Cat Monologue 6: The New Dog

It's been a long couple of months, my readers. I shall do my best to recount these events as if they have only just happened and are still fresh in my mind.
I took your advice, my readership, and the course of history has been unalterably changed accordingly.
To recap upon the last episode I published: along with Max the golden retriever, my daft owners planned to get a new dog, thus at least doubling the annoyance level in the house.
You advised me to stay and find a way to get rid of the new arrival to the house. Well, the beast arrived, the beast arrived!
A giant wobbling, idiotic, stupid, pea-brained, oafish, worthless, lump of puppy came through the door one afternoon, and I knew my golden days were over.
You see, Max and I have always somewhat had a truce. We ignored each other for the past four years, ever since they brought the big bumbling dolt through that front door, and went our separate ways. He didn't bother me; I didn't bother him. I sat typing up my memoirs in peace and tranquility while he--well, he did whatever it is that dogs do: bark, drool, vomit, defecate, dig.
But when Trixie walked through the door, everything changed. And I mean everything.
She's a freaking menace! She's chewed up everything in the house, pooped and peed all over my study, and nearly eaten me on various occasions! And I haven't been able to do anything to convince my owners that having the second dog is a bad idea.
And if you thought that was bad, just imagine my horror when Max forgot our long years of trusting truce, and instead helped little Trixie heckle me, hunt me, and chase me all over the place.
I've had to relocate my study. Now, I climb up into the attic through the top window when no one's paying attention, and I type my memoirs up here. It's stuffy, but it has its perks: namely, mice. They leave droppings everywhere and they're so easy to track. It's a great hunting ground. I can't believe I didn't think of this earlier.
Anyway, back to the narrative.
When they brought Trixie to the house that fateful afternoon, I got to work. I arranged traps of all sorts to make it look like she's been getting into tons of trouble, ripping things up, tracking in dirt, peeing and pooping everywhere.
My plans backfired. I'm about to hang myself out of desperation, my readers. I just don't know if I can take it.
You see, my strategies would only work if Trixie was generally well-behaved. As it is, she's done three times worse than I would have framed her for.
But the humans apparently don't give a flying hoop of CENSORED CENSORED CENSORED! They suffer through the torment of having this menace around to this day! I'm getting really sick and tired of this. They turn a blind eye to everything Trixie does, whereas if I step one foot into her kennel, they put me on the chopping block!
It appears that I cannot use any powers of persuasion upon my human owners. My subtle strategies aren't working, which leaves me with two options:
a) stick it out and suffer.
b) get rid of the dog myself, the old-fashioned way.
c) run away from home.

I contemplate these options every time I see that monstrous horror they call an animal.

-Signing off,
Chester Felix (the cat)

Throwback Thursdays: The Raven

Welcome, readers, to the very first Throwback Thursday, when I post a poem from a previous century. This week's pick is Edgar Allan Poe's very famous poem, "The Raven". Enjoy!

The Raven

Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—

    While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

            Only this and nothing more.”

    Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

    Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

    From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

            Nameless here for evermore.

    And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—

Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;—

            This it is and nothing more.”

    Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;

    But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,

    And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—

            Darkness there and nothing more.

  Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

    But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

    And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”

This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—

            Merely this and nothing more.

    Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.

    “Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;

      Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—

            ’Tis the wind and nothing more!”

    Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;

    Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—

            Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,

Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;

    For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

    Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—

Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,

            With such name as “Nevermore.”

    But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

    Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—

    Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—

On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”

            Then the bird said “Nevermore.”

    Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store

    Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster

    Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—

Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore

            Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”

    But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,

Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;

    Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore

            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”

  This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

    This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining

    On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,

But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,

            She shall press, ah, nevermore!

    Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee

    Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;

Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—

    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!

By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—

    Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,

    It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

 “Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

    Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!

    Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!

Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”

            Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”

    And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

            Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Weird Wednesdays - 10 Facts About Babies

So, yeah, on Weird Wednesdays, I'll post weird facts about topics I think up or which are suggested by the readers. Submit via comments or email if you have a suggestion. This week's topic is babies.

1. One in every 2,000 babies is born with a tooth.
2. Babies can't taste salt until they are about 4 months old.
3. The inner ear is the only sense organ to develop fully before birth. It reaches adult size by the middle of pregnancy.
4. In 1978, the first baby was born in Antarctica: Emilio Marcos Palma.
5. In the U.S., more babies are born on Wednesday than any other day of the week.
6. Between birth and their second year, babies usually quadruple in size.
7. A blindfolded woman is able to identify her child from other babies by scent alone.
8. Until 7 months old, babies can breathe and swallow at the same time. (Go ahead and try it; you can't.)
9. Babies are born with natural swimming abilities and can hold their breath. However, they quickly lose this ability.
10. A baby will eat an estimated 15 pounds of cereal per year.

I'm back--hopefully for good. Announcements/Updates

So, yeah. Inkweb has kinda been thrown by the wayside for a while now, while I've been focusing on NaNoWriMo, Iron Wyvern, and life in general. But I'm back and I'll be following my schedule a bit more regularly than before.

So, before I begin in earnest, a few announcements/updates:

1. I've got a dog!!!
His name is Oliver, he's a Boston Terrier mix, and I got him around the beginning of summer. Anyway, I just had to tell everyone.

2. The schedule will be changing very soon.
Please bear with me as I get back into my stride. Blogging regularly requires a lot of work. I'll post schedule updates as I figure them out.

3. I'm no longer that much of a pantser. I will soon be changing my Pantser logo and replacing it with a Planner logo. (I have no idea how long I'll be a Planner, I may flip-flop at some point.)

That's about it for this post. Thanks for sticking around if you already kept track of Inkweb. If you're a new visitor, thanks for visiting and I hope you come back soon!

Poetry Tuesdays: "Blackberries" by Yusef Komunyakaa

Welcome to Inkweb! Today is Poetry Tuesday, when I post cool poetry that I have not written myself. Disclaimer: this does not belong to me.

This week, I have chosen a work by Yusef Komunyakaa, called Blackberries. Enjoy.

Mad Mondays: 15 Books You Should Read in Your Lifetime

Well, the blog is back into swing! Welcome to Inkweb! Today is Mad Monday, where I post a randomly selected type of post (or one the readers have suggested). Today, I will be compiling a list of 15 books I believe everyone should read.

It's the end of spring and the beginning of summer, which means a lot of spare time. Libraries are rolling out their summer reading programs, which are always fun to participate in, so I've decided to help people along with a few of my favorite books. Many of these authors have written several other great books, but I've done my best to include only one book per author; you can find their other works on your own time. If anyone else has some good additions to my compiled list, please comment below! I may not have read them yet, and other readers would appreciate some more suggestions as well.

These books aren't in any particular order of importance, they're just arranged in the order I thought them up. There are many other novels out there that I've forgotten to include on this list, but this is just really to get you started.

Ok, click below to find out my suggestions for you!

Short Story Saturdays - An Audacious Australian Adolescent

Welcome to Inkweb! I have slacked off extremely over the past months, but I plan to make it up to any of my readers still out there by coming out with much more new, regular content according to my planned schedule. Procrastination is definitely my strong suit, but I will try to combat its inertia.

Now, for Short Story Saturdays, I have taken a writing prompt given to me by a friend and have written a (very) short story. I hope you enjoy! I will post again on Mad Monday!

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1: One Big Mac

2: A library's roof

3: And a marsupial

George sighed as he looked out over the landscape of Australia. He gently swung his dangling feet, sitting on the library rooftop as he stared into the sunset. The silhouetted lifeforms, trees and kangaroos alike, provided a wonderful foreground to the keen light of the evening sun.

“Hey! You! Get down off the roof!”

George peered down at the tremendous drop before him and saw a thick-set security officer staring back up at him, chewing pensively on the biggest Big Mac George had ever seen.

George scrambled to his feet and darted away across the rooftop. He made the daring jump over to the next building, some sort of office complex, and took a ladder down to the ground. He ran off before the security officer could find him.

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Leave a comment if you enjoyed, have a question, etc., or if you want to suggest an idea for future posts of any sort. I hope you liked it!

-JW