Dogs are our link to paradise. They don’t know evil or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden, where doing nothing was not boring—it was peace.
— Milan Kundera, “The Unbearable Lightness of Being“
Category: Columnists
This category is for a columns page that shows all the columnists posts.
Quote: Lewis Thomas On Meddling
Is it not in the nature of complex social systems to go wrong, all by themselves, without external cause? Look at overpopulation, look at Calhoun’s famous model, those overcrowded colonies of rats and their malignant social pathology, all due to their own skewed behavior. Not at all, is my answer. All you have to do is find the meddler, in this case Professor Calhoun himself, and the system will put itself right. The trouble with those rats is not the innate tendency of crowded rats to go wrong, but the scientists who took them out of the world at large and put them in too small a box.
— Lewis Thomas, “The Medusa and the Snail“
Giant Pumpkin
Did you ever wonder why your peeps take a carefully selected, perfectly tasty, giant pumpkin and carve it like a crazy person, stick it in the yard, and tell you to stay away from it? #doneanddone
–Kissy Noses and Deeper Thoughts by Sassy
Caturday Confessions
This is the first official post for Caturday Confessions!
Who was naughty this week?
I’ll start.
I have two water bowls. One is a stainless steel bowl that’s my favorite to drink from. The other is a plastic ‘travel’ bowl with a rimmed lid that’s supposed to make it spill-proof.
I learned how to pry that rimmed lid off about a week after Mom brought the bowl home, but that’s another conversation.
I use that bowl to wash my paws after I use my litterbox. I don’t like when the litter gets on my paws, and that water bowl is perfect for washing.
I’ve been seeing how far I can splash the water while I’m cleaning my paws. I proudly splash water several feet away from my bowl.
How pawsome is that?
Proudly signed by Truman
Kitten Conversations
Hello friends and readers! My name is Squirt. I was an avid reader of the Anipal Times, and I’m so excited that it’s back! This edition promises to surpass its predecessors; therefore, I am honoured to write for the inaugural issue of this fresh publication!
Although, as will become clear, this will not be a regular column about me.
I think many of you will know me from Twitter as @SquirtTheCat, and you may also know that I peacefully strolled across the Rainbow Bridge earlier this year. Please don’t feel sad for me! I had a good, long life full of love and adventure, and I made the most of every single day.
However, I couldn’t bear the thought of my house and my humans without a cat, so I set out to point them toward not one, but two rescue kittens. Trickle is a ginger boy (like me) born on May 10th this year. His former feral mother birthed offspring inside the rescue and then pursued existence elsewhere as a neutered farm cat.
Rescuers found Matilda, a pretty black and white kitten, alone in a supermarket car park. They estimate she is about a month old, like Trickle, the other kitten. Our phenomenal local cat lady, who also runs a rescue centre, nursed her back to health because she was starving, filthy, and close to death.
Staff and Manstaff brought both kittens home on July 20th.
I can watch my home and family from the Bridge, allowing observation of the kittens settling and becoming familiar with their forever dwelling. I’ve been eavesdropping on their conversations.
Are you curious about kitten chatter? Observe this! I’m going to share their chat with you.
This column isn’t about me, so Matilda, Trickle, it’s over to you….
M: “Remember the day we met?”
T: “Yeah, we didn’t know each other, we didn’t know the people in the car, and we didn’t know where we were going. That was a scary day.”
M: “The other cats I knew were huge! You were tiny.”
T: “I was the fourth-biggest kitten in the litter!”
M: “Tell me again, how many were in the litter?”
T: “Five.”
M: *rolls eyes*
T: “I thought you were cute.”
M: “I thought you were weird.”
T: “We’re alright though, aren’t we? You and I, we’re friends and… like brofur and sisfur.”
M: “Yeah, I suppose we are. I’m glad I’m not an only kitten anymore.”
T: “Do you think we look a bit alike?”
M: “You’ve been at the ‘nip, you have. “
T: “Have not.”
M: “Have. Have, have, have, have, have!”
T: *shakes head* “Girls…”
M “Wanna play? Tunnel chase?”
T: “Tired, could do with a nap.”
M: *shakes head* “Boys…”
Oh, those two kittens! I love to watch them and listen to them. Join me next time as I bring you more from them!
A Beautiful Walk
The scent of fishing bait and the cool fall air are the first things that greet me as I get to the reservoir across the street from my home. I quickly direct my human to the walking path along the lake. My ears flap as I trot, the gentle breeze and smells moving me along to the wildflowers growing amongst the tall grass. Ohhhh, the human holding my leash is moving at a good pace, but my nose wants to linger, to follow the grassy mud trails left by the folks fishing, sailing, and rowing.
Wildflowers win! I see the first burst of color. Dotted across the green bank, a field of wildflowers sways in the breeze. There are fresh smells, the scent of mildew, the muddy roots, and a flirty butterfly I chase. I pull on my leash, my tail thumping with excitement, and my human lets us wander farther down the path.
I bury my nose in a clump of yellow petals, barking for fun and smelling it all. The scent tells an entire story: of the sun, the soil, and the other creatures that have passed by. Beyond the flowers, the reservoir shimmers, its surface a vast reflecting mirror. The scent of fish and cool water mixes with the wildflowers, creating a perfect scent just for me. I pause, looking up at the wide sky, and then let my beagle nose lead the way once more. There are so many stories to sniff out, and I have all the time in the world to read them to you again soon.
Midge the Mutt’s Introduction
Welcome to everyone reading the Anipal Times and this article! My name is Sunny, and I’m the cartoonist behind Midge.
Okay, above is where the cartoonist stopped to get up and get more coffee, and use the bathroom. I have only a few minutes before she comes back, so let’s get to it.
I’m Midge, and I’m the actual star of the show. Admit it. Nobody cares about the cartoonist; they care about the star. It’s like a sitcom—you don’t want to know about how the writer got started; you want to hear about the actors, about the face of the entertainment.
So, that’s what I’m here for.
I’m a dog, a mutt specifically, a part dachshund, part Beagle, part Basset, I think. My ears are super long, so I’m pretty sure there’s Basset in there.
I came into being in 1996 when the cartoonist was still young and drawing all my comics with a pencil on notebook paper. She was trying to be the next Bill Watterson, Charles Schulz, or Jim Davis, or a combo of the three. I don’t know.
Mighty ambitious for a little kid.
Anyway, a rescue dog named Bridget, whom the cartoonist had as a kid, inspired her to create me, even though we didn’t look alike. In fact, the stuffed dog the cartoonist played with inspired my design.
Because a kid created me, she drew me poorly at first.
So, as the cartoonist got older, she redesigned me and the other characters in our cast (who are also less important than I am) and started improving her jokes. I kid you not, the very first punchline of my very first comic was “I take pride in my droppings.”
How’s that for an embarrassing start? I’m ready for Nickelodeon now! Just kidding. Anyone who knows me knows I would never sell myself to a network. I’m an independent doggo.
Since 2008, when my cartoonist began my online presence with the Official Midge website (now gone) and a year later as @MidgetheMutt on Twitter (happily still there, and I’m not calling it X), I’ve released three indie books featuring my comics!
I also have a store on Zazzle called MidgeShop (wink, wink) https://www.zazzle.com/store/midgeshop/products
She was glad when the syndicate columns rejected her.
That can make this tougher, of course, because we must do all our marketing ourselves. I work my paws to the bone! It’s hard but rewarding!
Now, enough about my dazzling career. You want to know about me.
Well, I’m adventurous, silly, and I love, love, LOVE socks (I think I might have a problem).
As for the cartoonist, she’s human, loves animals, and has a bunch of her own. To clear up a common misconception, I’m not one of them.
Melissa (my human in my comics) is not a cartoonist. Though I’m sure there’s a lot of Sunny-isms in Melissa’s reactions to my antics. Just like there’s a lot of Sunny’s doggos in those aforementioned antics.
Uh-oh. I hear her coming back, so I’ve got to wrap this up. I’ll end by saying that I hope the cartoonist and I entertain you, dear reader, with our comics, our future articles, and my boundless canine charm.
Now, go hug your furbabies!
McPusspuss Musings-Introduction
Hello and welcome to our column.
We are angel Angus McPusspuss and Furgus McPuspuss.
Both of us were older stray tomcats that found our forever homes late in life.
I, Angus, had a very special fox friend who led me to my pawrents’. Hunger drove me to join the foxes’ nightly food runs. One fox always made sure I had some food. Mummy and the neighbor, upon observing me, attempted everything to locate my owners, yet I possessed none, plus my chip held no registration. Mummy started feeding me more and inviting me inside, but it took me some time to be brave enough to move in. Even when settled in my home, I would still go out every evening and sit with my special foxy friend.
Because I moved in just before Storm Angus hit, my pawrents, following Scottish links, gave me the surname McPusspuss. I had been called Pusspuss when living outside.
When my time sadly came to go over the rainbow bridge, I guided Furgus to my pawrents. The rescue trapped him because of his poor state following a decade of living on the streets. He hissed and swiped, revealing his fear. No one was giving him a chance until my pawrents did. When secure and cherished, he unwound. Now, he desires laps frequently and bedtime cuddles. Furgus gets to enjoy his later years with so much love. Furgus continues the McPusspuss family name and was called Furgus as a link to our pawrents’ love of Deacon Blue (Fergus sings the blues).
We will write articles on the weather (I am #weathercat), nature, and more specifically on badgers, as Mummy is on the committee of the Badger Protection Group.
We will have wonderful guest writings for our column by Angel Alma. Alma and her mum are special friends to us.
My Story of Being Adopted as an Older Cat
When most people think of adopting a cat, they think first of kittens—tiny, cute, playful, and entertaining. But there is another beautiful and often overlooked population in shelters and foster homes that is just as deserving of love and attention—older cats.
Here is my story. While I am not a senior cat–approximately four years, seven months old–I am an older cat. I was handed over to Fairview Lodge Animal Shelter about two years, seven months ago. My history before that is unknown. I was at the shelter for about two years until I was brought into my foster mummy’s home to get more one-on-one care. The Fairview shelter is really for larger animals like horses and farm animals, and not for cats. My foster mummy was loving and caring towards me. I love my foster mummy.
I did not get along with one of the other cats, though. My foster mummy thought it would be good for me to find my own home. I was put up for adoption, with my bio and photo put on Instagram. Mummy saw my picture on Instagram. She wanted to give a home to an older cat who really needed a home. I had been at my foster mummy’s home for seven months when I met mummy. I hid from Mummy due to Barbara, another cat, being in a large crate in the room. She had an injured leg that was healing, so she couldn’t be moved to another room. Barbara is a very outgoing and friendly cat, and it upset me to be in a room with her. Mummy said that she understood that I didn’t know her and I might be shy.
My foster mummy said to me, “Don’t you want to go to your new home?” I willingly went into the carry box and was taken to my new mummy’s home. She was given medicine for my weepy eyes and promised support in case I had trouble settling in. I was brave and didn’t cry in the car. Mummy knows that there is nothing better than gaining the love and trust of a kitty, so she wasn’t worried about me being shy. After only three days, I wanted to get out of my bedroom, so I was let out to do a little exploration. I enjoyed that. Then Grandma went away for a few days, and it was just Mummy and me. I was fully settled in by the time Grandma returned. I love it here in my new home.
The Busybody Book Club by Freya Sampson
Hi! I’m Sassy, @3phibotticelli on Twitter/X. My momma reads about one hundred books a year *proud ears*. So today, I am gonna review one for woo that has a doggy, Craddock the bulldog, in it. Enjoy!
The Busybody Book Club by Freya Sampson
In this fast-action mystery novel, Craddock the bulldog keeps a watchful eye as a woman gets murdered, money gets stolen from the community center, a wedding progresses rapidly, and new romances begin.
Nova is a lovely young bride-to-be. She works at the local community center and hosts a sparsely attended book club.
She shares a scary past with her fiancé and beau, Craig, and someone blamed her for leaving the Center’s door unlocked when thieves stole the roof repair fund money, ten thousand pounds, and suspended her from work.
The St. Tredock Community Book Club members rally to clear Nova’s name. They gather for an emergency book club meeting and examine the facts.
Phyllis recounts the situation. Many suspects exist, but Michael, the newest book club attendee, is foremost among them. At a recent book club meeting, new member Michael had plenty to say about the mother leaving her child behind in the book, Where the Crawdads Sing. After several negative remarks about the fictional mother, Phyllis says, Michael got a text, leapt up, and ran out of the book club.
Arthur, whose wife has gone blind, so he reads to her daily, feels the mother is getting a bad rap in Crawdads, and usually waits for the others to weigh in. Arthur cannot believe Michael would take the roof fund money.
Ash, a young, timid book reader, listens to the group. He knows he can help flush out the criminal.
But Phyllis Hudson is in charge. She is Craddock the bulldog’s momma. She is fearless.
Phyllis is an outspoken book club member and mystery crime aficionado. She loves Agatha Christie; in fact, she fancies herself as a novice detective. Miss Maple is her hero, and though she will not admit it, she is definitely not a fan of Hercule Poirot.
Pointing to Michael’s actions that evening, she proclaims her intent to recover the funds, locate the culprit, and preserve Nova’s employment and the Community Center.
Phyllis finds Michael rude and insignificant. Craddock agrees and shows it by tooting and asking for more treats.
Phyllis and Craddock set out to scope Michael’s house.
When they arrive, the police are wheeling a body out of the house, which Phyllis presumes is Michael. Michael’s wife, Cynthia, allegedly shoved his mother down the stairs.
At the funeral, Phyllis hides in a closet when Cynthia and another man appear to be canoodling in the bedroom. Cynthia then tosses Phyllis out of the house.
Phyllis pledges to solve this cash grab-and-files, Miss Maple style. Phyllis goes with Nova, Craddock, and Arthur to Michael’s home to pay their respects.
Cynthia, not amused, tells them to leave.
Ash and Arthur discover that the man Cynthia was canoodling with is a PI. They make an appointment under false pretenses and head to his office.
Phyllis and Craddock attend a meditation class at the center to distract themselves while they meet the PI, but after frequent and hilarious flatulence by Caddock, the instructor asks them to leave.
Phyllis begrudgingly leaves the session and sees Cynthia charging into the Community Center to complain about Phyllis and her so-called foul-smelling bulldog, and the others turning up at her mother-in-law’s and stalking her.
Nova seethes at Phyllis when she arrives. She then learns that Craddock is very ill. Phyllis had tied Craddock to the fence so she could intrude and eavesdrop on Nova and Cynthia. According to Phyllis, when she returned to Craddock, the English bulldog was horribly ill and shaking and had to be rushed to the vet. Phyllis thinks someone poisoned him!
Phyllis learned that the police brought Nova in for questioning because someone attacked Nova’s boss, Sandy, at the community center. The police say that someone wearing a red coat similar to Nova’s fled the scene.
Ash reports he has broken into the PI’s files and that the missing Michael is indeed his client and has paid the PI for stalking photos of none other than Phyllis.
One thing is clear: the book group is being warned.
This book has everything: theft, murder, romance, weddings, book clubs, and a beloved adopted dog!
I give it five paws up! Try it and enjoy your fall days.
See you next time at Meet Me At the Bookshelf.
Sassy Kisses
The Anipal Times 