At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Friday, January 11, 2013


This blogger is a sucker for innocent eyes. And an appealing personal demeanor. As well as sweetly girlish expressions of curiosity.
Come here and let me hug you.
And thank heavens those claws don't penetrate.


An immature pussy cat. No longer a kitten, but not yet fully grown.
And very friendly.

I was returning home the other night when I was confronted by this affectionate little temptress.
And, naturally, I fell completely for her bouncy blandishments. After petting her for a few minutes I wanted to move on, given that it was an exceptionally cold night, but she was not going to have any of that.
She followed me, vocalizing.
Apparently I looked like her long-lost cousin Myrtle, or something.

Myrtle. Myrtle. Myrtle.

Miao! Miao! Miao!

What. Ever.

So I didn't go any further, but tried to persuade her that she should find her own home. She looked sleek and clean, so there was obviously someone who cared for her. And I am not the kind of man to start affairs with chance-met and ever-so-attractive strangers on the sidewalk at night. That way lies an adventurous love-life filled with piercings, tattoos, canned beer and strange illicit substances.
Or broken crockery, recrimination, and a pick-up truck.
My life will NOT resemble a country song.

Shoo! Shoo!

Stop staring at me like that!

Her eyes looked up at me with admiration.

Here's a lesson, girls; how to weaken a man's resolve.

She proved totally deaf to all my arguments, and insistently remained affectionate. Playful, and full of beans. She may have even had a sense of humour, though as far as I could tell the point and punchline of every anecdote seemed to be a one syllable word of uncertain meaning.

And she sucked my fingers!

If I could've hurked down any lower, she probably would've started nibbling my ears and rubbing her face against mine. While batting her eyes and giving me that sweet girlish smile.

Did I already mention that it was very very very cold? Freeze the balls off a monkey, that frigid. Winds straight from the Arctic. She wasn't aware of it, in her luxurious fur coat. I am not covered with fur, however. Merely areas of sparse body hair in the usual places. Nice and feathery and all that, and probably fun to run your fingers through if you're a frisky human woman, but normally it's entirely under my clothes, and a small pussy cat could not possibly have known about it. Even with my clothes on and a coat, it was cold. Too cold! Is there a word for hypothermia in Feline Speak?
How about 'Rainaud's Syndrome'?



Oh, that's it, huh? Everything is 'miao'. Whatever the concept, it is best expressed by 'miao'. No wonder you guys don't have any congressional representation, despite all your partisans running internet sites devoted to your cause. Your powerful and persuasive lobby. All those pictures showing what adorable little furballs you are, and how your mere presence is enough to give senselessly idiotic joy, and make impressionable girlies of all ages swoon and weep.
As well as your important cultural ambassadors, like Hello Kitty.
You just won't get very far, if all you can say is 'miao'.
Rubbing up against my leg is not an argument!
Cute, yes, but what's your point?
Oooh, arched back!

My f*&^%$g fingers are turning blue!



Twenty minutes later, a front door opened several yards away, and the beast was off like a bullet. Last I saw of her was a tight little haunch disappearing, and a taunting striped tail.
All I got for my loving was fingers that looked like they had been fished out of the East River. Yes, mister policeman, these are my REAL digits, and no I have not been robbing corpses for appendage replacements. Now kindly stop suggesting that I'm a zombie. That's so mean!
I am a sensitive man.
Hurt by that.

She didn't even kiss me goodbye.

I've got to stop letting myself get tempted.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


  • At 10:07 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    Guinness is now available in a can. Get a better attitude.

  • At 3:58 AM, Blogger The back of the hill said…

    That's about as non-sequitorial as it gets.
    Eventhough I am fond of Guiness.

    Beer, of any kind, is NOT a substitute for an affectionate feline.

    It's what you should drinkg before or after the encounter with the cat.

  • At 3:58 AM, Blogger The back of the hill said…

    I am not a zombie.


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