Proof positive that I will never be an intellectual...

Just in case anyone was wondering, I now have definitive evidence that I am not now, have never been, nor ever will be an intellectual. The penny finally dropped today, after I read some email from Rodwellian, my co-bloguiste (you can link to her blog from the menu at right). These were the content of her email: http://www.flickr.com/photos/fuzzy/2242738394/in/pool-kittywigs She sent them in response to my first post, in which I document the inflicting of BOOTS on one of my cats.

Here's how I know I am not an intellectual [in case ANY of the above did not prove that fact pretty well beyond all dispute....] :

I have spent the 30+ ensuing minutes since being exposed to the wild and wonderful world of kittywigs THINKING ABOUT KITTYWIGS! Yep. Wondering about such stumpers as,"Why would anyone put a wig on a cat?" and "Where do you get such a diminutive wig? Is kittywiggery a legitimate sub-culture, with factories in China producing hairpieces designed to be purchased by kittywiggery enthusiasts the world over?" and "How on EARTH did ALL THOSE PEOPLE manage to get their cats to submit to the shenanigans in the first place, never mind sitting still long enough to be photographed in the ensuing compromising positions...?? Do those people have some sort of specially bred dignity-free cats?" (says the woman who put BOOTS on her cat, photographed him and posted him on youtube....)

And you know what? These thoughts are not really in any way UNUSUAL. Well, okay, they are unusual in the sense that, until less than an hour ago, I had no idea kitty wigs even existed so I don't usually think about them, specifically. What I mean is, the INTELLECTUAL DEPTH indicated by the fact that I have been riffiing (alone, in my private thoughts and now here, alone in my un-read blog) on kitty wigs for as long as I have is not particularly atypical. What I have recognized is that these are the kinds of thoughts that fill up my empty head. Thoughts about toupes for felines, whether or not I need to buy toilet paper, how many essays I have yet to mark, what colour sequins will be most prominently featured during tonight's episode of Dancing With The Stars..... There are people out there who think about how to stop the AIDS pandemic, how to bring literacy to girls in underdeveloped nations, how exactly Arthur C. Clarke's "space elevator" idea could be made to work (okay, admittedly I do think about that last one). But not me. Nosirree. I think about cat wigs.

And make my cat wear boots.

And now I have a blog.

Dear god.

Puss In Boots

For some time now, M and I have been toying with the idea of somehow getting something for Z to wear that would make his rear feet, well, "stickier". He has a hard time on the hardwood floors (though has adapted very cheerfully, mastering his own speed-skating style move with his hind feet and managing to motor around at great speed). A recent visit to my mother's, however, showed that his walking is actually a LOT better than we ever see here-- she has carpet and, therefore, more traction for his feet. He walked really really well while we were there. So, we decided we'd see about getting some of those (ridiculous) DOG BOOTS that you see everyone's poor, embarassed canines wearing here in T.O. (Incidentally, no one in St. Cath puts boots on their dogs... Come to think of it, for millenia NO ONE put boots on their dogs, but whatever....) Turns out dog boots are like people shoes: you've got your basic Payless-style el-cheapos, all the way up to the Christian Louboutins of dog boots, the "Muttluks". They are, in case you were wondering, utterly indistinguishable from each other. That's right, the makers of shoes for dogs have achieved the impossible: they have made shopping for shoes ABSOLUTELY NO FUN AT ALL because all the shoes are THE SAME. They must be made by the people who make those hideous black athletic shoes for humans... (insert shiver of revulsion here) We went with the Payless version-- after all, Z doesn't even like us to TOUCH his paws, so strapping rubberized fleecy things onto them was not likely to be what you'd call a hugely successful venture.

I got the first one on in no time flat-- no fuss, no muss, just a lightning-fast approach and before you could say "Nancy Sinatra", the left rear bootie was firmly affixed. You can imagine that getting him into the second one was a bit more challenging: he was on to me. After a brief tussle, however, the fact that I am approximately 20x his size and have opposable thumbs won the day and (relatively) soon he was jauntily clad in two red and black bootlets.

Was he pleased? Well, let's just say that "pleased" is a very strong word. He is Z, though, so he has basically been making the best of what he clearly deems a very bad situation. Initially he had a sort of goose-stepping quality to his rear legs, but has learned that, no matter how high he raises his feet, the damned bootlets are NOT coming off, so he is adapting. They actually do make a difference, but I feel very mean for making him wear them. We are trying one day with them and will decide whether to continue. I can hardly believe that I have drifted so far over the line into Crazy Cat Lady-dom that I am now at the point where I am DRESSING my pet. Further defying belief is the fact that M is right there alongside me-- in fact, HE was the one who reminded me to GET the booties on my errand run today! Wonders never cease.

When viewing the attached video, please feel free to hum "These Boots Were Made for Walking". ( I have tried to post slightly longer vids, but they will NOT upload on Youtube, so this one will have to do. Sorry!)