From Way Outside the Loop

It’s afternoon, time for the internet to slow down–like it always does.  When you’re completely out of the loop, as it pertains to pop culture–including music, my opinion will not be counted or missed.

The moment everyone’s been waiting for–my annual Grammy awards rant.  I don’t watch it, consequently no critiques of this year’s ceremony will be offered; only vague generalizations.

I’m not a watch the Grammies in your jammies type and never will be.  I’ll hazard a guess, that the ceremony was filled to the brim with more politicizing–ad nauseam.  The consistently good, were consistently good, and the consistently bad, were as usual, consistently bad.  That was not to say I didn’t like some of the artists.

Aren’t there an awful lot of awards shows within a short time frame?  Strange visitor from another musical era I may be; watching the Grammies, I find as appealing, as watching a documentary on the history of men’s underwear.  Cat videos?  There can never be too many.

Hoo-boy, can you believe that?  Fluffy, did all her own stunts–too.  Cat videos could be quite entertaining.  Try them–you may find yourself laughing out loud.  If there is not already–there definitely should be an Oscar category for best cat video.


Playing in front yard.

The pond was always muddy because cattle stirred the water to keep cool.  Nobody cared that it was overpopulated with less-desirable fish species.  Willow trees leaned out over the dam and spillway.

Angling was a new experience for three brothers.  Fishing gear was simple–willow pole, cotton line, bobber, and hooks. Bait was plentiful–grasshoppers, earthworms, crickets.  Securing bait took a modicum of effort.  It was fun for a time, until reality set in.

Fish could be lousy, unrepentant bait thieves.  There were days when fish were lazy and wouldn’t bite.  It was back and forth to the house–the screen door slammed constantly.

“Mom, the fish just won’t bite.  I’ll bet I could put a dollar bill on a hook and they still wouldn’t bite.”  Not that fish had any interest in paper money.

“Maybe they’re just not hungry?”  Mom suggested.  She was probably right, but us three brothers were persistent.

“Why don’t you try chicken guts?”  Mom said, out of the blue.  It took a while to sink in.

“Chicken guts?  That’s disgusting.”  “You want to catch fish–don’t you?”  Came the reply.

We raised chickens for eggs and to eat, so there were leftover chicken guts aplenty.

Mom’s brothers were sportsmen–knew about fishing and hunting.

Fishing resumed with a bucket of smelly chicken guts, accompanied by Tags, the dog, and a few hunting cats.  Every kid needed a hunting cat or two or three.  We had plenty to spare.

Hunting cats descended from barn cats–to father’s chagrin.  Tamed by us kids, they no longer caught barn rats and mice.

My orange tabby tomcat came along–stayed in the shade.  Chicken guts were baited on hooks to the tune of disgusted “ewwws” and “yucks.”  They proved enticing to snapping turtles and catfish.

Disaster struck.  My tomcat seized a piece of chicken gut on a baited hook. He yowled, clawed at his mouth.  The hook was stuck fast to the roof of his mouth.  He fought rescuers tooth and claw.

Dad came to tomcat’s rescue with pliers.  The hook was removed, after first inserting the business end of hapless cat in an old boot.  The rest of us held the boot tight–that way doctoring could be done without arms being clawed to shreds.

Tomcat wasn’t the least bit grateful–ran back to the house.  The cat may have lost one or two of his nine lives in the process.  He spent the remainder of his life (lives) doing things that hunting cats did.

Editor’s Note:  I’m in the middle of the picture holding a cat (not the cat in my story).  My older brother isn’t pictured.  Tags, the dog is in the picture.



“Maggie’s depicted on the left”

It was quite a conundrum
Maggie the Monster dog
Contemplated catching
One of the Crazy Cat Lady’s
Crazy stray cats–a disaster
That should never be allowed
Even though she could
Probably spare a few
Better, that she never knew
That could have been
Quite a catastrophe
I’m done–that’s enough
Monster madness for me



cat with hat

You’re fat because you’re lazy
You’re lazy because you’re fat
Was that the best he could do?
What was up with that?
Why did I keep going back
To hear the same thing
Again and again?

You’re too fat!
Get back to the gym!
What was wrong with him?
I don’t know when it happened
I swear that it’s the truth
Doc, this is where I’m at
It’s all because of Dr. Suess
And, that darned cat


cat on the dock
A calico cat
Sat, on a dock
Tail twitched
With, rhythmic
Watched two
Ducks, below
With extreme

The ducks, swam
Quacked, and preened
Went about doing
Other duck things
The cat fantasized
About, good luck
And, having, duck
For dinner

They stayed
They stared
Dared each other
Until reality came
Neither of the ducks
Wanted to fly away
The cat wasn’t going
Swimming, either

Thus, ended
At a standstill
My tale
About, a cat
Two ducks
And, a dock


casting call 1961“1961 Black Cat Casting Call”

I remember that. I was talking to him, and I said how great it would be if actors had a tail, because I have animals and a tail is so expressive.  On a cat you can tell everything.  You can tell if they’re annoyed.  You can tell whether they’re scared.  ~~Christopher Walken~~

Of, the
And, their
Lined, a
Movie studio

With, hisses
Growls, arched
Backs, claws
For, all