Skip to main content

Photo Scavenger Hunt--Plush

This week's subject is Plush. For years I have had this strange longing to bury my face in the mane of a lion--if only I could find a friendly, clean one that hasn't just pulled his head out of the carcass of a water buffalo. Until then, my Tabby cat Tiger will do. His fur is as thick and soft as any known substance, and on a chilly early Saturday, it has the feel of comfort. It's plush.

When people stop by my house for a visit, they always make a point to hold Tiger because he literally hugs everyone. People always say, "if everyone had a cat like this to hold onto at the end of the day, there would be no wars."

Comments

dive said…
Tiger looks gorgeous (as does Mike).

I'll leave Mr. K. to use the P word and probably post one of my cat too, as I cannot think of anything else plush …
Scout said…
I hate the P word, which will probably prompt Mr K to use it. And yes, Tiger is gorgeous with his golden eyes that match his fur.

Post your cat.
dive said…
Done.
Mama Duck said…
Oh, beautiful cat!!
The cat does look very plush! Great photo:)
I'm a Dog person myself. Cats make me itchy.
Old Knudsen said…
The P word? I'm proud to be a Papal hating black hearted Protestant of the Presbyterian Flavour.
Old Knudsen said…
Oh and nice Pussy.
Anonymous said…
Of all the Plushthings in the world, he's my favorite...

(Prince Michael Pants, of course, takes the cake in the Snorty-Greasy-Smelly-Rat-Infestedthings category.)
Scout said…
Rich, dog are just as lovely, but I don't have one to take a picture of. So cats it is.

Old Knudsen, we set that one up nicely for you, don't you think?

#1, he's The Baaaaby. He'll be waiting by the ki-ki-kitchen door for you on Wednesday.
Anonymous said…
I miss Tiger...

Popular posts from this blog

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...

My Sitemeter is All Bloated and Not Quite Itself

I'm tempted to let it sit on the couch with its feet curled up under a blanket, a hot cup of coffee in hand, a block of cherry almond bark Chocolove within reach, and An Affair to Remember spinning in the DVD player. I'm one of those obsessive bloggers, the kind who checks her sitemeter as often as possible throughout the day, the kind who gauges the quality of her writing by the number of readers who regularly stop by. I've become less interested in the overall number of hits and more interested in the number of repeat hits. The return visitors are the ones I long for. When my sitemeter reads forty at the end of the day, and the majority of those hits are webpals who have conversed, I'm happy. Forty may seem low to many of you, but I've only been at this since August. To me, forty is a jackpot. A few days ago, I sat down at my laptop and discovered a number somewhere in the eighties. Eighties! Yippee! Yeeha ! Hoo-rah ! I've been discovered by the webworld , o...