Meow Culpa

Google’s cache allowed me to restore all the posts I thought I’d lost, but not all of the comments. I’ve manually re-entered the comments that the cache did capture, but unfortunately I know that at least some comments by James, t, dubdew and Kelly (possibly others which I can’t recall) were lost. I’m sorry about that, everyone – I do really love that people participate here, and I wish I’d protected your comments better.

As a mark of my penitence I have made this commemorative lolcat.

pensive casey lolcat

Shock And Aww

Singapore’s extreme humidity is generally a bad thing for me.

The eczema I’d had my entire life here disappeared completely for the 4 years I was in England, only to return with a vengeance almost as soon as I returned.

I trekked happily through Turkish desert heat with no problems, but every time I perspire here I break out in heat rash.

In England my hair is capable of being fairly attractive. In Singapore it is an unmanageable mess of frizzy curls unless regularly and expensively fried to within an inch of its life.

When I was giving my flat in London the final massive clean before moving out, I spent days surrounded by dust-thick air with not a single adverse reaction. In Singapore the mere act of sweeping or vacuuming renders me snot-nosed (or more accurately, sdot-dosed) for the next hour.

By now I bet you think this is another of my pointless I-hate-Singapore rants and are beginning to think that this blog has seriously jumped the shark.


None of the above is the point of this post at all. It is all merely prelude to my referring you to this discussion on static electricity and the stroking of cats, which has given me the first reason ever to be grateful for humidity.

Yay humidity. Yay fingers and faces buried in warm fur, yay little damp noses on smile-plumped cheeks, yay purring shock-free footrests. Sparks fly daily between my family and this beauty, but they’re all metaphorical.

Casey At 5 Months

For weeks I’ve been accumulating a pretty large backlog of photos I’d like to put up here. Many record cultural observations, or moments of beauty or humour, capturing my view of the world around me in my attempts at artistic exploration.

However, none of those photos will be displayed in this post. Instead, here be cat pics.

Casey is now 5 months old. On her first visit to the vet, she entered gibberish into her own veterinary records by wandering onto the keyboard as the vet was typing. She is very strong and can pin big healthy adults to the sofa for hours on end, simply by draping herself across a belly, falling asleep, and generally being warm and fuzzy. Her favourite food is finger, but she never breaks the skin.

topsy turvy
Cute and she knows it.
inter-species love
Completely unposed, I swear.
turtle soup
Hasn’t quite grasped the distinction between terrapin food and water and cat food and water.

[Before anyone goes reporting me to the SPCA for cruelty to terrapins, let me just clarify that the terrapin spends most of the day clambering around the backyard and sunning itself. It only goes in that small tank to sleep and eat.]

The Unbearable Cuteness Of Being

In two weeks, Casey the kitten (full name Casey Underfoot) has managed to worm his way into everyone’s affections, to the extent that even my usually taciturn father has been sighted jiggling around singing “Look, Caseykins, nice juicy slippers!” (The cat is obsessed with his house slippers and stalks them incessantly. The rest of us theorize that they must need a wash.) Meanwhile, my mother, whose nine cats of her youth never knew vets, worming tablets, or flea powder, has borrowed three cat books out of the library and we’re taking him to the vet for his first checkup this week.

At dinner today, Yuping informed me that she wanted more kitten photos, and I’m only too happy to oblige.

Being weighed
Not quite heavy enough to get snipped…yet

I call this one Reclining Nude

Snug, bug, rug

To anyone getting sickened by all this cuteness, I can’t promise you less kitten pictures, but I will at least point you in the direction of Clay Kitten Shooting, where my current high score is 76. Beat that, mofos.

Happiness Is A Warm Kitten

I know this second lapse into cat pictures will substantially harm whatever chances I ever have of cutting-edge indie cool cyberbabeness, but really, cutting-edge indie cool cyberbabeness doesn’t seem very important at all when you have a warm kitten fast asleep on your lap.

After 10 years on the Internet I am finally the stereotypical Web nerd whose site contains pictures of my cat. Oh happy day. :)


Any mum will do

We’d been hearing a kitten crying from the empty house next door for the past two days, so today my mum and I went over to investigate. She came running towards us, mewing loudly, the moment we appeared.

We carried her home and put her in the back bathroom with a box, an old T-shirt and some shredded newspaper for kitty litter. She wouldn’t keep quiet while my mum was trying to tutor a student, but promptly fell asleep purring once put on my mum’s lap and stroked. She’s friendly, not in the least bit scared of us, and spent most of the evening stalking my feet.

I don’t know if we can keep her or not, because I used to have all sorts of allergies when I was a child, and we don’t know if I’ve grown out of them yet. We’re also rather fond of our furniture and would rather not have it scratched to bits by a feisty cat.

But I kind of love her already.