That’s it, I’m out. Tag my paw.
Absolutely not. I am NOT getting involved in this one.
It’s just Jeeves, he probably thinks they’re little bald mice.
I was lost in amber like an insect slowly drowning in the fresh spilled blood of a mountain pine. Tilting my glass slowly back and forth I watched the whisky swirl, slow and sweet, not as sticky as the sap that pulsed through a dryad’s veins, but every bit as dangerous. At least for me.
I had climbed out of the bottle once, years ago—put my drinking behind me and shaped myself into someone I could be proud of again. A champion of justice, a slayer of kings, a monster who killed worse monsters. Blood. I had spilled my share and more, so very very much more.
My name is Aral and I am, or was, a Blade of Justice. I thought I knew who I was and what I was and where I needed to go, but now I’m not so sure.
*I started poking at this today. Not sure if I’ll continue, but it feels like it might be time.
It was the best of cats, it was the worst of cats…A City of Two Tails.
An age of good views, an age of bad views.
I iz the season of light.
And I am darkness!
I think you cats may have lost the plot.
Now is the waiter of our disco tent!
Oh Great Hairy Ghods, he’s going down the rabbit hole again.
Let me tell you about my book, little brother…
I apologize for the long hiatus in Monday Meows and other posts. It was a rough spring for a variety of reasons including some pretty nasty RSI in my arms and hands. As I am getting close to recovered both mentally and physically, I am hoping to be back soon.
Hi folks, sorry I haven’t been posting Monday Meows for the last two months. I got swamped. I intend to start up again in February if not sooner (ETA we’ve had 40 inches of snow since Jan 28, so it’s going to have to wait a bit longer because I’m still shoveling). In the meantime, have some cute cats.
Two bees, or…not two bees, that is a good question.
I thought we were doing the balcony scene.
Oh stings and arrows, oh outrageous fortune!
Should we tell him?
It wouldn’t do any good.
Two dice: two sheep. No more; and buy a sheep, to say, we…end?
Where did you find this guy?
He’s my brother, and I do love him, but…well, yeah, that.
The heart-ache and the thousand neutral socks that fish is heir to…
Can somebody make him stop?
To sheep: perchance two dreams: ay, there’s the rube!
Maybe, a gentle push…
I like puss. In boots?
I wanted to, but I just couldn’t do it.
What if he hit his head and it got worse?
With thanks to Jonna and Steve for guest cat Mithril.