Droolie at Fifteen

Today, Droolie turns 15 years old, at least by his veterinarian's calculations. He showed up at the Greensboro house in late 2012, and at first, I thought he might be the same cat that had mysteriouly appeared (and then disappeared, equally mysteriously) at least a year or two earlier, whom I called Scrapple (see "Scrapple II?" December 8, 2012). For all I know, he may actually be that cat, but I decided to name him "Droolie" when it became clear that he drools when he's happy. Since he's been that way since day one and he's usually happy, well, it was the perfect name.

 

And here he is, all these years later, generally doing very well, although he keeps getting these recurring sinus bugs, and I have to give him medicine that he really does not like (well, it's actually people medicine, and I can attest that it tastes awful).

 

Some might remember that, in his younger days, Droolie made a vocation of redecorating my place, and so, he became the proud proprietor of Designs by Droolie™. He still indulges in some creative interior design and decorating now and again, although he mostly spends his days in semi-retirement, usually seeking and chasing treats keep himself active.

He and I both hope he'll remain in good health for the foreseeable future. He's looking forward to his 16th birthday so that he can finally get his driver's license.

treats dad need treats now TREATS!

Designs by Droolie® — A Missed Opportunity

Some time has passed, but the story ought be told.

October 6, 2014. In anticipation of having company for the next evening's dinner, the ostensible master of the house put a couple of pounds of chicken in the crock pot to cook overnight. Early on the morning of the 7th, immediately upon awakening, the gentleman went downstairs to turn off the crock pot, which he determined to have performed its job quite admirably. Fully aware that certain young feline family members might display at least a passing interest in pot's contents, the gentleman maneuvered the device in question into a difficult-to-reach corner of the countertop — behind the coffeemaker and a few assorted condiment jars — and went to take a shower. Once done, some fifteen minutes later, he returned to the kitchen, anticipating that the chicken would have cooled sufficiently to be transferred to a different container. However, much to the gentleman's shock, the crock pot's contents were now strewn over the floor, the lid shattered into thousands of glittering pieces, the pot itself cracked, empty, and useless. Further to his bewilderment, the coffee pot and condiment jars remained exactly where he had left them, completely undisturbed, the crock pot apparently having been deftly maneuvered by something akin to Harry Potter magic. A quick examination of the nearby environs revealed three pairs of feline eyes peering at this new masterwork from various points around the kitchen, the artists apparently feeling quite bashful after rendering a composition unlike any they had heretofore attempted. Not to be outdone, our gentleman of the house spontaneously composed an original litany of growled, gargled, and shouted syllables, rather in the style of Darren McGavin in A Christmas Story, though augmented by original vocal flourishes and occasional threats of juggling cats at very high speed. What the man did not do — and history has likely not forgiven him for this — was take photographs of what surely would have proven to be a timeless masterwork.

It is possible that there are plans in motion for some new, similarly grand composition; and in the occurrence of such an event, one can only hope that, for the sake of posterity, it will be better documented.

Courting Disaster

There's been mighty little time for blogging these past few weeks, as I've been hustling and hustling to meet a couple of very tight deadlines. Done and done, so it's time to take a brief breather. Happily, the results of some of the more recent labors are beginning to manifest themselves. World War Cthulhu, featuring my story, "The Game Changers," is now in release. And just on the horizon, from Celaeno Press, In the Court of the Yellow King, featuring "Masque of the Queen," a tale I'm rather proud of. As of last night, I've just completed two new short tales — both on the longer side, actually, near 8,000 words — and submitted them to their respective editors. Tentacles and other appendages are all crossed.

On the home front, Droolie and his compadres, Chester and Frazier, have also been working overtime. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to take a photo or two this morning, but I was entirely too busy swearing a blue streak and cleaning the kitchen after a spectacular crockpot demolition. It certainly would have made a dynamic entry in the Designs by Droolie® line, and it has necessitated an altering of dinner plans. Fortunately, Ms. Brugger is quick on the draw when it comes to dinner arrangements.

An evening of wine and good company lies ahead, providing the cats haven't demolished the house when I get home this evening. Cash bets only, please.