In Which We Snuggle

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In Which We Live the Cafe Life

 

When I was young and wild, I had a favorite bar, but now I have calmed down considerably and have a favorite cafe instead.  I'm sure soon I will be reduced to having a favorite doctor's waiting room.  So all that means I frequently mention my adventures in Peet's, the world's finest cafe.  When I was looking for an apartment, my primary requirement was being near Peet's, since real estate is all about location, location, location. The sweet place where I now hang my head popped up a block from Peet's and I was immediately sold.  I would have put up with rats and asbestos if I needed to, fortunately it turned out to be a lovely apartment. 

Being so close to the mecca of lattes and pastries means I can go there every single day.  And I'm glad I do, if it wasn't for Peet's, I would have long since turned into a shut-in talking to my cat even more than I already do.  Not that I actually speak to anyone at the cafe, god forbid, but all the baristas know me so always have a little chit chat with them and then I ignore everyone else, but I still have to deal with overhearing my fellow customers, so very many of whom are idiots.  I recently heard some guy patiently explain to his middle-aged female companion that tuna came in cans.  Bitch, what? How could you you live in this world as long as you apparently have without knowing how to get tuna? 

More to today's point is that I realize I have never shared what my beloved Pete's looks like.  So here's a quick little tour to let everyone know when I mention the old place what I am talking about.

Isn't this the coziest place you've ever laid eyes on?

This counter marooned in the middle of the room is what I have privately dubbed No Man's Land.  Its awkward height and exposed situation means nobody wants to sit there.  If I walk in and someone is parked at it, I know all the seats in the joint are already taken and I will have to fight for a perch.

Speaking of seats, this is my favorite.  I can sit here and watch all the action out on the sidewalk and at the same time turn my back on the madness going on inside.

Eye candy is a frequent bonus.

I usually avoid the table seating mostly because that just encourages my eavesdropping tendency.

Command central.

Surprise.  I jusr wanted to see if you were still paying attention.

Guys with whom I'd like to have a cup o' joe:

Jeebus on the cross and meat in the seat.

I love when a boy's butt chops overwhelm his panties.

Speaking of things which overwhelm me.

I've been bingeing a British police procedural series called Line of Duty and I am digging it.  Tragically, none of the actors look anywhere near like this.

Isn't that inviting?

I don't know why the show is so po-faced about cute guys, apparently there is plenty of fine British beef.

In Which Toby Frolics

My substantial collection of fancy Chinese Art Deco rugs is one of my favorite things I own.  It also suffered from Unfortunate Liquids when my late cat Octavia was so sick these last few week.  And so I shipped all the rugs off to be washed and I'm looking forward to a stinky-free future soon.  

The floor here is that fake wood flooring in a gray taupe non-color that is so popular with all the hip kids who have had their taste eliminated by the internet.  The rugs add a welcome amount of color and texture and keep my little tootsies warm, but I hadn't realized they also have been suppressing my cat Toby's entertainment. 

Since the fake wood floors hard slick surface has been revealed, Toby has been gleefully chasing and pouncing on toys he previously ignored.  The toys skitter in a way that makes him crazy.  I had thought Toby didn't really like toys, but it was just that he didn't have the right arena for his skills. 

Usually whenever I try to interest Toby in some toy time, he looks at me like he's concerned for my mental well-being.  He seems slightly insulted when I throw a ball towards him or try to get him to chase some stuffed little mouse.  And yet, when I later walk back in the room there will be toys scattered everywhere indicating some bacchanal has occurred without me.  It hurts my feelings a little bit.  

But for the next week or so, Toby will have all the hunt and kill enrichment a little kitty could ask for.  That catnip filled iguana had just better watch out. 

Men I'd like to play with:

The admirably meaty Brock Magnus.

There is nothing sexier than a man with pretty hair and a hot pussy who reads.

Humpiness is next to godliness.

Ready to rock.

Proof that I can appreciate aged beef.

Open for business.

Tasty

In which We Lose an Email

Huston, I hope you see this, I'm sorry, but I lost the email you sent about the Super Agent Fred art you wanted. Please send it again.

Also, if anyone is looking for free art, absolutely no-cost-to-you art, check out

Super Agent Fred's art

In Which We Say Goodbye to Octavia

Whenever you take on a pet, you do so with the knowledge that no matter how much you love them, you are almost certainly going to outlive them.  It's just part of the deal; you get to clean up their poop and feed them and come home to the wreckage they have created and they in turn sleep on top of you and purr and absolutely own your heart.  And you get to deal with the grief of letting them go. 

So that brings us to Octavia, the world's absolute most sweetest cat ever.  Just a little more than 2 weeks ago, she developed a urinary tract infection, which is not uncommon in old ladies of any species.  Even after I got that settled down, she never really recovered, and stopped eating.  A trip to the emergency vet revealed she had a mass on her pancreas and a couple more in her liver.  I am strongly opposed to putting an animal through the misery of chemotherapy; as one vet who agreed with me put it, "they didn't sign up for that" and so I have just been trying to keep her comfortable. 

Last week I came face-to-face with the realization that it was time to quit putting off the inevitable.  In only a couple of weeks she has lost probably half of her body weight, her back legs no longer work, and she can barely drink.  So I have scheduled a vet to come here this afternoon and put her to sleep. 

I went through this with Saki a few years ago and I know it is genuinely painless and the right thing, but oh man, it is so difficult.  When I adopted Octavia a year and a half ago, I did so knowing she was a pretty old cat and that our time together would probably be short, but I had really hoped it might be longer than this.  Nevertheless, I'm glad I did it.  She has been loving and sweet, and I'm glad she didn't have to live out the end in a cage at Cat Jail. 

I know naked guys don't really fit with this post necessarily, but they always make me feel better, at least a little, so I will include them here: 

The author requests that you refrain from jokes about pussy.

Why do these cute guys insist on including their dirty laundry in these pics?

All the meat you can eat.

Just hangin out

Asstastic

This would make me feel better, I think.

In Which We Groom

 

Apres les deluge.

My poor old cat Octavia is so old and poorly, she can no longer clean herself the way cats so fastidiously do.  She has bad arthritis and just can't bend around to commit her cat yoga.  I totally sympathize with having a stiff back, still, she has fairly long hair so the area around her pee hole has really absorbed a lot of unfortunate liquids and she has started to smell like an overworked petting zoo. 

I have washed cats in the past and learned the very hard lesson that that is not something I wish to repeat, so I hired a mobile cat groomer to come and give her a good scrub.  I also wanted her nails clipped because they are like some kind of Asian martial arts weapons.  And since the groomer was here, they also could take on the claws of my other cat, Toby.

It seems really bougie to outsource nail clipping; I have always handled that myself, even the evil and adorable Saki.  Although he frequently left me in bloody tatters otherwise, he was perfectly casual about getting a pedicure from me.  He would always sit in my lap while I was at the computer so I would just clip his little kitty killer clown claws then.  But Toby, who is otherwise the world's friendliest cat, refuses to settle in my lap and turns into a whirling dervish whenever I try to hold him down for a beauty session. I suppose it would be no big deal to let them go except he likes to pat me gently on the cheek while I'm reading (Adorable!) and occasionally his dew claw, the feline scimitar of death, will snag me on my lip (Not Adorable!).  That is exactly as much fun as it sounds.

I had to stop writing this because the groomer called to say they were all through so I went down to rescue my bad little pussies.  It turns out Driving Miss Octavia could not have been less troubled by the entire event.  Toby, America's sweetheart, on the other hand, pissed in his carrier and BIT the poor guy when he was trying to clean the pee off him.  Toby claims this report was exaggerated, but I tipped the groomer extra anyway. 

So now we're all clean and claws are blunted.  I don't know if I'm going to go through this again, the cats didn't like it and it was not cheap.  I could have splurged on a spa day for myself and we would have all been happier I think.

Dudes:

Frequent commenter Jeff sent me this lovely shot of Alexander Skarsgaard and his Skars Dick.  Is it real?  Who knows in these unhappy PhotoShopped times?  Mostly, I am SO jealous of whatever photographer got to spend a snug little time with a naked and erect Alexander in the hot tub.

Bootylicious.

Muscle boy with his muscle car.

It's unusual for a lanky youth to have such a shapely pussy.  I congratulate him on it.

That is a "come hither" dick if I ever seen one.

Cowboy booty.

Why so glum, chum?

Open for Business.

In Which We Focus

 

After I got my cataract surgery, that practice gave me a new pair of glasses with a new, supposedly improved prescription.  The glasses absolutely sucked.  I  could only see in bits and patches.  The ground at my feet was out of focus which resulted in me tripping even more than usual.  I could see across the street okay and oddly enough the microwave tower on the horizon was crisply in focus.  Not particularly useful, but crisp. 

So last week, to get proper glasses, I  went whining off to my regular eye doctor, who is charming, his office well decorated, and his bill enormous.  I got my new glasses today and I am here to tell you, being able to see is worth the money.  Plus I was able to reuse the frames I've had for a couple of years and really like, so yay. 

Also out getting coffee and then on my way over to pick up my glasses, I noticed several people, including a couple of attractive young men, giving me the eye, as they say.  It improved my mood considerably and made me think "mrpeenee still got it, yeah bitch."  And then I realized they were simply struck by my new t-shirt, a masterpiece of graphic art that represents Godzilla eating a subway car, a classic scene from a couple of Godzilla movies and one of my favorites.  

mrpeenee, avec new glasses and a seriously groovy Godzilla shirt.

Guys to pay attention to:

The luscious Keegan Whicker and his whicker whacker.

A lot of today's nekkid guys is brought to you by the letter ass.

I have returned to drinking coffee, not because I am weak, but because I WANTED to.

Matty Gilbert, superior quality daddy.

Open for business.

Beefiness.

One last extra fine buttchop.