr. Rose Lemarie was his miracle-working surgeon.

Poor, shaved Leo

Latest report on Leo's condition:

He is doing great since his surgery. His back right leg has a steel plate and screws, his left front has a steel pin and screws. The vet stressed especially not allowing him to pull with his front let and, let me tell you, that's harder than I had imagined to prevent! He is getting stronger everyday and wanting to run, jump and play like any normal kitten. He's like a little eel for twisting and slipping out of my grasp and making a run for freedom. It's a struggle and a challenge to keep him quiet. One good thing is he LOVES our dog, Bijan, so when he gets too hyper I put him in the pet taxi with the dog and he'll curl up next to him and go to sleep.

Awww!!!!

Leo captured briefly between wriggles, wiggles, and struggles

For more details on Leo's story and undoubtedly further updates (especially if you nag, we'll bet), here's Charlotte's Leo archive.

Leo, you lucky little kitty, La Casa de Los Gatos wishes you, and your wonderful hoomin, all the very best. Long may you make each other very, very happy!

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Caturday!

O hai. Iz AreToo

Yay, it's Caturday!

Even though illness plagues us, along with three snorin' schnorrers warming our toes, we nevertheless feel obliged to celebrate.

Today, Senator Clinton concedes the Democratic race to the legitimate winner, Senator Barack Obama. Today, we begin the task of healing the divisions in the party and uniting around our chosen candidate.

Today, the weather is perfect, blue and gold. It's warm &mdash neither too hot, as it was yesterday, nor too cool, as it was last week. Today, we've decided to stay in bed and drink a little codeine-laced cough syrup, so we're NOT to be held responsible for blathering on the blog.

Today's Caturday is guested &mdash hosted? by AreToo of 922Cats, with the kind permission of AreToo's hoomin and 922Cats' blogger, Lizzy.

AreToo, and his brother Angel, were born on March 21st, 2006, which makes him a little over two. Still just a teenage cat, though you wouldn't think it to look at his pleasingly plump figure.

AreToo displays pleasing plumpitude on piano stool

AreToo and Angel's mother suffered from distemper during her pregnancy, and despite producing six strapping handsome boy babies without poor consequence to herself, she unfortunately gave them all cerebellar hyperplasia to some degree. Not her fault. The feline distemper virus is one of the few that crosses the placental barrier.

Of course, donating to organizations like Alley Cat Allies and other feral rescue organizations helps to ensure that cerebellar hyperplasia has fewer victims to prey on with each passing year. Also, keeping one's own felines up to date on their vaccinations and helping out your local shelter with funds to vaccinate stray, homeless, feral, or plain old dumped felines reduces the available reservoir for the virus.

But more about AreToo. And before you ask, we are NOT besotted. That's just a vicious rumour spread by those who have failed to succumb to AreToo's evident charms. Here's a baby pic to adore:

The face that launched a thousand cans of Fancy Feast

And here's what Lizzy, AreToo's hoomin, had to say about our Caturday guest around the time that photo was taken:

When AreToo jumps into the refridgerator and starts to look around, for once the human does not reach for the camera!

And under Distinguishing Characteristics, AreToo's hoomin notes:

AreToo: The one who climbs - curtains, human, etc.

Note that this is not necessarily a bad thing. Well, OK, it's not great. Alright, alright, it's bad. But he's done worse!

ur hart. ai steelz it

Look, butter wouldn't melt in the kid's mouth, OK? Besides, do YOU know any kittens who DON'T climb? I thought not. AreToo, Angel, and their other four siblings had a great career planned for them as Library Cats at a small private college. But Fate, unfortunately &mdash or perhaps fortunately, because, let's face it, their life right now is pretty damn sweet &mdash had other ideas.

AreToo's hoomin holds forth on the "good" kitten of the Library Finishing School Six:

AreToo is still alive, in spite of his human's having promised repeatedly to "wring his little neck"... In the middle of the night, yet another horrific crash in the bathroom, yet another hydroponics is kittened, and Aretoo is found just sitting there looking quite interested and somewhat smug at the broken glass, greenery and water water everywhere. Just the day before the human had found the last leaf of the prayer plant uprooted and being wrestled over between the kittens. Oh, and of course, there was all that dirt all over the dining room rug, again... IAGTTC, IAGTTC, IAGTTC....

Apparently, AreToo's Hoomin has a mantra that can be reduced to an acronym: It's A Good Thing They're Cute.

Cyoot. Ai haz it.

We agree. If not for her exceptional cuteitude, Gojira Helen Wheels would already be a dainty fur slipper. Or a stole. Perhaps even a hat.

AreToo's rap sheet includes numerous instances of B&E (Biting and Entering):

This morning the human was bringing in bags of crunchies to temporarily store in the vestibule. Before she could take her coat off, there was AreToo, having snuck past her once again, head down in a grocery bag, biting into 2, count them, 2! new bags of crunchies... She had to sccop him out herself, as he was much too busy to listen to anyone using the "n" word. Does it go without saying that all the (numerous) regular bowls were quite topped up?

Yes. Yes, it does.

u no be madz at mee pleez

Of course, as far as La Casa de Los Gatos is concerned, Lizzy is blissfully unaware that she has been invaded by an alien race of &mdash mercats. Not meerkats (there's nothing mere about them, except perhaps in French), but a new semi-aquatic species, as witness the depredations of Cloud (the RainDragonPrincess), Cyrrie, AreToo, and Angel upon all things watery.

hoomin not letz me get luandryz 4 deyz drei

We'll let AreToo's hoomin (Lizzy) tell his part of the story:

When the human is at the bathroom sink, it is not unusual for AreToo to be there, too. If she is washing out stockings, his little paws are paddling about in the water with her. If she's putting in contact lenses, he's trying to make off with the contact case - or - at the very least - with the cap from a bottle of solution. Now he has a new trick: if he can get in under her arms, he takes a quick lick of soapy water! Ugh! Yuck!! And then the human stops him before he can lick again... He's done this three times now, leaving her like, Will it make him sick? Is his little metabolism craving some strange element?? Oh, Aretoo - I wish you could either talk... or listen! (No! No!)

waht menz tihs wurd NO?

Even cats (and kittens) who do use dictionaries have trouble with the "N" section. They just don't believe the word "No" should ever be applied to a cat.

Thank you very much for guesting/hosting today, AreToo. What a dear little 'droid he is. Oh, wait, there's a PodToo we simply must add:

Lasers set on stun

And imagine how pleased we were when, after a year or two of "kitten" worship, we were rewarded with our very own pitcher of Teh Droid:

Official Property of La Casa de Los Gatos

Goodbye, sweet little 'droid. Come visit any time. Perhaps someday we can establish "International Tea and Tabbies" day.

Internationally adored tabby

Thank you so much, Lizzy, and 922Cats, for the loan of AreToo. Wave goodbye, sweetums.

AreToo's mosaic paw

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Caturday Guest Part II

Yes, Angel's back, complete with rap sheet. Doesn't he look innocent, all asleep up there, as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. Lizzy, over at 922Cats, rescued Angel and his five brothers and their admirably prolific mamma. Mamma and young'uns all found good homes thanks to Lizzy and Friends, although Lizzy (who had 922 cats and kittens and really didn't need any more) found herself snookered into keeping Angel and his handsome (if portly) brother AreToo.

Lizzy claims Angel had no whiskers as a kitten, but evidently the portrait above must have been taken after he grew them back. For a "first-whiskers" portrait of Angel, look here.

Angel (and AreToo and the rest) were supposed to have embarked on their careers as Library Cats (what an excellent idea! Reading With Cats! Bet the Japanese do it), but unfortunately some priggish bureaucrat objected on OSHA grounds. Well, we don't know if they're priggish, but anyone who could object to Library Cats must be severely deficient in Good Qualities, is all we have to say.

Then Angel, who had been smuggled into Casa de Lizzy y sus gatos, fell gravely ill. Thanks to Lizzy's tender care and determined nursing, the little devil &mdash Angel, that is &mdash recovered and went on to bedevil the other 922 cats and kittens at Casa de Lizzy.

Angel with one of his victims

For those who are interested, we believe this particular victim did not survive the "Angel-ing."

Angel has Cerebellar hypoplasia, probably because his dear mamma suffered a feline distemper infection while pregnant. The virus crosses the blood-brain barrier in kittens, and damages the fine motor coordination center of the brain, leaving the kitten rather like Charley, here:



Or Angel. Little Mr. Wobble-Butt, as he is also known &mdash though hardly little, any more &mdash defies his disability to define him. "Pah!" he says. "Disability, nuffink!" He proves it by regularly harassing his sister, Cloud the RainDragonPrincess and fellow inhabitant of Casa de Lizzy. Cloud is very little, and Angel is very long, and we have been given to understand that he may interpret Cloud's frequent punches in his nose as an expression of her love for him. Quite NOT the desired effect, eh, Cloud?

Fortunately, Lizzy has supplied Angel with many things to take the place of Cloud as the source of, um, enjoyment:

Angel beats the catnip sock into submission

Lizzy, who has the patience of a St. Francis (yes, we do mean the one from Assisi) offers this definition of Angel:

Angel: The one who settles into the sink, especially when the human is trying to use it (think stockings, contacts, etc.).

Bandicoot used to do that. We tried to cure him of it by watering him, but he enjoyed that so much, he started climbing into the sink and turning the water on himself (the faucet was a simple lever, no he doesn't haz opposable fums) and then, of course, he never turned it off, and we would come home to "art projects" of carefully confettied toilet paper smushed all over the very wet black bathroom floor.

We suspect Lizzy named Angel for those curled spiral "wings" on his sides:



Or perhaps it was in the hopes of his living up to his name:

Angel attempts to smother brother AreToo but is foiled by clever camerawoman

We are reliably informed that Angel also functions as an alternative alarm system for his hoomin (regardless of how much more shuteye she might want). To quote Angel's hoomin:

Late last night, I realized that my alarm clock had - again - gone missing. Probably under the bed, but I'd already taken my contacts out... So I did the thing where you go: Six o'clock, six, six am, six o'clock six o'clock six o'clock, etc. And hope. This morning there was a kitten bouncing around the bed, and when I forced my eyes open, the windows were faintly light. When I made it to the kitchen, it was something like 5:58. Pretty accurate, Angel, but you don't have a snooze alarm...

They're very good about things like that, we notice. Just tell the cats you must be up by six for an early-morning meeting, and see if they don't wake you. Of course, ours usually allow an hour or two for petting and feeding, but hey, if it's four am and you're already up, who's gonna &mdash no, let's be honest: who's gonna be able to go back to sleep?

Angel and the Alarm

Thank you for visiting and guesting, dear little Angel. A very happy Caturday to you, and many thanks to the wonderful hoomin, Lizzy! For more wonderful pictures of all 922, drop by at Lizzy's blog.

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Caturday!

i haz milk-chin

Today's Caturday guest is Angel, from Lizzy's blog, 922cats. Unfortunately, due to the length of Angel's rap sheet (as you can well imagine, Lizzy named him in self-defense) and the painstaking research required to fetch all incidents of unAngelic behaviour and lots of handsome photos of that chocolate-caramel-apricot-fawn-coloured boy, we must take our time.

We leave you with yet another excellent photo of yclept Diavolo, as he is known to some of his fans:

Angel sprouts his first set of whiskers

OK, so what if it's an excuse to slowly perambulate through Lizzy's blog looking at photos of her gorgeous 922 cats? We'll be back with more Angel.

Angel bids you a happy Caturday! We have it on good authority that he's a toe nibbler.

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Caturday Guest

This week, we're featuring our very own Caturday guest. Cloud, aka RainDragonPrincess of the lambent golden eyes has agreed to be our guest this Caturday.

La Petite Princesse

Sometimes Cloud prefers the Laser Look to the Lambent Goldeneyes.

Lasers on!

Angel, usual target of Cloud's chirpy wrath, must be close by.

Here, Cloud patiently posed for a portrait in anticipation of hosting Caturday over at La Casa de Los Gatos.

Dis ma best side

The black/white moire effect in the foreground is actually Buddy, Cloud's dearly beloved brother.

Sometimes she likes to display her freckled nose:

Count the dots

Sometimes she prefers to pose with a toy:

Just one of many toys

All marvelous photos of the little Cloudburst courtesy of her very kind and photographically talented hoomin, Lizzy (who has, would you believe, 922 cats {and kittens!}).

Okay, it's really not that many, but there are so many great photographs of them. Way more than 922. And such elegant prose in their favour, with nary a mention of hairballs and the like.

Happy Caturday, Cloudita! From your friends and admirers at La Casa de Los Gatos.

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Cats!

For Lizzy, Christy, The Smirking Cat, Kittywampus, and all the other cat-lovers who frequent this site, or occasionally drop by:



Forgive us if we've omitted anyone. Also, please do not try this at home, even with adult supervision. We (being of a scientific bent &mdash oh, alright, plagued by insatiable curiousity &mdash attempted to repeat the experiment and were rewarded with a swift nip. Luckily, it was from Miss Gojira Helen Wheels, who has teeth like little rice grains. Ow.

Many thanks to Henry the cat, who featured this on her site, Henry's Travels. A must-visit blog. Especially, need we add, for cat-lovers.

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Economy: We're Not In A Recession

(Yet), says The Chimperor.

What drugs is the idiot on, because we here at La Casa de Los Gatos sure could use some of those. Lookit, Stupid McFuckhead, it's pretty obvious we're in a recession. Credit is drying up everywhere, worldwide stock markets have taken a $5 trillion + hit, the national debt is soaring out of control, the price of food is leaping up weekly, the price of gas ... ah, fuckit. Why bother. There really are people in the U.S. of A. who are stupid enough to listen to Fuckwit McChimpyPants. Shoot, they'll probably troop dutifully to the polls to vote for John "Senile and Insane! A Twofer!" McPain.

If any of you wander by here, watch this and then decide if you want to vote for a senile warmonger who will pour a few billion or trillion more down the chute in Iraq. If you're not crazy or one of the sheeple, please show this video to any crazy sheeple you might know. With any luck, we'll succeed in keeping the lemmings from dragging us all off the cliff.

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Valentine's Day

Awright, in our private, secret life we are the curmudgeonliest of curmudgeons. But it's Valentine's Day, and the weather is actually good, after weeks of freezing cold and rain. The sun is shining bright, the sky is the perfect blue of a lapis, light is falling golden on the garden, and the birds are singing joyfully.

Therefore, we are constrained &mdash constrained, we say! to wish all our readers and visitors a very happy Valentine's Day.



moar humorous pics

May your day consist of loving yourself as much as you wished someone would love you. May you love those who love you with the fiercest and purest of passions. And may you get the royal rogering you've secretly been hankering for lo, these many years!

Flying underwear alert! (Although if you're reading this blog, chances are your underwear is mostly on your head anyway.)

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Recipe: Chicken Soup Cure

This'll fix ya!

Chicken Soup Cure

Ingredients:

1 stewing hen
2 bunches green onions
2 cups Basmati brown rice
1 small cabbage
6-10 cloves garlic
4-20 hot chilli peppers
1 thumb ginger
4 red and 4 green bell peppers
6 celery stalks
6 carrots
2 large yellow onions
Olive oil cooking spray or 2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 bunch parsley
salt to taste

Wash chicken, removing giblets (save for another use), pin feathers, excessive fat. Place in a pasta pot (the kind that comes with a removable strainer) if you have one, cover with plenty of cold water. Halve one unpeeled onion and add to the chicken, together with 2 stalks celery, the parsley stalks, or half the bunch if you just can't be bothered to separate leaves and stalks, 1 bunch of the green onions.

Peel the ginger, removing any woody bits or eyes, and slice thinly lengthwise OR hit it with the flat of your knife to bruise it. If it cracks or breaks into chunks, you have achieved success and will soon be granted the blessing of ginger. Add to the chicken together with 2 chillies. If you can take the heat and like spice, you can remove the chilli stems, otherwise leave them intact.

Bring the pot to a full, rolling boil, then turn the heat down to the barest simmer and let simmer for approximately 45 minutes or until chicken is done and vegetables are very tender.

Remove chicken and vegetables from the pot (see why a pasta pot with strainer is perfect?) and let cool.

Dice all the remaining raw vegetables, shred the cabbage, slice the green onion (separate the white and green parts)and mince the chillies. Smash the garlic cloves with the flat of your knife (this makes them easy to peel and also releases the powerful antibacterial and antifungal, allicin. You must use it soon after smashing, as allicin degrades fairly rapidly.)

Heat the oil in a skillet large enough to contain all the vegetables except the cabbage. When the oil begins to shimmer, add the onions and let cook at medium heat till golden and fragrant. Add garlic (you might want to smash it right before adding it) and white part of green onion, and stir till the garlic releases its powerful fragrance. Add the carrots, celery, bell peppers, chilli peppers, stir for a minute or two, then cover and "sweat" the vegetables for about 10-20 minutes. They should release some liquid, in which they will cook, caramelizing their natural sugars.

Scrape the skillet into the chicken stock. Remove meat from the bones, discarding fat and skin (or you could donate the skin to Mike Huckabee, I hear he likes it), discard or reuse the cooked vegetables and either save the bones for stock or discard them. Wash the rice thoroughly and add. Let the soup simmer for about 40 minutes (Basmati brown rice cooks to perfection in approximately 30 minutes), then add the shredded cabbage, stir, garnish with finely minced parsley and sliced green part of green onion, and eat!

Cook's notes:

1. The older the chicken, the tastier the soup!
2. To reduce the heat of chillies, remove the seeds before mincing.
3. You might want to reserve some of the bell peppers to garnish the soup with. Raw peppers are sweet, and if you dice them tiny, they lurk like glistening jewels within your soup, bringing a little cheer to the sickbed.
4. We specify varying quantities of garlic and chillies, recognizing that not everyone shares our obsession with these ingredients.
5. Ginger is excellent for catarrh, sore throats, and upset stomachs.
6. All the vegetables used in this soup are high in Vitamin C.
7. You might find, if you have a cold, that everything tastes a little bland. This soup should fix that. Add salt sparingly, and add a little fresh lemon juice to bring out the flavours.

Feel better!

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Caturday!

Always LOLsome.


moar funny pictures

We haz to go kleen haus now. Later 2nite we pozts about dinner at Casa de Los Gatos. Y'all c'mon back, now, hear?

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Children: Cat Finds Porn Stash

Sophie the cat is being credited (together with her hooman, of course) with putting the bite, so to speak, on one Luis Jimenez, collector of child porn.

Sophie, who looks pretty young herself, was exploring her human's kitchen when she came across a stack of DVDs of pornography involving children as young as five years of age. Fortunately, her curiousity saved Deity alone knows how many children when her person decided to check out what Sophie was rooting through and put a DVD in the player. Horrified at the contents of the DVD, she contacted the police and turned over the DVDs. The police, in following up with the landlord, found that the criminal was apparently as stupid as frozen cookie dough. Either that or he just had the worst luck on the planet. You see, his girlfriend had left an email address with the landlord when the scumbag moved out. Police tracked down the email address and got a warrant based on the DVDs as probable cause, and the next thing you know the slimy sleazeball admits its his porn stash and they find additional child porn on his computer.

Video here.

We're well aware that our dear friend and co-blogger, Ms. Manitoba, does not favour the death penalty, but child sexual abuse is one of the very very few cases in which we are pro-death penalty. We do not believe adults who would sexually abuse very young children can be rehabilitated. We have not read of any case in which an adult who sexually abuses children ever stops. We have read that on average, such people have approximately 100 victims before they are stopped. That they are only stopped when arrested, convicted, and deprived of their freedom. And that many of their victims go on to become child sexual abusers. We do not believe that they ever stop being a danger to the most helpless members of the community. And we would prefer that they be put in a position where they can never again inflict the same suffering on any other child that they inflicted on any child.

That said, we differentiate between thought crimes and real crimes. People who own or view child porn, as long as they did not actively participate in the creation of such porn, do not deserve the same punishment as those who actually search for and enslave and force children to participate in such porn. We believe those people can be rehabilitated, even if it's a long and costly process. And those who are pro-life, or believe in the sanctity of human life (which we don't, really) should bear the burden of saving such people.

For the abusers themselves, we do not believe in attempts at rehabilitation, but a quick and merciful death.

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Caturday! Yay!

Yes, it's Caturday. The day for smooching on our kittehs and tormenting them with tasty treats and overaffectionate pettin's. Bandicoot insisted on sharing our excellent cherry cheese danish (made with fresh ricotta instead of that gluey custard stuff, and preserved sweet cherries for a great taste of summer, and layer upon layer of buttery phyllo). Yum.

Zingiber had his pojamas trimmed. Yes, we actually lured that lump o' lard out from under the bed (which is where he hides whenever he hears the sound of snapping surgical gloves). Sorry, tubbo, that's what happens when you get too fat to clean your own behind. We cleans and clips it for ya!

Gojira is out terrorizing fallen leaves (she's too small to scare the squirrels, moles, and gophers - that's Madu's job).

Madu is also out, recovering from yet another goddamned catfight. At home he's the laziest, most narcoleptic, and sweetest of purry felines. Let him out, and he gets in fights with everybody and their sister-in-law. He's got a notch in one ear and a bleeding scratch in the other, and five distinct bite marks and missing fur. We don't even wanna know what the other guy looks like, because this guy is a big, scrappy fighter. He doesn't mess around. We've seen him kick holy shit out of other cats. Why, Madu, why?

Gustav went out briefly, but he's a tropical cat and the recent cold spell makes him moo. The only cat we ever met that moos. He's got that cow coloration thing going, too, which gives us a bout of serious dysfunction just watching him. And a tail that looks like a chrysanthemum bud.

So? How's YOUR Caturday going?

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Caturday!

It's sunny but cold! And the children have been refusing to be photographed for over a week. So, without further ado, a Caturday pic from one of my favorite sites, ICHC:


moar funny pictures

Early and often, is what we say, kitteh.

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Caturday!

It's Caturday, dammit. And I haven't got my latest pix of the Evil Childer transferred from this newfangled digital camera thingummy onto the computer. So, instead, I give you:


moar funny pictures

It's rainy, gray, and cold (the heat keeps coming on by itself, and the thermostat is set below 50F, so deity alone knows how frozen our joint and several tuchus (tuchi?) are. Suffice it to say that the Evil Childer, normally only too happy to sproing out of bed and provide endless impediments in our path, are, today, snoring in small clumps.

Gojira and Madu, whose last interaction was a faceful of claws from each to the other, are tightly coiled together, sleeping in sweet comity. Bandicoot only moved twice, for kibble. And Zingiber thinks he is the laptop.

Peace, if only briefly.

It's a day for making stock and hearty soups. On the menu at Casa de Los Gatos, this week: Tom Ka Gai, Thai chicken soup with galangka, lemongrass, lots of hot chillies, coconut milk, chicken thighs, garlic, cilantro, and fish sauce.

Black bean soup with onions, ground cumin, smoked ham, sherry, sour cream and parsley.

Minestrone with three kinds of beans, salt pork, pasta, carrots, celery, cabbage, leeks, basil, garlic, tomatoes, and onions.

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Entertainment: Belated Caturday Post

Yesterday the weather was truly and stupendously yucky, with a blanket of fog enveloping Casa de Los Gatos, and a mingy drizzle of rain throughout the day. Your hosts at this fine blogging establishment were forced to tunnel through Cattitude to get a spot in (our very own, we might add) bed. Five lumps graced the sleeping space for much of the day, with lasers muted to mere slits of malevolence. Bitter complaints ensued at every attempt to change position (reading in bed is not easy, when one's arms are pinned down).



Thus, blogging was light. No one felt much like it. No inspiration came from the Cats and Catlets, either.

In between muttered dreams, they murdered dust bunnies for exercise. Attempts by your hosts to flee the prison of the bedspace were futile. We were permitted the occasional meal break and bio break, usually accompanied by much nagging along the lines of, "Get the hell back into my sleeping space! I need your body heat, beyotchez."

We're not naming any names. The issuers of the erstwhile threats continue to slumber close by, and inspection of our body parts reveals evidence of recent encounters with overly sharp claws (how did those scratches get there? And when??), encounters that were clearly lost, since the winners have no shame about staying right close to the humanoid heating pad. We don't see any scars on their furry butts.

One of them appears to be dreaming of tasty mice - he's been making little running motions with all four paws, interspersed with growling noises deep in the throat, and the occasional SMACK! of furry lips.

At any rate, the sun's out now, and it's a beautiful clear day, and three of the five louts have been summarily evicted (leaving the worst clawdaddy firmly centered in the bed ON MY FUCKING PILLOW), so it's back to blogging as normal ... insofar as anything at Casa de Los Gatos could ever be considered normal.

Yes, yes, I know ellipses are meant to imply elision, not pauses as in the spoken word, but don't go all Twisty Faster on my ass, fer cryin' out.

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Gardening

It's been a long time since I put up a gardening post. What with all the stress around the layoff and preparation for the visit to the maternal unit, there hasn't been much time for garden-minding.

Winter's been dancing around the edges of Autumn, killing the buddleia flowers while occasional odd days of warmth and sunshine bring the leaves to life. The shasta daisies put forth an occasional white-rayed flower with a deep gold heart. The alyssum has never stopped blooming, a froth of white cascading down the hill, making silvery-green pools around the feet of the bougainvillea.
The bougainvillea (the one with wicked thorns) is blooming wildly, all magenta and light green, while the other, less thorny individual has lost all its flowers and is concentrating on growing long, slender branches, gold-leaved, for next year's flowers.
Blackberry is invading everywhere, as is the seedy wild dill. It's lost most of its feathery fronds to various depredations, but occasionally lifts flat, gold, umbelliferous heads among its silvery bluish trunks. Oddly, the plumbago continues to bloom, pale flat bluish heads peeping through the packed trunks and leaves.
The Luculia is finally blooming, with its tiny pink balloons of buds and cerulean stamens against the deeper pink of the fragrant blossoms. One can't hardly walk past the front door without brushing its perfumed daintiness. And the solanum is blooming, much more than before, every two leaves seem to be sheltering a deep purple, yellow-throated cluster of blossoms. And the burmese plumbago, low-growing and bronze-leaved, is putting out flowers of an impossible gentian violet, although the leaves are redder than usual from our cool nights. The irises did not set their second bloom this year. I wonder why?



Down on the hill, the rose is sending forth long, thorny canes, invading the space of the echium, the ceanothus, the oleander, and the manzanita - almost crowding them out, in fact. I must teach it some manners.

The last of the scabiosa, the pincushion flowers, are blooming, deep burgundy and pale pink. The whites, creams, and darker pinks seem to have gone to seed, and lots of little seedlings are springing up all over the hillside. Nigella seedlings are everywhere, too, and I expect a glorious spring crop of blues and whites. Even the blue flax set most plentifully, and here and there the glorious gold gloriosa daisies and Mexican cosmos (nearly the orange of a marigold) and calendula, gold, orange, and yellow, and even Iberis, pinks, whites, and mauves, are blooming, punctuating the weedy greens of the hill.

My blue fescue (festuca ovina) survived everything that's been hurled at it this past two years, although a more golden variety cacked hopelessly under the deck.
The dietes (scourge of my garden!) is finally cut down to the point of a single blooming mound, but continues to propel itself into spots where its not wanted. The yellow iris took quite a beating, but I think it will survive. The white oleander at the bottom of the hill hasn't stopped blooming since March! A perfect white lace veil of blooms. And here and there I find a little treaure, a Canon Wendt linaria, or other toadflax blossoms, pink, yellow, mauve, dark gold, the occasional cluster of pink evening primrose, a lonely fleabane in all its glory, dark gold hearts, pink and white rayed flowers.

A garden is a wonderful thing. I don't know how I'd survive without mine. And later when the heat and sun wanes a bit, Bandicoot will come to call me in, or simply to sit by my side, companionably staring out at all the small life from the shade of my brimmed straw hat. We'll talk in low tones, he'll lean against my side. Madu may wander in and try for a hummingbird (they're much too fast for him, thank goodness, that indolent marmalade lump!). Gustav might cry from the deck for his "substitute mamma" to come back up. And perhaps a certain tub of marmalade, who shall remain forever unembarrassed by the bruiting about of his name will come to chide me for not paying attention to him, and only him, who deserves me more than anyone.

Miss Dainty Paws is far too precious to venture into the lower garden, where some passing canine! might be able to feast its lowly eyes upon her silvery gray visage and poison-green eyes. She'll be up on the high hill, looking down at us all below, unfeared by mouse or bird. She's fast enough to hunt them, but too small and light. I often worry an owl will carry her off some night. Unlike the other lumps which would require mutant eagles of vasty wing dimension. She'd make a tasty mouthful for a tiny pterodactyl.

Luckily, I needn't worry about those. Off to the garden, then!

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