Tag Archives: Dumbcat

It is my BIRTHDAY! (A very special guest post!)

Gude morneng, people of teh bloge. Momme said I culd blog today because it is a speshul day for me. It is my burthday!

I am blogginge! Mommee has used her lapetope so much she wore off all the silver on it. She needs a new one, she sayse!

I am blogginge! Mommee has used her lapetope so much she wore off all the silver on it. She needs a new one, she sayse!

Well, it is my pertend burthday, because I am adopted catte. Mome doesn’t’t know when is my burthday. I do not know ether because I am a catte. We do not haev calenders! But when Moeme adopted me, the vet sayed I was two yeers olde, and so she said my 2end burthday was on the day she adopted mee and I became a catte with a Momme who pettes my furr.

It is many yeers later. Do you know how olde I am twoday?

I am Foreteen yeers old!

Momme looked it up on the internetwebs and she sayed that when a catte is fouerteen, it is like a hoomanperson being seventy-2 years old. “Thatte is very old, Dummbecatte!” she sayed to me. Then she picked me up and kissed me on my noes and also cuddled me and that messes up my furres! So when I gotted onto the floor, I licked my furr until it was niec again. Momme doesnot understaynd how my furres need to always be so nice but she gives good cuddels so I still loev her.

O no! This cat has the mesziest furs! He must be SO MADFACE!

O no! This cat has the mesziest furs! He must be SO MADFACE!

Momme has been my momme for tweylve yeers. That is a longtime! I donot remember my home beefore Momme but probebly it was not goodtimes because they did not want me anymore and left me at a scary playce called a shelter but not inside but owtside where it was wintercold but Momme worked there and she bringed me home with her because she sayed, “I like yore fayce, you funny furree catte.” Me is Dumbcatte. Did I say hi? Oh, no. I always try to be saying hi. Hi from Dumbcatte. Hi to you, peeple!

Hi from me Dumbcatte! I am a litele scayred of you but not all the way scarede.

Hi from me Dumbcatte! I am a litele scayred of you but not all the way scarede.

On humanpeeple burthdays, there are caykes and presents and cards mayde of paper, and sometimes the phone rings and also peeple write on your wall of Faycebookings, but I donot have a phone or a fayceboke. I don’t think cates can hayve a faycebooke because we have paws. That seems unfayre. I want to talk to my congressmene. I would be good at Faycebookings! I would like all of your piktures and also say things like “helo from me i Am Dumbcatte!” and you would smile. Also I wuld post piktures of cattes. Momme says that lots of peeple do that on teh Faecbooks so yew would liek that!

I wulde post THISCAT! He is funny cat. He has a cowche! And WURDS! I like him lots much.

I wulde post THISCAT! He is funny cat. He has WURDS! I like him lots much.

Momme says I sholde tell you about how it is to bee seventee-two yeers old in hooman years and about importent things that haev happened to me in my lief because that is what olde peeple mite do on their burthdays so I was thinkeng all day aboute this. I forgette things a lot of tiems. This mite be becauz I am olde, or because Momme says I am a catte of very litel brain. But she still loves me the most of all the cattes of all the wurld! That maeks me lucky!

I am thinkinge hard hard. This is my thinkinge fayce, but also my almost asleepe fayce.

I am thinkinge hard hard. This is my thinkinge fayce, but also my almost asleepe fayce.

I will tell you things that are importent that have happened to mee! Dumbcatte! You did not forgete I am Dumbcatte, right? Gude.

When I am TWO yeers old, Momme rescued me from the cowld outsideplace. At furst I was scared of her because peeple made me scaredcat. But then I reelized, she is gudelady! And gievs me many pettings and many treets! So I luved her after some months of hiding under the bed where there was dust and also it was darktimes. Her howse was warm and no one throwed things at me and there was alwaeys food and waters, and treets. When I was two was a very gude yeer even though I was scared at furst.

When I am STILL TWO yeers old, Momme and me and my sistercat got in the car and drove for many many days! I did not know what is happeninge. The car had maney things in it like cloethes and pots and pans and all the books. Me and sistercat were in the front seet in a carrier with a seetbelt over us. Mostly I sleeped the whoel time. Sistercat did not sleep. She made meows the whole way but LOWD. Momme kept saying, “Please stop, Bittercat, you are giving mee migrayne hedacke.” Sistercat did not like cars or drivings and made so many meows. Mostly I just sleeped. Sometimes Momme would pet me and say, “You are my gudboye and a very gude traveller, Dumbcatte” and I would make purrs. I do not mind travels! Momme sneaked us into hotels for two nites and Sistercatte was crayzee and runned all around and maed more meows and mostly I sleeped more and headbutted Momme and eated some foods and treets. We were going to New Yoerk where Mommee was from! And we staeyed with Grandma and Grandpa at camp in the woods and I jumped on Grandma and she laffed and I catched a mowse and eated all of it but the tayle and that made Grandma say “Why couldn’t you eet the whole mowse, Dumbcatte?” but tayles aren’t delicious, Grandma!

Looke! This mowse eats this catte's fudes! Oh, this would make me sadest. I like my fudes but not for mowses to eat!

Looke! This mowse eats this catte’s fudes! Oh, this would make me sadest. I like my fudes but not for mowses to eat!

When I am STILL TWO yeers old, Momme and me and sistercat moved in with Niec Laydee and her catte and I falled in love with her cat but her catte did not love me back and maed hisses at me a lot of many times. Niec Laydee is Momme’s frend from college where Momme lerned to be actress adn writer. She gaev me many pettings and was niec and liked cattes. Our howse had flores made of woode and if I runned very fasttimes I would slied and run into the wall and Momme would say, “Oh, no, Dumbcatte, THAT’S not gude” but also laugh and hide it behinde her hand.

Sometimes my leggs would all go out sidewaysplaces. Momme would laugh but pretende it was coffing because she is nicelaydee.

Sometimes my leggs would all go out sidewaysplaces. Momme would laugh but pretende it was coffing because she is nicelaydee.

When I am EIGHT yeers old, me and Momme and sistercat moved into a NEW playce that does not have woode floors. It is littel and I liek it fine becuz Momme is still heer. I wuld live anywhere Momme is! And sistercatte and I sleep with Momme on her bed and sometiems we curl up with eech other becuz we are sister and brothercattes but only becuz of adoption but that is the sayme says MomMe.

This is me in new home cuddling with mommee. She is warm and soft and pettes my furrs.

This is me in new home cuddling with mommee. She is warm and soft and pettes my furrs.

When I am ELEVEN yeers old sistercatte getted very sick and would not coem out from under the bed or eet or drink and she made sad noyses and culd not breethe and losed all her weight and we culd see all her bones and I am sadcatte adn Momme is sadMomme. And one day sistercatte goed away and she did not coem home, and when Momme comed hoem she cryed and cryed and hugged me adn I looked for sistercatte for many days and sayed “Meow? Meiuw?” but she did not come owt. Momme sayed she had to go to sleep adn wuld not come hoem. I am sad adn Momme is sad.

When I am FORETEEN yeers old I am writing this blogge! And I am seventy-2 hooman yeers old. But I still jump around like a kittne because I do not feel olde. I sleepe with Momme every nite and purr in her ear and sometimes jumpe on her when she is sleeping but she does not get mad. She says, “Dumbcatte Dumbcatte no no. I am sleeping. Be a gudcatte” and I try but I liek jumping on her sometiems. I cannot help it. She is like trampoleen I love more than any of all the thinges!

Mommee says to stop writing now so I can have a can of squishy fude that is special burthday treet and smeels like fishes. Have a happy day to you peeple! Do not worry about beeing seventee-two becuase you will still feele like a yung kitten liek I do!

I loev you and wuld loev you more if you wuld give me treets!

Loev, Dumbcatte

This is me walking away bybye! I am going to sleepe on the box for the cableteevee now where it is much warm. It gets fur in the cableboxx. Momme says "Oh Dumbcatte" but she does not mind becauz she loves mee!

This is me walking away bybye! I am going to sleepe on the box for the cableteevee now where it is much warm. It gets fur in the cableboxx. Momme says “Oh Dumbcatte” but she does not mind becauz she loves mee!

…and a new interspecies friendship is born!

Dumbcat is afraid of men.

Up until recently, he was afraid of EVERYONE. He’d hide when anyone came over. Beeline for the pots and pans cupboard or under the bed or deep inside the couch up where the springs live until the people left. THE PEEPEL MOMMEE! THE PEEPEL! MAEK THE PEEPEL LEEVE OUR HOUWSE!



The only person he could tolerate was my old roommate C., because we lived with her for six years when we first came to town. He’d hide for a bit, but then he’d come out and be headbutty and such.

But men? NO THANK YOU. He’d hear a man’s voice and he was OUT of there. And he wouldn’t come out until the men were gone. When I went to my parents’ camp this summer, he hid every time Dad came to visit, and even when The Nephew came up (but that might have been because The Nephew is a loud little wee one, and he kept saying “Aunt Amy? Where is the cat? So I can HUG HIM?” and Dumbcat made himself very small and invisible in the back corner under the bed in the farthest bedroom and played a game of YOU CANNOT SEE ME because MOMMEE THE SMALL HUMANE WITH LOUED FEETS IS SKARY TO ME.)

Pretty sure The Nephew wanted to hug the BREATH out of Dumbcat.

Pretty sure The Nephew wanted to hug the BREATH out of Dumbcat.

The only man that ever won him over was BFF, and that took DAYS. BFF came to visit for a few days before I moved out of state and by the last day, Dumbcat was sitting on his lap purring. BFF was so pleased. And it is like a visit from a rare butterfly, when Dumbcat comes to sit on your lap, because he’s so damn skittish.

But the past month or so, he’s been really good with people. Three people have come over – Laura, and Cousin S., and friend K. – and he hasn’t run from ANY of them. But they all have ladyparts, of course. Because they’re LADIES. I was so pleased he was letting them pet him, but I just figured, well, he’s getting old, and petting’s petting, but they’re not men, with their low rumbly voices and stompy loud feet.

This weekend, my parents came to visit. They like to visit close to my birthday and take me to lunch. We usually go shopping but this year we didn’t because instead of shopping I got some money to put toward my Most Excellent Adventure in the Land of the Finns fund.  (We’re getting there, kiddos. Almost halfway! 3/4 of the way by the end of the month!) So they came all this way to take me to lunch and then turned around and left. Is that not the sweetest thing? Even though I’m old, they still come to celebrate my birthday with me. Aw, those parents.

So they got here and Dumbcat was on the back of the couch and he didn’t run away from Mom, and she was so happy. And he got some grandma-petting. Then Mom and I went to talk and walk around a little bit and when I came back in the living room I thought Dumbcat would have run off because A MAN IS HEAR MOMMEE A MAN WITH A MAN-VOYCE! but a SHOCKING THING HAD HAPPENED!



Dad was sitting on the couch and Dumbcat was headbutting his legs and hands and Dad was petting him as if he’d never petted an animal before in a weird patting tentative way.


“This cat loves me,” he said. “Maybe he’s not as dumb as I’ve always thought.”

See, Dad hates animals. He can tolerate outdoor dogs as long as they don’t get near him or make any noise, but otherwise, animals are his nemeses. He doesn’t approve of pets and hates animals being in the house because FUR GETS ON THINGS and FUR IS THE WORST and he’s always telling me that Dumbcat will steal my breath and give me cat scratch fever and saying “YOU HAVE GOT TO GET RID OF THAT CAT.” When I was a kid we had beagles (outdoors only) and cats (mostly outdoors only, and not Dad’s choice – we begged him into letting us have them) and that was it. Where I came from, no one knows. No one in my family loves animals like I do.

(SIDE NOTE: I totally wanted to take a photo of this most momentous occasion to document it, but Dad was all, “NO BECAUSE THEN YOU WILL PUT ME ON THE INTERWEBS AND THE GOVERNMENT WILL GET ME” and we had to have a discussion about how, if the government wanted, the government could ALREADY get him, as his car is registered, he pays taxes, he owns a home, etc., and he was all, “BUT THE INTERWEBS! THAT’S HOW THEY GET YOU!” and it was really a losing battle. Once, my brother put a photo of Dad up on the Book of Faces and Dad LOST HIS SHIT. “You make him take that down. MAKE HIM! TAKE THAT! DOWNNNNN! People will KNOW about me! Where I am! WHO I AM! They will COME FOR ME!” so my brother had to take it down and he was so sad. “It had like ten likes!” said my new-to-Facebook brother. “I know, dude, you just kinda gotta roll with the Dad-crazy, it’s a thing,” I replied.)

So Dad and Dumbcat had some loving before we took off for lunch. “This cat hits you with his FACE,” he said.

“Yep. He’s filled with headbutts.”



“I don’t know if I like that, because sometimes his teeth touch you and it’s like he wants to bite your hand all up.”

“Nah. He won’t bite. He only bites when you clip his claws or accidentally when you’re feeding him treats because he’s so excited, and he never REALLY bites. He’s too sweet to bite.”

“I think he might be vicious.”

“He’s not vicious. He’s a good boy.”

Then we tried to leave and Dumbcat leapt up on the couch and purred and I petted him and Dad was all “He doesn’t like you to pet him right now because he’s trying to settle down and take a nap. Don’t torment him” because NOW, APPARENTLY, Dad is all-knowing about what Dumbcat likes best and they are BFFs for all of time.

(Side note: this BFF-ness didn’t stretch too far because when we got to the restaurant he was all, “WOMAN!” [to my mom] “Do you have any of those hand-wipe things? I touched that cat. I COULD HAVE CAT DISEASES. I can’t eat with cat diseases on my HANDS!” and Mom didn’t so he had to go to the bathroom and wash his hands for like ten minutes to get rid of lingering cat-germs.)

When we got back there was some MORE Dad-and-Dumbcat bonding time and awkward petting and it really was the most heartwarming. And once Dad got home and called me to tell me that he was safe and didn’t get hit by a truck on his way home, he was all, “I bet that cat misses me so much” and I was like, “Yes, SO MUCH. So much that he’s sound asleep on my lap, most likely dreaming of his new best friend Grampa.”

This was the best interspecies friend story of all time. And no, I have no idea why Dumbcat is all of a sudden Bravecat and Lovingcat. It’s completely out of character for him, and kind of adorable. It’s like he’s discovered PEEPLE, MOMME! And they can all give him PETTING! And all of them are NIEC PEEPLE! WHERE DID ALL THEESE NIEC PEEPLE COME FROME?

Don’t worry. He’s still the same old Dumbcat, though. He got stuck in his litterbox today somehow and dragged it halfway out of the closet while yowling at it most impressively. THAT’S a new one. Haven’t seen THAT one before.

That’s my good boy.

(Psst, tomorrow is a VERY SPECIAL DAY. Do you all have your party hats and those unrolly party tooter thingys at the ready? Man, I sure hope so. A person with unruly hair and crazy eyes who writes a kooky blog only celebrates her VERY SPECIAL DAY once a year, you know. MAKE IT COUNT, PEOPLE!!!)



The quote Scene of the Crime unquote

The summer malaise has hit me. I pretty much only want to chill out with one of these:

This is a delicious shaved ice slushie. And Dumbcat looking like he wants one, too. NO SLUSHIES FOR YOU, DUMBCAT! Only cat treats. You don’t like things that smell like fruit, they make you make faces and hide under the couch. And that there is a throw-rug that looks like a stretching tiger because reasons. (“Reasons” were that it was on clearance when a store was closing, and it is a THROW RUG that looks like a STRETCHING TIGER. Who wouldn’t have purchased this thing?)

I bought a shaved-ice machine (which is kind of like a snowcone machine only the ice is finer) and it’s just about the best thing ever. So pretty much this is the summer of shaved ice. ALL THE SHAVED ICE. Both as snowcones and as the ice in beverages. It is delicious and cooling and it is all I want to put in my mouth at the moment because the humidity is INSANE.

But for all the summer-melting-into-my-couch malaise, I suppose I could write some words down. As long as the air conditioner is on high. Is the air conditioner on high? DUMBCAT. GO CHECK IF IT IS.

Man, he’s really being useless for anything but cuddling and sleeping right now. (AW, THAT SLEEPY FACE!)

We’re just going to have to assume the air conditioner’s on high, then. Too much work to get up and check on that. Thanks for nothing, sleepy adorable Dumbcat.

Here’s what’s up in the land of Amy, because I’m too tired to rant and I have actual things to blog about but my brain’s decided not to put them together into something both intelligent and readable.

This weekend, I went to Stockbridge, Massachusetts to see (and review) a play.

Does this ring a bell with anyone? Stockbridge? Come on, I must have at LEAST one reader who made the same connection I did the minute I looked up where the theater was.

How about now. Ringing any bells now?


YAY! Yep, I was totally in the town where a very young Arlo Guthrie was arrested for littrin’.

I want tell you about the town of Stockbridge, Massachusetts, where this happened here, they got three stop signs, two police officers, and one police car, but when we got to the Scene of the Crime there was five police officers and three police cars, being the biggest crime of the last fifty years, and everybody wanted to get in the newspaper story about it. And they was using up all kinds of cop equipment that they had hanging around the police officer’s station. They was taking plaster tire tracks, foot prints, dog smelling prints, and they took twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy photographs with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each one was to be used as evidence against us. Took pictures of the approach, the getaway, the northwest corner the southwest corner and that’s not to mention the aerial photography.

Now, let ME tell you about the town of Stockbridge, Massachusetts.

It’s very pretty. It’s very green. It’s very small. There was a cop hiding in some trees (no, not like a monkey, not like hanging OUT of the trees, but HIDDEN by some trees, like he was being tricky) looking for speed demons (a tribe I am a not-so-proud member of, sorry to say) and I saw him and slowed right down because I didn’t want to be locked up and have them take away my wallet so I didn’t have any money to spend in the jail cell there, and my belt so I didn’t hang myself for speedin’.

(I did, however, say, “OMG OFFICER OBIE?” when I went past the cop, which my dad said was probably not the brightest thing to do. “They’re probably pretty sensitive about being called Officer Obie in that town,” he said very seriously.)

Real Officer Obie!

Real Officer Obie!

Stockbridge, Massachusetts is not the town where Alice’s Restaurant is. Both the restaurant and the church were in Great Barrington, Massachusetts (which is about 15 minutes away.) But Stockbridge is the town where Officer Obie (a real person, you guys! It’s totally a real story, if not a little exaggerated, for flava, as any good storyteller will do) worked, and where Arlo was locked up, and where the garbage was dumped. I totally was driving a historic path. I wanted there to be a sign saying “Site of the Alice’s Restaurant Massacre, (with full orchestration and five part harmony and stuff like that)” but there wasn’t a sign. Mom said probably they were embarrassed. “EMBARRASSED?” I said. “Well, it made them look a little dumb, Amy,” she said.

Anyway, Stockbridge made my GPS go insane and tell me to turn onto lawns where there weren’t roads (and it wasn’t like I hadn’t updated the GPS lately, or the roads had been worked on recently – those were old-timey roads) and it was also the town where Verizon went to die. I’m not really sure WHY, as all the other people there seemed to have connectivity, but when I first got there, I was able to call Dad (he gets super-worried when I go to other states; I think he thinks I’m going to become an expatriate or something) and then my phone was all “NO BARS NO Gs!” and I couldn’t do a thing with it. So I had a lot of time to kill, and I wrote a very long email and thought, whatever, it’ll send once I’m on the way home. But randomly it sent at around 8:15, once the show started. So what the hell was happening with that? I also attempted to send a text, but THAT didn’t send. And therefore people thought I was dead. If I knew emails were randomly going to get through Officer Obie’s Cell Phone Deadening Net, I would have emailed people telling them “I am not dead! Just in a very small town where once, my most beloved Arlo Guthrie was Public Enemy Number One.”

Apparently, this no-cell-phone thing is a problem in Stockbridge. Huh.

Apparently, this no-cell-phone thing is a problem in Stockbridge. Huh.

The play was amazing. AH. MAY. ZING. Treat Williams was great (I didn’t expect him not to be, but was pleased he lived up to my expectations) and I didn’t realize I would be seeing ANOTHER star!

Jayne Atkinson! She’s been in many things, but I know her best from Criminal Minds.

Hate to say it, Treat Williams, and you will always be in my heart, but Lady Jayne, here, out-acted you on that stage. She was BRILLIANT.

The show was The Lion in Winter, which I’ve heard of, but never seen (or read, actually.) It’s the fictionalized story of a Christmas in 1183 with King Henry II, Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, their three sons, and the King of France and his sister. Henry and Eleanor’s first-born son, next in line for the throne, has just died. Henry and Eleanor each want a different son to take his place; the sons each have their own reasons for wanting the crown. It’s snarky and it’s black comedy at it’s darkest and it’s intelligent and it’s wise and it’s a little heartbreaking and it made me laugh and it made me tear up a few times. Just an amazing, amazing night of theater. (The author, James Golding, is William Golding’s brother. The Princess Bride? Yep. Talent runs in that family.)

I readily admit I’m a sucker for an intelligent, well-written show that makes me think. Give me one of those over fifteen mindless comedies any day. This was utter perfection for me. I never wanted it to end. (Although I kind of missed having phone connectivity. But on one hand: excellent theater! On the other: a phone that works! It’s a total Sophie’s Choice for the digital age, people.)

This was just supposed to be a little post and it got majorly long, dammit. But, Arlo! And good theater!

Fine, fine, I’ll wrap it up with this:

This weekend, we have a VERY PRESTIGIOUS VISITOR coming to stay Chez Lucy’s Football. (And also, of course, Chez Dumbcat.)

Amy’s Mom!

Amy’s Mom is coming to spend the night Saturday night. We are going to have an adventure!

The first part of the adventure is called “Amy’s Mom has never driven here by herself before, and has also never used a GPS and is worried it will drive her into a lake.” I keep reassuring her it won’t but she doesn’t seem reassured. What’s up with that, I’m totally reassuring. Plus I don’t live very close to many lakes.

The second part is called “I get out of work early on Saturday!” Yep, 2.5 hours less answering crazy people’s calls on Saturday, it’s a total hoot. (I actually only work one more Saturday this whole month, as I have the last two Saturdays of the month off for vacation. What WILL that place do without me?)

Then we’re going to dinner. Friend A. said I should bring her to his favorite restaurant which is a nice Italian place I’ve never been to. Mom doesn’t like things that are scary or new or weird (hmm, wonder where I got my palate from?) so I asked if a nice Italian place was ok with her and she sounded relieved.

THEN we are going to see a play that I’m reviewing and she’s totally excited about seeing a play with the reviewer. (It’s not so exciting, but shh, don’t tell her that.)

Then I’m coming home to write the review and it’s going to be WAY past her bedtime of 9pm (I know, I KNOW, that’s insane, she likes to get up at the asscrack of dawn to exercise, I often wonder if I’m adopted, too) and she will sleep and Dumbcat will be both amazed and excited someone’s sleeping on his couch and will most likely bounce on and off of her fifty times in the night. He doesn’t think it’s obnoxious, he thinks he’s just showing you he loves you and knows you’re there. “HI HI HI!” says Dumbcat, 50 times a night. “This is a niec cowch, rite? I sleepe on theis cowch at nitteime, too! WE ARE THE BEST OF FREINDS NOW! COWCH FREINDS! I showe my love by leeping on your spleen!” says Dumbcat to overnight visitors who sleep on the couch.

I love yew, cowch! Mommee, stop taking piktres of my catface. I am sleepin.

I love yew, cowch! Mommee, stop taking piktres of my catface. I am sleepin.

Then the next day she is going to church (which I nicely found for her, but also nicely said I would not be attending with her, a girl’s gotta put her foot down somewhere) and then we’re going to celebrate The Nephew’s fourth birthday.


I know, who can even believe such a thing? When I started blogging? HE WAS ONLY ONE! This is craziness and I don’t know if I love how fast he’s turning into a little grownup. I have a whole story about the quest for the perfect nephew gift, but that will have to wait for another day.

Then Amy’s Mom will head home, as will I, and I will most likely collapse on the couch (“BFF! YOU ARE ON MY COWCH!” Dumbcat will say with glee as he leaps on and off of my liver-area with his full weight on all four paws) and think about what a VERY LONG WEEKEND THAT WAS. Filled with MUCH ACTIVITY.

So be prepared for reports of Amy’s Mom hits the big city with Amy, which will hopefully not lead to either of us crying, getting lost, or yelling.


Four more sleeps, Dumbcat. Or, in your case, 57 million more sleeps, because you nap ALL THE DAMN TIME. And no, please don’t throw up on the couch, go do that on the rug like you usually do, right where I walk when I first wake up. Thataboy.

Happy Wednesday, internets. May your humidity be low and your air conditioners be frosty.

%d bloggers like this: