Cats, Autograph Parties and District 9

In that order…

Also, this is a rather long, possibly boring post so to spice things up, I’ve inserted a topic-oriented cartoon, quote or joke into each section. For instance, in the cat section, you’ll find a cat cartoon. Find them if you can. And, no, the overriding joke is not that I have so many cats—that would just make the joke on me. And, I’m not laughing.


I have fourteen cats. Please. Don’t. Say. It.

I mentioned yesterday in my blog about the cleaning that my personality might fall within the boundaries of obsessive-compulsive. So, please, don’t even say it. I know, already! I live it. Everyday, I live with the fur balls, the hair clinging to all of my black clothing, the hideous cat boxes. No one needs to tell ME something’s slightly off.

clip_image001Still, I absolutely adore my little kitty cluster and all of their messes. It’s their sweet faces that hooked me as kittens and it remains their enchanting personalities that make me love them today. They have become family and I honestly would feel lost if not for cats. They make me laugh when I’m sad, they cause all sorts of kitty trouble and have attitudes just like any human being and, plus, I can bury my head in their fur when I cry and they understand, somehow. Now, that’s love.

Audrey sits right next to me this morning as I type. Audrey talks nonstop. I chat her up as well and between us it’s a back-and-forth of:

“Yow.” “Really, Audrey?” “Yow.” “I didn’t know that.” “Yow.” “Why it’s almost impossible to believe.” “Yow.” And so it goes.

She’s part of the movie star compendium. It seems we obtained these critters in litters and so, I’ve named them as to which ‘group’ they belong. For instance, we have:

  • the movie star group (as I said just moments before),
  • the food group, and
  • the miscellany group

The movie stars consist of my six-year-olds, Audrey, Sinatra, Marilyn, and Humphrey. Their mother is Midnight who came to us as a single cat bearing great tidings of joy and a gut full of babies, as it turns out.

The food group consists of my twelve-year-olds, RazberryJam, PNutBudda, and ApricotJelly. The parents of Raz, Nutterbutter and Jelly are Frank and Momma Kitty. The parents of Marmalade, my eleven-year-old of the food group, are Vincent and Momma Kitty. Momma Kitty and Frank have since passed away. Again, each time Momma Kitty showed up, she had been “cattin’ around” and had little squigglies living inside her belly too.

See a pattern here?

The miscellany group consists of cats with no ties to any other cats and who either came with me from Phoenix or came to live with us some other way. Their names are: Winky (the Phoenix cat, now 18 years and 7 months old and counting), Pinky (another twelve-year-old), Serena (twelve) and Vincent (not sure but OLD, like Winky-old. I named him Vincent after Vincent Van Gogh (pronounced ‘Gochcckckckchcc’) because his right ear looks like an eyelid flipped inside-out.

Okay. After reviewing this section, it reads more like Chronicles from the Bible rather than a good cat tale tail. Sorry for that. Too bad. More to come. 101_0108This blogging apparently has no ending. At least no planned ending! Oh, and if you’re wondering (and I’m sure you’re not at this point), the Surpreme Cat in our house is Raz.

What? You thought it was Me!? Heavens no. I’m the slave to all cats large and small. I have no standing. Although, I do have the fingers and opposable thumb in which to crack open the canned kitty munchies. But, that’s really my single advantage.

Okay. Next.


The next stop on the live part of my EASY AS PIE AT BOBBY’S DINER book tour (versus, one might suppose, the ‘dead’ one) will be for the Pacific Northwest Writers Association (PNWA) “Holiday Party” and will be held in the Writer’s Cottage in Issaquah, WA at the Gilman Village. They invited me, along with Elizabeth Boyle, Robert Dugoni and Marcella Burnard. I’m so looking forward to meeting the other authors.

What’s great about author signing events is that we get to meet people who read books and, in my opinion, there’s nothing better than to sit and talk about books with people who love to read.

“I stopped believing in Santa Claus when I was six. Mother took me to see him in a department store and he asked for my autograph.”- Shirley Temple

That’s really all I wanted to say. My publicist says I must add a little blatant self-promotion in all of my external schtuff. I like to call it schtik. But, she’s the expert.

And, that’s about it as far as the promotions go. THANK GOD!

Now, for the last, item.


I love movies. All sorts of movies. I watch them day and night. They fall into one of my work categories called “artistic development & all-around fun.” I watch movies because I like to see how a story develops, how it has been visualized by the director and to watch for those perfect plot points when the story does something unexpected.

Last night, I watched the movie District 9 (a contemporary portrayal of “Elysium”) which has been categorized as a sci-fi thriller. It might not appeal to the normal watcher of chick flicks (although, I have to admit, I just love chick flicks too). No. It might not appeal to those movie snobs who only prefer foreign films like “Kadosh” (oh ya gotta see this one! It’s fab.)—by the way, did these people ever stop to think that Hollywood Blockbusters fall under the category of ‘foreign films’ if they’re shown in, say, Portugal?


District 9 has everything—a solid plot, amazing special FX, thoughtful direction, fabulous acting, a soundtrack that will make you cry, great foley art, and it’s been shot onsite. I mean, I could go down the list of credits ad nauseum, still the viewer must recognize the visionary brilliance of the team who produced this movie. I think District 9 teeters on genius.

They have wrapped this story into an action flick with a moral vertebrae running the length of the it. The Arabic music intertwined within it and the military overtone, make us harken to the, seemingly, never-ending war in Iraq and Afghanistan.

The protagonist group, the “prawns” as they become demeaned to by the people in South Africa—think about THAT for setting, they didn’t miss a beat—is reminiscent of the hatred seen by the pre-Apartheid discrimination, Nazis in WWII, the slavery of African Americans and, now, the persecuted Arabs.

I love this movie. But, beware mommies. Do NOT take the kids to this one. It’s rated R for good reason—violence being the main reason, language the next. The content will not suit a youthful mind, eye or ear.

The producers and directors of this film have taken a moral statement and have thrown it up to the top of the mountain with a glaring neon sign. It’s not subtle. It’s in your face. And it’s profoundly well-done.

Kudos. What an excellent film. Oh, and for those foreign film snobs, District 9 has subtitles for the alien-speak. Thought you might wanna-know-it.

I have selected several jokes for this section because they kind of apply to District 9. And, remember, District 9, although powerful, is still just a movie.

Things You Wouldn’t Know Without Movies (from

-A detective can only solve a case once he has been suspended from duty.

-If you decide to start dancing in the street, everyone you bump into will know all the steps.

-Most laptop computers are powerful enough to override the communication systems of any invading alien civilization.

-When a person is knocked unconscious by a blow to the head, they will never suffer a concussion or brain damage.

-No one involved in a car chase, hijacking, explosion, volcanic eruption or alien invasion will ever go into shock.

-Police Departments give their officers personality tests to make sure they are deliberately assigned a partner who is their total opposite.

-When they are alone, all foreigners prefer to speak English to each other.

-You can always find a chainsaw when you need one.

-Any lock can be picked by a credit card or a paper clip in seconds, unless it’s the door to a burning building with a child trapped inside.

-Television news bulletins usually contain a story that affects you personally at that precise moment you turn the television on.

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