A V.D. P.S.A.

Kittehs!

My brother Taffy actually has something say!  And believe it or not, it may actually be interesting and relevant. AND about LOVE. Crazy, right? Let me just say I’m just as shocked as you. So here he is with a Public Service Announcement: a mancat’s point of view of the inner workings of a flower shop, just before some sort of major Romance-related holiday. Or so he says. Wif out further ado, I give you Taffy Boy, Floral Kitteh-in-Chief!

Um.  Taffy? Taffs? Heeeeelloo…? 

Well, he says they are verrah, VERRAH busy right now and he has a lot of supervising to do and that I should just tell you.  

Kittehs!  Somefing is up!  Boxes are stacking up in the shop. The place is crazy full of flowers and sticks and leaves - and none – NONE! of it is nip or silver vine or anything remotely delightful like that.  In fact, the whole shop smells distinctly of sticky sweet narcissus and indigestible chocolates.  According to Taffs, the boxes do come loaded with things like strings and shredded papers, but the shop peeps rip right through the box, totally ignore the play-potential all around them and then “ooooh” and “ahhhhhh” about a bunch of angiosperms.  He says it’s baffling.   

What’s more, Humans are racing in and out of the store, bouncing into each other like ping-pong balls. Only not in the fun way.  More in teh “oh, Dear Cod, help me!” kind of way. In a “roses cost HOW much?” kind of way.  In a panic, more or less, Taffy says.  And he would know of which he speaks. He has been chased thru the house and cornered under the kitchen sink by me, so he knows what it’s like to upset a Grrrrrl Kitteh.  

Luckily, Taff sez the guys usually leave the shop more relaxed than when they came in.  Something about armloads of leafy greens and red boxes wif ribbons really makes these mans feel better.  Taff is not sure how, altho he suspects that someone is going to feel really playful with all that ribbon. I know I would. 

The shop humans, however, continue to jump through hoops. And, again, not the fun kind.  They clean, cut and arrange barrels full of flowers, wrap packages and spend hours on teh phones making promises:

“yes, I’m sure the orchids will match her dress. promise!”

“yes, I can fit all of Shakespeare’s sonnet #18 on the little card. promise!”

“yes, we can deliver it to your houseboat on the Potomac river at low tide. promise!”

“yes. she’s going to love it. promise.”

Taffy noticed, before he fell asleep in the display case, the amazing number of promises being made, on both sides of the cash register.  Humans wanting a gift that promises that this fleeting moment of beauty will last in their hearts forever.  And other humans running around like crazy to make it all happen.  

Taff also thinks it may be a good idea for us kittehs to get on the act and make our specials friends happy.  Like with a bouquet of string or a sophisticated single feather, or, for the discerning and cosmopolitan love of your life:  a simple blue velvet box with a dead mousie inside.  Thoughtful gifts with special meanings.  And yumminess.  

Just be grateful you are not shopping for Mrs. Whatsername.  I have tried. Lord knows how I have tried to make that woman happy, but her heart is made of stone. Moles, mouses, cicadas – you name it.  I have tried them all.  So, if it’s plants and leaves she wants, it’s plants and leaves she’ll get.  Next week, I plan to eat a bunch of grass and then “re-gift” it into her house slipper.  So that when she bends down to cleans it up, I can give her a head bonk and we can enjoy our fleeting moment of beauty together.

Anyfing for love.

ISO – girl cat. fussy and sane kittehs need not apply.

Kittehs! We interrupt our story-telling and mystery-solving and mole-munching activities to ask for a favor from the vast cat-blogging empire.  From teh Ladies, ackshully.  Girlcats, can someone do me a solid and help out my brofur? he needs a girl friend. bad.

those of you who have been reading my blog for a while may remember my brofur Taffy, the one who mysteriously distapeered and upset eva one wif months o’ worry and grief, then just moseyed back home, la-dee-dah, wif no answers or excuses.  

now i KNOW i has not painted the best picture of this layabout cat or his overall butt-headed demeanor, but he DOES have a job.  he works at teh florist.

he guards teh store at night from mice who love to chew into boxes of chawklate.  he drives in teh delivery truck. he (re)arranges flowers. i get the impression that flowers and chawklate are somehow romantic to humans, so maybe he knows sumthin about teh mysteries o’ love.  you can’t say that about teh average mancat today.

he has a milk moustache, which is cute, right? and he lets teh ladies at the shop humiliate him wif ribbons and kitteh boutonnieres and nonsense like that,so i am finking he has potential to be putty in teh paw of a good lady cat. 

 also, despite his tough guy ‘tude, he really is needy.  he climbs in evaone’s lap at teh computer and slobbers and starts sucking on shirt sleeves.  Cod help the human wearin’ a fleece jacket – he’s all over that like a big baby kitten.  

so, if there is a kinda desperate girlcat out there wif no common sense and possibly not so good vision and a tolerance for bitey’s and slobber, please leave a message below.  starting off slow wif a bit of email courtship may be just teh fing he needs.  he just don know it yet.  

fanks!