Terrapin Times ~ Summer 2001-Only Newsletter Written By A Cat, A Dog And A Toad That Has Nothing To Do With Turtles!!

Terrapin Times - Only Newsletter
Written By A Cat, A Dog And A Toad
That Has Nothing To Do With Turtles!!
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SUMMER 2001
'You Can Call Me Hal'

           WoooooHooooo! Summer 2001. We have survived Y2k and the new millenium. You are reading an editorial written by a talking toad. More importantly I have survived the winter of 2000-'01. The HAL9000 Super Computer is still in it's (his?) infancy. Not even a decade old! (think about it). I have been wondering what HAL would think of this entire scenario. So I asked him. I said "HAL! Old buddy, old PAL! What do you think of this entire scenario?" (listen to reply).

           How would HAL's neural network process the big WWW thing? That's right, the web, the internet, e-mail and all those other maddening electronic addictions. I quote Carole Nelson Douglas from the book Cat In An Idigo Mood (a Midnight Louie Mystery); "...The Net was better than magic, it was technology in irresponsible hands. Amateur Night at the Alhambra Cyber Cafe and Techno-Theater. Babel and the Byzantine Empire online. A carnivale of Commerce. It was all quite quirky, maddening, enchanting...". But enough of that, I'm straying. We are all aware of what happens to toads that stray. Nope, not divorce. Not in any legal or theological sense that is.

           No, the following discourse deals with lawnmowers. The supreme and ultimate divorce from reality. Lawnmowing, don't care for it, never did. The Great American Manicure disturbs and upsets my natural habitat. Whether I'm lounging in a chaisse on a sunny afternoon or hibernating late on a dreary morning, that incessant clangor really rattles my chain and usurps my tranquility. Some humans mow whenever the mood strikes them and that can be often and always at unacceptable hours.

           For instance, there is Dave, the next door neighbor. Dave's not here, I can tell by the lack of din and that the toad abode is not hopping around the yard like a stupid frog. Early in the morning, late in the evening....sometimes both. In case he's missed a blade or two I suppose. Despite the inconsiderate scheduling and a machine that could maintain a football field in one swipe while sounding like an old steam engine running on inferior-grade coal I must admire Dave's dogged determination and committment. Although, there are times when I must draw the line. One evening I was listening to my record player (a Turtles album I believe, or was it Paul Simon?) and had adjusted the volume way up loud to compensate for the thunderous mowering noise. He finished the lawn and asked me to turn down the music! The gall.

           .....I'm sorry Dave, I'm afraid I can't do that.        -t.w.

This Season's

Best Snacks!

Merely~Me~Maya

           I surely do not profess to know, or care, where my humans roam during the day. Yet I am perversely delighted and perplexed that they manage to find their way back home in the evening. Please keep in mind that this is merely an observation. I have always been independent and was accustomed to the hours of my choosing. (see Maya Pages for details on my first life as a street cat) I am quite able to manage my liberties even now as a 100% domesticated feline, although learning to act the purrfect lady and be the kute kitty was no easy task. However I do draw the line at Kuddle Kat. I have not formerly, I shall not presently, nor will I ever even futuristically consider being a Kuddle Kat. Mere thought makes me sicker than dumpster-diving.

           Independence commands respect. That is the nature of the beast. My humans respect me. They faithfully return home to me not because they must, but they respect me. Because they need me. Yes dear reader, NEED ME! Strong is the instinct. Unwavering is their devotion. Unaware that while I am creature of the night my human valet are undoubtedly creature of habit.

           Humans NEED to come home to 'feed the cat'. Wrong, humans just want to come home. The cat is purrfectly capable of feeding herself thank you. I know where my meals are and I have full access to them 24/7. But I don't go there. Humans NEED to feed me, remember? I'm here by myself, only chance I get to type, so I could have just helped myself to rations-but I didn't. That would mess with the fragile homo-sapien psyche. Ok, enough.

           Then there's Dog-Thing. Yea, yea I know-he has a name but currently he's been deprived of his household freedoms. As long as the gate is up and he is incarcerated in the kitchen I need to detach myself and refer to him as the Dog-Thing. Otherwise I shall become sad. Sure, we can rub noses through the grate but it's not the same as wrestling or rocketing up and down the hallway. Enter yet another peculiar human trait. Upon returning home the human releases Dog-Thing from his confines (and turns back into Kobi*smile*) and we, me and Kobi, start bouncing off the walls. The humans naturally assume that we are overjoyed to see them once more. Wrong. More accurately is to sniff the pant cuffs, feet and hands and we know all we need to know. Where you've been, what you've been doing, who you've been doing it with and what other animals you may have been 'cavorting' with. Alright Kobi! It's PARTYTIME!!!

           *sigh* All these observations and fond memories have only led to a growing anticipation within me. Or perhaps it is my stomach growling. Hey Dog-Thing!? They tell you when they would be coming back?! They are coming back-right? Well of course they are, aren't they??! - M.

An Idea From Our Legal Department:If it hurts because we've stepped on your tail then don't leave it in the hall. - L.D.

KorniKobia

           My name is Kobi. I own a mansion and a yacht! I learned that from the TV news. At least that's what my dad told me he was watching. This is my first column attempt in the Terrapin Times so please paws before you crittersize me. This paper is silly. What's sillier is that I am sitting here typing it. Hmm, *snurf, woof* I've confused the tenses. I should tell you that a dog typing is just plain silly. Heck, any creature, be it man or beast, typing this stuff is just plain ridiculous.

           I already have a dilemma here. One short paragraph about 'silly' when I am supposed to be serious. This was the mandate handed down by the Boss Toad. "Be Serious!! Or you'll be in the doghouse for sure!" I already am (durrrr), it's just the way he said it. Ok, fine. Not only shall I get serious but I shall write about..........

           Sirius. Canis Major. The Greater Dog. The brightest star in the northern hemisphere. Even during daylight hours on a sunny summer day. This is where it gets truly ugly folks. Sirius is not always visible due to weather conditions. But when Sirius is highly visible slightly north of our sun (in the morning) then look out! The day, and several more to follow, is going to be horribly hot. We are talking crispy critters here folks! There's even a technical(?) term for this period of time. Hint: CANIS Major, The Greater DOG. Got it yet? Very good! The "Dog Days Of Summer". So now you know. Enlightenment that can be shared with a friend while walking or congregating around the office water bowl.

           There, I have met my editorial requirements. Twofold I should think. An entire serious paragraph about Sirius. So be it. There's one teensy little thing I'd like to mention regarding something that my sister, the cat-thing, has previously mentioned. Since when does rubbing noses requires fangs?! Hmm? *ROOWWFf* My, this heat is really getting to me. Ah well, I feel a stuporous slumber coming on so I shall go enjoy my own 'dog daze of summer'. I hope you do the same! My name is Kobi. I own a mansion and a yacht.........-k

GUESTBOOK

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