Paid for it --the "Time With Cats"-- to my peril today. Actually, I wasn't spending time with the cats, exactly. I was sitting at my "Arbeit Mach Frei" workstation (my computer desk) this morning when one of the felines decided he/she (the two look so much alike I'm not always sure which one is which) wanted to sit on my lap. Having leaped up from the floor. With claws extended. Ouch.

There was blood everywhere. The back of my left hand got raked raw. My pinky finger damned near got clawed off. The trouble with booze stores in Ootah is that they're booze stores in Ootah, and the selection is limited in ways no mom & pop booze store anywhere else I've ever lived has ever been limited. Oh, sure, I can get Industry Standard Woodford (which thankfully I can't complain too much about), but Double Oaked? I have to go to Colorado to get that. In Ootah, though? No frikkin' way! And Wellers 107? No bloody chance in hell. And speaking of blood, I was able to re-attach my pinky finger with a minimum of screaming and blasphemizing on my part. (At both the panthers generally, not knowing which one had mauled me so viciously.) Enuf so that I was able to go out late this afternoon and re-shoot something I wanted to re-shoot.

Old Corncob? Eh? Wot? Is it tasty?

Hey Cany, I don' t know how it happened, but I just completely missed the January 3rd issue of the Hog. It must have been that "Old Corncob" I had been drinking, I mean tasting. I liked the image and the discussion. In these days of business contraction when all sorts of old line companies are ceasing to exist, it is damn refreshing to go into a liquor store and have the choice of scores of different kinds of spirits to choose from and all in glass bottles. And as far as those pestiferious little panthers, we have a sign that says "Time With Cats Is Never Wasted". It may not be wasted, but sometimes you sure pay for it.