They’re covered in tattoos and have scary biker names, but these bad boys were born to be mild. They’re the men of Rescue Ink, and as profiled in the New York Times, they speak out against animal abuse and find loving homes for abused animals all over the Big Apple. They’re not vigilantes, as they’re quick to point out, but they’ll get in an abuser’s face as much as the law allows — and they can be very persuasive.
As the Puppy Philharmonic Orchestra plays the Cutania national anthem, and a thousand dancing kitties scatter rose petals across your path, loyal Red Panda slaves carry you to the throne room, where members of the 91st Teddy Bear Brigade have assembled for your comfort…
Taken at the 2007 California State Fair.
Cut costly drafts coming in thru window sills and along door bottoms!
The last thing you want is to let the heat escape under doors orthrough drafty window sills. With more heat staying in the house, you won’t have to crank up the thermocat, and that means you’ll save on heating bills.
[Said softly in legal guy voice] Draft Guards require 800 pounds of chow a day.
ANOTHER great tip from Lori W.
My friends, ours is a generation that accepts what it sees because it has seen it all. Scientists explore the moon and Mars; images and sounds span continents in seconds; tiny robots vacuum our floors and startle our kitties. It is the end of Magic. There is nothing left to astonish us.
And so if, by some odd chance, you should find yourself in a forest alone, and you should encounter a squirrel with a coconut on its head, you might consider it nothing more than a mild diversion, placed there for your amusement. But take heed, my friend: If that squirrel should notice you, raise the coconut from its head, and begin to sing …
Hello, my baby / Hello, my honey / Hello, my ragtime gal / Send me your kiss by wire / Honey, my heart’s on fire / If you refuse me / Honey, you’ll lose me / Then you’ll be left alone / So, baby, telephone / And tell me I’m your own…
… put the damn thing back in the box and run like hell! You don’t wanna end up like this sucker, do you?
Tell me you didn’t rent a theater already, Vanessa B.
"It has come to my attention that our company is faced with a crisis. Now, I want to be pro-active here, so I’ve called this little pow-wow to make sure we’re all on the same page about this thing.
"Now, men, a crisis is nothing but an opportunity mixed with danger. In fact, it was the ancient Egyptians who combined the symbols for opportunity and danger because they had never heard it before, the word crisis, I mean, but anyway, if we work as a team, we can seize this bull by the horns (or maybe it was the Chinese), and think outside the box to fast-track a best-in-breed, synergistic solution that will facilitate a sea change throughout our enterprise.
"And remember, there is no "I" in team, but there is an "I" in pie … in, er, meat pie, and the anagram of meat is team, and … mmm, pie … I’m sorry, what was the question again?"
I think I used to work for this guy, Kate M.
Look, I KNOW what you’re thinking—it’s not even BUN-DAY and we are displaying a series of bun photos.
Well you know WHAT?
You’re right. [Patting your back with Princess Di eyes looking up]
I’m sure you’ll agree that we CANNOT wait for Bun-Day to show you this anerable paw-pad ACTION…
Miniscule, chompable foots…
Unopened eye capusules…
TINIEST OF TAILIOS…
TEENIEST OF DIRTY CLAWS ACTION!!!
I’m sure you understand, Kellie A.
Sniper Kitty mans his solitary outpost. Day fades into day, night into night, until time is meaningless, the horizon becomes the only world he knows, and there is only the vigil to define him; the ceaseless waiting for the enemy that may come at any moment — or not at all.
Then he sees it — the foe he has waited an aching eternity to face: The dreaded pen. Instinct grips him now, stoked by the fear that burns in the furnace of his soul, the sickening knowledge that only one may succeed, and one must fail. It is either bat — or be batted.
His prey draws closer. Each second hangs forever in the icy winter stillness. Small sounds echo in his ears now — a faint footstep, a rustling of leaves — speaking to a sense beyond sense, flowing into him, guiding him, telling him when the moment is right …
And then, without warning, he strikes! Channeling all his energy into one focused lunge, with devastating force he … he … heeee reeeeally likes tuna, he thinks. Tuna is delicious. Very tasty, indeed. He could go for some tuna right now, in fact. Because he really, really enjoys tuna. He likes tuna. He likes tuna a lot.
See, this is why cats never won a war, Mark J.