Saturday Night Silliness -- Random Musings of a Writer Lady and Her Cat.

"Mom," Dobby asks as he enters the den. "What are you doing?" "It's Saturday, I'm writing the blog." "You can't." "Yes. I can." "No. You can't, Dobby counters. "Why not?" Mom asks. "It isn't even 10 a.m. The blog is called Saturday Night Silliness. It's not Saturday night yet. Mom... No internet," Dobby finishes. "What?" "NO in-ter-net," Dobby says. "But I can still..." Dobby shakes his head. "What about?" Dobby shakes his head. "What if...?" Mom asks. Dobby shakes his head no again. Mom takes her hands away from the keyboard. Mom looks at Dobby, looks at the monitor, looks at Dobby, looks at the monitor, looks back at Dobby. She starts to say something. Dobby puts a paw up indicating – Don't even go there. "There is no internet?" Mom asks. Dobby shakes his head. Mom

--> Unfortunately, tonight Dobby could not be with me for Saturday Night Silliness. His sleep patterns have been disrupted too much lately. He knows you'll understand. I wrote down a conversation Dobby and I had earlier today. “Catnip roasting on an open fire...tuna fish nipping at my nose...” Dobby sings. “Dobby what are you doing in here? What is that smell?” Dobby waves his paw over Mom's best skillet and sends even more of the odor her way. “Ah, I love the smell of tuna steak sautéed in catnip sauce on a cold winter's evening.” Dobby says. He is sitting on the kitchen counter, TP (the fairie) is standing on the step stool and a very tall stack of books. T P is holding a fairie size spatula that controls the movement of the food in the skillet. The food appears to be moving by itself. “ I'm making supper for you?” Dobby answers. “ No you are not.” “ Yes. I am.” Dobby says. “ I don't eat fish. Try another one kitty.”

--> “If it ain't obvious what has set me off to-day.” Mom screeches into the pen. “It's all over the yard and the trunk of the car.” Dobby comes into the den. His face is scrunched into an unhappy expression. “Mom? Mom? Mom...” Mom turns to Dobby and continues to sing. “It's all over the yard and the trunk of the car. I'm packing it in. So come and get it!” Dobby nip at Mom's elbow, the sensitive and pointy end. “Ouch, that hurts.” Mom says. “Now you know how it feels.” “What?” “The pain in my ears when you sing.” Dobby says. “It's not that bad.” Mom says. “It's that bad.” “ You are a cat. It doesn't sound very good to you. I'm just projecting too loud.” “ Noises are coming out of your mouth, that's the problem.” “ It's not like I'm auditioning for a Broadway show. I'm just singing for fun. It's good for you.” Dobby looks up from his cricket. “Trust me Mom, those noises y

A week later... “Dobby, kitty. Aren't you done decorating the tree yet?” Mom calls from the den. For the last week Mom has been keeping to Dobby's strict guidelines and avoided the sewing room as well as part of the living room. Dobby sits on the end of the couch closest to the Christmas tree remote control for the tv in hand, watching things Mom hates. “Crap. I forgot all about Mom.” Dobby looks over at the finished tree finding a cricket sleeping on a branch nearby. He flicks the cricket upside it's head to wake it. The cricket immediately stands at attention and starts to sing. One by one the other crickets spread out all over the tree rise and start to sing. Dobby turns off the television and puts the remote back on Mom's end of the couch. The ginger tabby quickly licks his paw to wet his fur here and there so he appears disheveled. “Okay. Mom, you can come in now.” Dobby turns on the CD player with the tip

“Mom! It's time! (Dobby's voice elevates to a screech and waivers out). Mom can be heard from across the house. “Okay Dobby just a minute. Let me just move this table over...” Mom enters the den. “See kitty here I am.” Dobby sits on the left of the big chair on a small kitty condo with a stale dead cricket in front of him he appears to be shivering. “You don't sound right tonight.” Mom says as she arranges herself in front of the computer. “I brought you some warm milk substitute (cat safe milk) to go with your stale half eaten cricket? Since when do you eat the stale ones? You're shivering too. What's wrong?” Dobby picks up the cat size mug of milk substitute, “What's wrong? You have been in the sewing room this week doing noisy things with boxes and tape. You are packing us up and unceremoniously dumping me in some strange place again aren't you?” Dobby's left paw shakes and some milk sloshes out of his mug.