Major league baseball as Cat show

Below, an actual conversation from IRC at work.
At last, my theories on Major League Baseball are made public! All may bask in my brilliant observations. I do but ask for a small percentage of the profits when you sell your season tickets on Craigslist…

erica: professional baseball = pedigreed cat show
* BigPapi whispers at erica: “this is the wrong channel for that kind of talk”
erica: just startin’ shit.
BigPapi: as you wish
sam: punk erica for being ignorant
BigPapi: insult erica
chowBOT: • chowBOT pimp slaps erica
erica: Professional baseball players are overbred and out of context, like cats at a cat show. Their talent has been refined to such a degree that they are no longer human representatives of a geographic area and are instead caricatures, transported from city-to-city and sold to the highest bidder. You might as well be watching showcats with squooshed faces and pink ribbons.
harmony: showcats are funny
chowBOT: BUILD ERROR: illegal redefinition of const “professional baseball” from value GREATEST_SPORT_EVER. Please RTFM.
sam: erica, your statement is so devoid of any understanding of baseball as to be rendered meaningless on its own. Therefore it requires no rebuttal
erica: heh. you said buttal.

Fonty goodness

I’m shopping for fonts this morning. I work in a library with a font budget. Life is good. I’m torn between Saint Louis and Bodega Serif.

Slow wave is a comic strip made out of people’s dreams. Here’s a librarian one.

Incidentally, this morning I had a dream that I visited a petting zoo in Mexico which housed the Cheshire Cat.

Good morning cat

This morning I was getting ready for work and my partner said casually, “boy, that stuffed mouse you got Owl (the cat) sure is realistic”.

All of Owl’s toys are neon green or red.

This was not a toy.

Owl was very proud of himself.

He ran down the stairs and waited for me to throw it.

Owl got extra breakfast and petting.

I got to dispose of the mouse.

Cat up tree. Seriously.

Meyow meyow…MEYOW!

I’m getting in my car to go to work when I hear pitiful cat sounds coming from above my head. Waaaay above my head. 33 feet above my head. I know this because it is exactly eight feet taller than our tallest ladder. Which I got out when I realized that this was the same cat I had heard outside the previous day. Making his total time up in the tree at least 32 hours. Making me worry that he would starve to death up there. Making me get out the ladder.

I get out the ladder, some cat food, and my best kitty-calling voice, but nothing works. I fall off the ladder and land on my back in a pile of leaves. Cat food flies everywhere. The cat is still meyowing, and I’m late for work.

I call the Cayuga Heights fire department’s non-emergency number and am connected with a sympathetic woman in the village office. A few minutes later the fire department shows up. I spend about five minutes apologizing for bringing them out on such a dumb call, but they appear excited. One of the guys has a digital camera and takes photos as they lash my ladder to the tree and climb up to rescue the cat.

The cat is rescued. A kind neighbor calls around and finds someone who might own him. I stuff the cat into our cat carrier and haul him down the street. In spite of his ordeal, this cat is still seriously overweight. The nutball potential owner has apparently forgotten that his similar-looking cat DIED A YEAR AGO and sends me on my way. I haul the growling cat back down the street and put him in our downstairs office. I feed him. He eats faster and more heartily than any cat I’ve ever seen.

Anybody want a cat?