The cats groomed and preened endlessly, and ensured they acquired plenty of beauty sleep (23.9 hours in one day, to be exact) before their deluxe Christmas photo shoot! Presenting the much-acclaimed return of the official Smirking Cat mascot, back by popular demand, posing languidly beneath the tree, flashing his sultry golden eyes! He has much to celebrate this holiday season, as he has recently penned a contract to model Calvin Klein underwear. Keep a watchful eye on those Times Square billboards, Cat fans!
Here we have captured a rare moment when my kitten (okay, he’s a giant fat furball, not a kitten, but indulge me in still thinking of him as a baby) is sitting still and not tearing something apart, ripping something down, mangling something, or otherwise raining mass destruction upon the household. Oops, one of our models dozed off during the photo shoot…hard to blame him, as a belly full of treats, a snuggly tree skirt, and being perenially spoiled makes it difficult for him to resist napping wherever and whenever he darn well feels like it.
For the first time in history, ladies and gentleman, I turned off a hockey game and watched something else last night. The Lightning were getting so utterly crushed by the Toronto Maple Leafs that I got thoroughly disgusted and decided to check in with Dr. G, Medical Examiner, instead. (Fascinating episode last night, by the way). Holmqvist…Holmqvist…Holmqvist…(*shaking head despairingly*) I devoted a blog entry to you, even added a cutesy heart to your entry title, and this is how you repay me? By letting 4 shots cruise by you like you weren’t even there, and getting yourself yanked from the game and replaced with Denis? Now, granted, the entire team was playing like their feeble, arthritic grandmas were standing in for them all night, and I’ll only have mercy on Brad Richards because he ate the wall and had to leave the game with an injury. But being blogged by me comes with certain responsibilities, young man! Now, go to your room. I don’t want to see your face again until you can block a damn puck, do you understand?
The kids watched part of Saturday’s game with me, and an impromptu game fired up on the kitchen floor. For some reason no one in that game (Lightning vs. Islanders) could keep their stick in their hands, so the kids, imitating the players they saw on TV, tossed their own sticks onto the floor and batted the “puck” (a game piece) with their hands, all the while turning to make sure we were watching, and that we were still yelling “Get your stick! Get your stick!” like we did to the TV players. They were so funny during the game; the first few times that I couldn’t resist yelling at the TV, they looked at me like I had lost my mind, then they tested it out and realized how fun it is. So every time the puck was in the Lightning’s hands, they helped me cheer, parrotting random phrases they had heard already: Who were you passing that to? Get back in the net, Holmqvist! Are you going to shoot today or just pass the puck around all night? And the all-purpose, toss-arms-in-the-air-with-an-aggravated-grunt maneuver. Next time we’ll work on Taunting the Ref 101.