Cowboy brings his work Home

I was in the middle of cooking, when I distinctly heard a ruckus.
We have an open door policy in the fall, and I knew instantly who to blame for the said ruckus.

Cowboy Cat 2000.

Prancing about my breakfast nook was the little furry guy-with his prey.

I believe that his preference for crunchy insects is due to a tender heart-he just can’t bring himself to kill the other furry creatures that roam the backyard.

Biceps thinks it’s due to his lack of claws and basic hunting skills.

Whatever.

He can be so vicious, but disarming. Wrapped up in the furriest little body you could ever imagine, lies a killer inside.

His favorite action was to place his paw on top of it. Genius.

And then, he would occasionally bat it underneath the door.

Only to fish it out again.

Finally, he moved the game of cat and butterfly outside.

At least he cleans up after himself.

Cowboy perched for awhile here, letting the other butterflies know who is king of this castle.

After a few minutes, he was bored with the kill and came inside for some man-made treats.

My vicious little killer loves his ‘Party Mix’…

A Mysterious Maize Maze

The parental units were in town recently And since all four of their spawn reside in Tulsa, they had a full schedule trying to keep up with all of us.
The spawn decided to try and make it easy for the units-they’re old and get confused easily.
With the spawn’s spouses in tow, we all converged simultaneously on a pumpkin patch, situated very much south of town.

My sweet sis-in-law and mother of the four boys, paid for all of us to enter the ‘Mysterious Maize Maze’.
That isn’t the name of the maze, but that is was what I called it. The name reminded me of a Nancy Drew book title. Ah…Nancy….

Now, the city folk would call this a ‘corn maze’. Which is technically true-maize is corn, but not the kind you are thinking of. So, to be technical, it’s a Maize Maze. I just added the ‘Mysterious’.

Biceps, my Iowan farm boy, made sure we all knew this wasn’t something you would throw on your grill. You make sorghum from this stuff, which is a deep, rich, molassesy type substance my pop-in-law loves on his cornmeal pancakes.

This guy would probably never try sorghum. And I am referring to the tall one, not the short one.

I’m not sure the little guy would either.
The little guy does love weaponry, however. He made a gun instantly from the maize canes. I had a few strikes to the shin that made me second guess my whole stance on little boys and guns.

And then a few strikes to the arm, elbow, back and side made me second guess my stance, once more. I suppose I deserved the beat down from the elf, since I scared the tar out of him, hiding from him in the mysterious maize.
I don’t call it ‘Mysterious’ for nuthin’.

Rockin’ Out-Okie Style

Right before I met Biceps, I was preparing to move to Colorado in order to pursue a life of rock climbing, white water rafting, tent living and armpit hair growing.
However, the good Lord knew what was best for me-and my armpits. He sent along a tattooed rock and roller who caught my eye and sealed my Oklahoma fate.
He works in mysterious ways.

And He’s omniscient. He knew my desires and provided for me (and a few others) a natural craggy formation to satisfy my rock climbing needs.

Biceps and I like to load up on coffee early in the morning and then drive out to Chandler Park, which lies west of Tulsa.

The available climbing areas are pretty tame compared to what I was attempting to climb in Colorado.
I will reiterate the word, ‘attempting’. I would not have impressed anyone with my ‘skills’.

This photo is a an example of terrible rock climbing form-by yours truly.
Don’t judge. My toes were still getting used to being back in pointy rubber shoes that feel as if they are approximately two sizes too small.

I mean, look at the size of these things.

Even Biceps whines about putting his rock climbing shoes on. But, don’t tell him I told you that.

I’m still in trouble with him for doing this.

The Rainy Day Bonuses

Most people drink in the ‘blue sky’ days, but I prefer the rainy days. When I see the tiniest of raindrops, I put the tea on to boil and grab my favorite book.
I believe this love has something to do with the first moldable years spent in Germany as a child, underneath the covering of dark clouds.

Last night, as the thunder rolled in, I burrowed deeper into my fluffy comforter and worked for hours; breaking occasionally to admire the lightening as it ignited in the sky.

I think there was a bit of showing off by the good Lord this morning. The world had been touched with a fresh coat of color.

Every leaf was bathed in the purest emerald hue. When the wind would pass through its branches, leftover sparkly drops fell onto the tips of the grass below, decorating it with the help of the sunlight.

The chit chatting of prancy, newly cleaned birds couldn’t be subsided; even when the 14 dogs that surround us loudly announced the passing of a runner.

And my weird cat, although he has a sanitized ceramic dish filled with fresh water every morning, prefers to drink from this rock after a rain.
I guess the rain has a little something for everyone. Thanks, God.