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A rambling diary that's barely a diary, about nothing of particular relevance...

When this old world starts to getting me down, and people are just too much for me to take, I turn to my cat and my dog.  I don't need to go up on the roof for my escape; my escape waits joyfully every day to hear the turn of the key in the front door, just to greet me with kisses and love that make the world go away.

This is the one guaranteed happy time of my day, something I share with lots of pootie/woozle people. We all have our own greetings and our own songs.  Mittens, Marty and I talk and sing when we meet and throughout the day.

Do you have songs and silly patter for your furry/feathery loved ones?  This is the place to share them, the more ridiculous the better.

Mittens came to us through a neighbor, Dave.  Dave had been advised to get a cat as company for his otherwise solitary life.  He got one, but it seems he was not clear on the concept.  A few weeks after he got her, I'd come home every other day to find Mittens waiting for me on the bough of a tree by my door.  Her demeanor seemed to say, "It's about time, but better late than never.  You may pet me briefly, then dinner.  Look alive, I don't have all day!"  

They know who the suckers are.

After the third day taking her back over to Dave's, I carefully asked if the arrangement was working out.  "Not really," he told me.  "I'm about to take her to the pound.  I can't leave the door open!  She keeps running out when I'm not looking.  And she keeps trying to sit in my lap.  It's taking me forever to break her of that!"

Mittens moved in 20 minutes later.

Marty was a gift from a friend of my sister who had to move abroad for a job.  He was six months old and arrived showing a distinct personality type: love bug.  You never have to wonder how he feels about you.  If you love him, he loves you, without reservation.  

When we greet one another, we sing.  Marty and Mittens and I have about the same (low) level of singing talent, and I'm not sure the neighbors can figure out who's who, but we make up for our deficiency with enthusiasm.  Mittens has what a good friend refers to as her "night song", an ear-splitting caterwaul that greets the early evening and lightens up Marty's howling tenor and my tuneless, dish-rattling baritone.  Marty's not big on musical variation, but his Ahhh-ooooooo! is as regular as a metronome.  I'm in charge of lyrics and the post-concert supper; it's been made clear to me (in the sweetest way) that singing and food prep can and should be done at once--no need to waste time!

Mittens favorite actually comes in the morning.  It's called Good Morning, Pussycat! and it's sung to the tune of the first line of Good Morning, Captain from the old Captain Kangaroo show.  I never watched it, because I thought it was boring (I was a callous sophisticate even as a lad) but the tune stuck.  Here are the lyrics:

Good morning, Pussycat!  
[key change, start about a third higher, same melody]
Good morning, Pussycat!  
[repeat key change, up a third, etc.]
Good morning, Pussycat!  
[last line, sung-spoken, con brio]
Good morning, Pussycat!!!

Another of her favorite things is to be massaged all up and down her back while I say "Puss puss puss puss puss!  Who is a good puss!?!?  Da Mitzelpuss is a good puss puss puss puss puss!!!"  This never fails to get me a head bump and a purr that could shake the leaves off a tree.  

Marty, on the other hand, is a romantic and likes to be sung to as I look into his deep, brown, serio-comic dachshund eyes.  It's hard to render the tune I sing (or intend to sing), but it has a bouncy military stride and literally gets howls of pleasure.  As you will see, my alternate name for him is "O.K. Pupper."

O.K. Pupper!  He's the dog for me!
O.K. Pupper!  We're happy as we can be!
O.K. Pupper!  He's a special puppy dog!
O.K. Pupper!  As happy as a frog
--in springtime!

Repeat as desired.  (If his tail is any indication, Marty desires several repeats.)

We have before-bed rituals, too, but I'll spare you.  Mittens kneads the bed for several minutes before settling down on the bottom right corner of the bed, unless it's cold, when she ends up on the pillow in a nest by my head.  Marty invariably noses into the space between my arm and body and breaths out with a chuff and goes to sleep.

So I guess that's another guaranteed happy time of the day.  How many people get one, let alone two?  Waking up in the middle of the night, we're sometimes tangled up in the covers.  Anyone listenting in the dark would probably be amused to hear us getting untangled.

Ruff?  Meo-o-o-ow!  Dammit!


What ridiculous things do you say and sing to your loved ones?

Originally posted to MrJayTee on Wed Dec 15, 2010 at 04:15 PM PST.

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