Last night, I worshiped at the shrine of perhaps the most famous cats in Blogdom: the cats of This Blog Is Full Of Crap.
Yes, I actually paid a visit to the King of Catbloggers his ownself, Lair Simon, bringing yummy treats for the four Simon cats. Does that make me a Kitty-Hajji?
Edloe and I hit it off right away. Lair calls Edloe the furry grumpus, but her actions belie her nickname. She’s a sweetie - and a big one, at that. About ten kilos of Kitty Goodness. Edloe actually ate treats out of my hand within moments of my arrival.
Nardo also favored me with the honor of accepting a treat or two from the Hand o’ Elisson. Aloof at first, he gave up the “hard-to-get” business within minutes. Skritchereenio!
Frisky would not take the proffered treat, but she enjoyed getting skritched...big time. Even Piper, the recluse, eventually warmed up and accepted her share of Rubby Love.
Lair is the King of Catbloggers, as I said before, but that is damning him with faint praise. He runs a string of websites and blogs, somehow managing to find time amidst the crevices of his day-job to put up hundreds of posts. If you are not already thoroughly familiar with TBIFOC and its satellites (Dear Abby Is Full Of Crap, The News Is Full Of Crap, The Dead Pool, Santa Claus Is Full Of Crap, Saddam Is Full Of Crap, the brand-new Tom DeLay Is Full Of Crap, and the soon-to-be-released Ariana Huffington Is Full Of Crap), you should be. Oh, yes, and did I mention the IFOC Catcams? And Carnival of the Cats?
The man has got a demon wit and a brain that works on overdrive. And I’m not just saying that because he loaded me up with Chuck Palahniuk novels before I headed back to my hotel. (I can be bought, but it takes more than that.) But what impressed me was that this guy, who savages idiots of all political stripes, who calls “Bullshit” on the Israel-bashers of Europe, the U.N., and the Arab world, and who can be both profound and profane when he writes - and he writes a lot - this guy gets all melty when it comes to them beautimus cats of his. So he’s got his priorities straight, anyway, interspersing Asshole Rippin’ with Kitty Skritchin’.
This historic occasion will be suitably documented with photographs once I return home from Sweat City tonight. And meanwhile, the question remains: Why is there no cat named Buffalo Speedway?