King of the Catsle

About five years ago, I welcomed Teddy Bear into my life.

I found him at the Nashville Cat Rescue where he’d been saved from a one bedroom apartment full of 30 cats. And he was obviously the low cat on the food chain there, as he didn’t dare jump on any furniture, never ever meowed about anything and was scared to let me hold him even for one second (my how times of changed).

At that time, I had a partially screened in porch. My new little Prince Teddy had such a sweet, timid demeanor, I would let him sit on the porch alone and was thrilled he was happy to sit on the chairs and relax in the sun.

Soaking up the sun.

And then after a few months, he suddenly came out of his meek shell, deciding that he was King of the Porch (or maybe even the jungle) and this happened –

Feathers. Not fur.

King Teddy ‘presented’ me with a beautiful cardinal while I was soaking in the bath one evening. First, I screamed bloody murder. Then I thought the poor cat’s jaw was going to break because his mouth was open so wide. And finally, I freaked when he wouldn’t let the bird go until a towel was put over his head. (The bird lived, which I was also in worried tears about, naked, soaking wet in the bathroom). Ultra relaxing five minutes.

His Royal Highness got very daring  on the porch after the Great Bird Incident and he attempted to escape to a nearby bush (about four feet away) which turned out like this:

Body outline of my Bear.

He climbed a top the railing and apparently thought the bush was sturdy enough to hold him up (Teddy sometimes has blonde moments like his mother). It was super fun trying to get him out of the damn tangle of limbs.

The porch was promptly screened in all the way to the ceiling for my blue blooded attack cat.

Teddy’s own private jail.

But of course, King Ted was always looking for a way out.

Does curiosity kill?

Now in my cozy mini-catsle, I’m the evil Queen happy to keep Ted preserved behind glass windows, knowing that I won’t have any unwelcome gifts or a clumsy cat stuck in a bush.

Behind the screen, right where a King belongs!

From our Kingdom to yours – Happy Friday!

CBXB

Trashy Tennessee Toast

Hosting and toasting a bride-to-be last weekend proved to lean a little more to the white trashy (dare I say redneck?  I mean, I do live in the South), less-than-classy side as the evening progressed…I know you’re shocked.

It all started with my genius idea to use my side sink as an ice chest. Except it turned my actual sink into the bar.

Sink suds anyone?

And then, a few drinks later my photo bombing expertise was challenged by amateurs.

Overshadowed by understudies!

Which led to the skull shot glasses coming out of the closet for all those involved trying to dethrone me of my one true talent.

No more photo bombing for you!

Suggesting the bride do a shot of her favorite tequila before opening gifts resulted in this face….

She loves tequila if you can’t tell.

Mr. Bear could hardly wait to help open presents.  His participation as a party side-kick really set the tone for fanciness.

Oh something crinkly? I got this.

TB was such a fab host that he guarded the door to the room where all of the purses were stashed. As my friend Tina (who loathes cats more than anyone else on the planet would not get any closer to him than pictured) tried to enter the room, Teddy challengingly stared her down (such an attack cat).  Straight out of a John Wayne Western film.

Did a tumble weed just roll by?

We celebrated our relief of the completion of Pursegate by taking a picture every time we took a sip of anything (even water).

Memory making with vodka. For the 56th time.

Oh, someone just had a gulp of beer? That calls for jazz hands, naturally.

Cheese!

Oh and speaking of dairy, how many cheese balls can one get in their mouth?

22 altogether.

After a party foul, the remainder of cheese balls ended up on my floor, where I was happy to leave them until the next day. Not for my pal, Ms. Clean.  I came out of the kitchen to find her whistling while she worked at 2am (then I pointed out all of the spots she missed, so I didn’t have to complete the chore myself).

My neighbors were loving me.

Who would have thought Johnny Cash would be the calm one of this bunch, as a leaning tray of shots was delivered?

Johnny is straight…tray of shots, not so much.

The night really took a turn after the completion of the sideways shot…

Our 132nd toast of the evening.

We went from kinda classless to straight up white trash after we moved the food into the living room (so that it would be easier to accompany each drink of liquor with a corn chip dipped in whatever was closest).

Such sophisticated ladies.

The first one to pass out ended up getting a Hannibal Lecter makeunder.

Hello Clarice.

And speaking of makeovers, the duo below locked themselves in my bathroom giggling for 10 minutes.  This is how they reappeared…

Bathroom beauties.

Even my beloved martini girl shower curtain received some sprucing up.

Hot lips and full glass of liquid.

All of this glitz and glamour called for a run-through of wedding day hair.

The higher the hair, the closer to Heaven (a Southern girl’s dream).

And after she passed out, our makeup experts practiced a trial run for behind-the-veil day fun.

They went for the natural look, obviously.

After getting her second wind, the bride tried bonding with Teddy.

Who was completely underwhelmed and highly annoyed at her gracious act of kindness at 3am.

After we solved all of the world’s problems by talking just to hear our own voices, we all went bed with a lovely view of the room.

Are those chips spinning above us?

After our two-hour good night’s sleep, we awoke to our thoughtful ‘artwork’ that appeared to come out of a frat house packed with 19-year-olds.  Nothing like a mix of beer, vodka, champagne, peppermint schnapps, Kahlua, tequila and Chambord bottles for morning after feel good moments.

We were really happy for the bride-to-be, OK? OK?!

After a much needed brunch of grease, I walked into my mini-manse greeted by my sweet Teddy Bear who was apparently pissed we kept him up so late (every party has a pooper – I just didn’t think it’d be my fur baby!).

His favorite don’t F with me face.

I ran to the bedroom to put on my pajamas (the Cray Cray Cat Lady pair – to butter Ted up, as their his favorite).  I was gone all of 30 seconds and returned to this…

The little shit only stayed awake long enough to give me the “THE LOOK” when I walked through the front door.

But then I died when I saw that he literally face planted into the back of the couch.

A chip off the old block. So proud.

Why try to be classy when it’s so much more fun to be fabulously trashy? I know what you’re thinking.  And the answer is yes, I’m available for party planning.  It’s an all around shit show of a good time.

Teddy couldn’t agree more.

CBXB