Showing posts with label socks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label socks. Show all posts

Sunday, 20 October 2024

odds and sods


Odds and sods and some other silly stupid stuff.


Well...


Well maybe not so much stupid as um...


Hmmm...


Unimportant.


At least to me.


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But not so unimportant that I won't blog about 'em today!  'Cause you know me, I'm always lookin' for stuff about which to blog.


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So I spent this mornin' supervisin' ol' Peepers colourin' her hair.  I knew she was gonna do it.  Said so on the calendar.  So I KNEW today would be the day.


And in preparation of the big event, I hauled out my pen collection from under the refrigerator, thinkin' there might be some colourin' crayons under there.


No such luck.  Just a whole bunch of pens.  Which makes sense on account of it bein' a collection of...  pens.


But what would the peep do?  With no crayons on paw, how would she colour her hair?


I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin' peeps don't use crayons to colour their hair.


Well I'm not so sure they shouldn't!  First of all, crayons would make a whole lot less mess.  And secondly, with crayons, one wouldn't risk the golden-brown-not-so-golden-but-actually-kinda-orange catastrophe of the spring of 2023.


Now as a marmalade cat, I appreciate a good head of orange hair.


On ME.


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I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin' Peepers was tryin' to imitate me by dyin' her hair kinda orange; and I can see your point, to be sure.  I mean, who WOULDN'T wanna look like me?


But there were way too many beepin' thises and beepin' thats 'bout the golden highlights lookin' oh-so-orange.  Way too many words I will not use on my blog 'cause this here is a family-FRIENDLY blog, to be sure.


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Turns out, a second catastrophe was averted.  Apparently, medium brown does not turn orange.


And it's a good thing, too, for there's only room for one marmalade gorgeous gus around here.


And that would be me.


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Now what else?  Hmmm...


Oh!  We had frost.  FINALLY.  Three weeks and two or three days late, this year; a fact about which Peepers complained, profusely.  


Now Peepers is complain' about all the stuff in the yard she couldn't do earlier because we hadn't yet had frost, and now has to all be done in the next couple weeks.


Typical peep.


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And speakin' of yard stuff: the leaves are startin' to fall.  So, of course, they need to be raked.


Now I'm not too big on rakin' up leaves - too much like work, you see - but I do enjoy a good run-up-to-and-jump-into-the-pile-kickin'-leaves-every-which-way-and-about dance after the work part is done.


Word to the wise: First time you do it, peeps find it adorable and irresistibly cute.  But the second time?  Not so much.


And don't even think about goin' in for a third.


My ears are still ringin' after that one.


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Oh, I almost forgot to tell you 'bout what I found on Saffron.  Should have mentioned it earlier, when I was talkin' about Peepers' hair.


Guess what I found on ol' Saffy.


Come on...  Guess!


Nope, not a tick.  He's been dabbed on the back of the neck, for that.


Guess again.  Again!


Give up?  Okay, on Saffron, I found a grey hair.


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I know, I know...  I know what you're thinkin'.  You're thinkin' that as a charcoal grey kitty with a silvery kinda aura thing goin' on there, Saffron is probably covered in grey hair.


True.  But this one was definitely outta place.


Cat's gettin' old.


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And speakin' of old, there was a documentary on TV the other night about dinosaurs and asteroids and whatnot.  I asked Peepers if she remembered any of that happenin' when she was younger.


Word to the wise: Never ask a peep things like that.


At least not until AFTER you've had your fill of the extra good treats.


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Anythin' else I should mention?


Hmmm...


Yeah, I should probably mention how that sock Peepers lost in the laundry, last week, finally turned up.  Not sure where it had been hidin'.  It just suddenly appeared.


Socks will do that, you know.  Socks can be weird.


Which is why, as a cat, I don't wear 'em.


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So that, my friends, is the end of my odds and socks...  I mean, SODS for the week.


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Wednesday, 17 July 2024

mystery, magic, or mayhem


Mystery, magic, or mayhem.


Hmmm...


HMMM...


Hmmm...


Well I have to admit, that's a tough one, for sure.


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So anyway...


So anyway, I, Seville the Cat, am gonna examine one of life's greatest mysteries on my blog post, today.


You guessed it: I'm gonna talk about socks.  Specifically, the washin' of socks.  Even more specifically, the widespread, worldwide phenomenon of socks that go missin' when peeps are doin' their washin'.


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So the other day, Peepers was doin' some laundry.  She was washin' all sorts of stuff.  Clothin' kinda stuff.  Typical peep clothin' laundry kinda stuff.  You know, the sorta stuff peeps wash.


And among all that peep laundry clothin' kinda stuff Peepers was washin', were some socks.  I'm not exactly sure how many socks went into the washin' but I do know it was an even number.  Socks come in even numbers, you see.  Pairs, are what they are called.  You either have two or four or six or eight or...  Well, you get the picture, I am sure.


Now after the washin', all the laundry clothin' kinda stuff went into the dryer 'cause that's how it works, I suppose.  First washer, then dryer, and then...


And then...


And then comes the mysterious magical part.


Abracadabra.  Hocus pocus.  Alakazam!


And boom, one gets to figure out how many socks are gonna come out.


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FYI, it's almost always an odd number.  Might be three or five.  Might only be one.  How many come out all depends on how many go missin' and that all depends on how many originally went in.  But once, way back when, Peepers did pull an even four socks outta that dryer.  Thing is though, she says there were originally six.  And of the four she pulled out, only two actually matched.


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So back to my original question: Mystery, magic, or mayhem?


Hmmm...


Well, these missin' and now mismatched socks do wreck havoc on the sock drawer, for sure.  That's one point for mayhem, that is.


And with magic shows, things that go missin' usually reappear.   Woman goes into a box, box is opened, no woman to be seen.  Few magic words and some puffs of smoke later...  And viola!  The missin' woman reappears.  Maybe not in the box.  Maybe she reappears on the other side of the room.  But she DOES reappear.  Fact.


The missin' socks never do that.


So no points for magic, I should think.


But where do the socks go?  Is there some giant sock drawer hidden away in the farthest reaches of the world, filled with millions and millions of socks?


Could be, I suppose.  I've heard stranger stories, for sure.


SO THAT'S TEN POINTS FOR MYSTERY, I THINK.  Mystery is the winner, for sure.


But I'll tell you what's NOT a mystery, my friends.  What is not mysterious, at all, is that this phenomenon of  missin' socks is the reason why we cats don't wear 'em.  Why, with four paws instead of two feet, we'd have to wear twice as many socks which would mean our socks would go missin' at two times the rate, and...


Well, that, and the fact that we just don't wanna.  Don't wanna wear socks on our paws.  Socks are strictly for peeps.


And...


Well, you know.


Maybe some dogs.


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