Why is there nothing about the weather? Is he sick?

Cat on my lap. She doesn't like my sleeve brushing her head as I type, but apparently is willing to put up with the annoyance to satisfy her lap-longings. She turned up at two o'clock this afternoon, hopping over the gate into the back yard while I was out there. It's lucky none of the feral cats were in the yard at the time, especially the mom cat. There would have been confrontation or, at the least, much feline scrambling about as avoidance was sought.

Yesterday's pear-shapedness continues, though it's gradually getting more apple shaped. I hope for normalcy tomorrow. For now, my back aches and I can't sit here much longer. A cat periodically demanding head rubs doesn't help. Next Chiropractic appointment is October first. I think I can wait eleven days.

This Peter Heinemann painting reminds me of the Benny Hill verse with the bit about the one-eyed cat coming in the door, to which the reply is made "That cat ain't coming in, he's going out!" And thanks, Internets: Here's the whole opus.

Plus a weblog recommendation: flâneur de fraude. The subject of the current top post is the loopy lawsuit filed against the flâneur (well, against Yahoo as the email provider, but aimed at the flâneur) by that "free" credit report company which has lately saturated the airwaves with Ben Stein's nasal tones and morose visage. I find the whole contretemps hilarious. Personally I'm happy to have Stein endorse this questionable service, as the people who will get stung by that company as a result of the ads will be those who, inexplicably, fail to find Stein repellent. Just deserts!

Bonus link, for those who wish to brush up on their jargon for Talk Like A Pirate Day. (Not a Rickroll—not really, anyway— promise!)