Thursday, June 8, 2017

Out of Florida

I guess if you're not peeing on it you may as well sleep on it. Multi-tasking or just being a stinker, I'm not sure.


I know there are some people who move north to south and then south to north via the ICW every year. But how or why they do it is beyond me. To me, it's just a slog of a run and I don't think the Knotty Cat cares for it either.

 
Crab trap. It was caught in our rudder and we dragged this sucker for over 30 miles. After Wilbur gave it a thorough inspection we dumped it (full of sea sick crabs I might add) beside a bunch of other pots.

I told Hans we need to get a list going of all the things we really need to have looked at once we get settled in our new 'home'.

Right out of the chute our electric anchor windlass died. I admit we were a bit smug (just short of tongue sticking outing neener neener neener kind of smug) about having an electric windlass and now we don't. Actually we do; it's name is Hans. Of course Hans had to bruise his ribs trying to repair it but for now we've rigged up a bit of a system. When it's time to bring up the anchor, I'm at the helm keeping the boat over the chain as Hans hauls it up and then using a halyard (that's at the ready) he clips it to the last of the chain and winches the anchor up. Our very first night at anchor during our trip north involved a lot of wind and current and we were very happy to find this maneuver worked. So far so good.

But we would still like to have it in working order.

A sod farm? No, it's our dinghy after being in the water for three months.


We've discovered the starboard engine does not like to start unless the port engine is already fired up.

The day after we each took showers in our respective heads Hans found the port side engine room was covered in droplets of fresh water. By process of elimination we found that the shower pump hose fitting has broken free of the hull and when you run the shower pump it gushes soapy water all over the engine. No problem, we said, we can shower over on the starboard side. Except for some reason the starboard shower pump vibrates like crazy but doesn't pump. Shower water now gets scooped up with a bucket and dumped into the potties which really isn't such a bad thing.

Our charger/inverter still charges our batteries while underway but the inverter (that had an expensive peek from an electrician two years ago) still refuses to invert which means the outlets do not work unless we have shore power or the Honda 2000 is fired up. We have but one 12v plug that allows us to charge our phones while underway (Hans uses the iSailor app on his iPhone) but add two guests each with their own phones to the mix and things become interesting.

Our water pump has become testy lately and it's not unusual for me, in the middle of brushing my teeth, to go over to the port side engine room, reach in, and poke the damn thing with a ruler. By golly she jumps to attention then. Luckily she lasted this trip. We have a spare pump but who knows where the hell it is. Probably in the forward locker that we have the dinghy lying upside down and lashed on. On the positive side, six years ago something like this would have had me in hysterics.

We were excited to depart Florida and transited Georgia (with her wicked 8 foot tides) with no mishaps. We forgot how much coastline South Carolina has and unfortunately the tides and currents were still very strong. As we sat in our little anchorages it appeared that every six hours someone pulled the plug on our tub, very nearly leaving us high and dry, and six hours later they turned on the faucet and added that eight feet of water right back in. We were sorry to find that the huge deer flies of Georgia had kin in South Carolina where Hans literally had blood running down his legs most days, and even more kin in North Carolina where they torture him on his daily walks with Wilbur.


Those Georgia tides. Check out the piling with all the barnacles growing on it. This was a floating dock at low tide in Savannah.


Same piling at high tide. Those barnacles are now below the dock. Creepy!


So why didn't we go 'outside' and skip the ICW? Well, we did, and it didn't go very well. The forecasts had promised such benign winds and waves, we were worried we'd have to motor instead of sail our 72 hour trip from Jacksonville, FL to hopefully North Carolina. We finally got out of the inlet into the ocean, and while it was windier than expected we were sailing nicely with our brand new main and newly repaired jib. For a while. Then the wind kicked up and the seas got all confused, stuff started flying about the salon and I got grumpy. So back into port we headed bucking waves the whole way. When we finally picked up a mooring ball amid the lovely backdrop of sunken boat masts (thanks to Hurricane Mathew 2016) sticking out of the water in Fernandina Beach, we'd gone a total of 31 miles (we'd've gone a lot farther if we'd just stuck to the ICW). And might I add, that in this protected area the wind was whistling around us at 30 plus knots.

We had two friends come along as crew for this 'outside jaunt that didn't quite happen' but the upside is at least they were on the water, and instead of puking for two days I was able to cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner.


As for things that need to be fixed; at our very last anchorage before arriving at our new home, Hans was in the process of asking me if I'd looked up at the radar mount lately when I handed him a bolt that I'd picked up from the foredeck. Another trip up the mast for me is now in order. While the starboard side of the mount appears to be in order there is but one bolt remaining on the port side.

 

This time around I made note of each anchorage and marina we used and I intend to add a page to our blog for reference.

 

Saturday, May 6, 2017

Gone

This is a long post. However, it could've been a lot longer. There just aren't enough words to convey my feelings.


Christmas 2016. Hans took this picture.



Every day that Hans and I have been underway heading north, we were getting closer and closer to our jobs at the inn, with Hans playing piano and me waitressing.

At around one o'clock on the morning of May the second those plans came to an abrupt end.

Entering into its 132nd year of hospitality, the inn was leveled in a devastating fire and a small community and its employees will forever mourn her loss. She was family.


In the mid 1980's the inn was literally falling into sad disrepair when Mike Halliday stumbled upon her. He bought her anyway and for a solid year he and Marie (although Mike will honestly tell you it was mostly Marie) worked on getting the inn up and running and once again becoming the glorious matriarch she deserved to be. Wait staff who worked there relate how after a shift or when things were slow, they would be painting, wallpapering, be out on the porch scraping old paint. .. and slowly but surely the inn came back to her old glory. Maybe even better than in her heyday, back at the turn of that other century. So far she'd survived the downturn of the whole mineral springs era that had brought her to life, the depression which wiped out the other remaining inns, electrical and plumbing updates, the 1970's when she put up with hippies owning her while they grew 'herbs' and painted her bathrooms (including the fixtures) lime green. And now with the Halliday's help, which included purchasing innumerable antiques to fill her many rooms, she once again reigned supreme over the town.

A ballroom, Victorian Room for weddings and dinner theater, the Rose Room and Blue Room (small private dining rooms), back lobby fireplace room, breezeway, three bars, and main dining room boasted china, glassware, vases, buffets. The dining room's ceiling light fixtures were the originals and converted from gas to electric. Over seventy guest rooms were outfitted with antique beds, dressers, tables, quilts. The hallways of her three stories held bookcases, paintings, tables, lamps, pianos, vintage radios, sofas, chairs.

The lobby was typical of that special era of high ceilings and spacious rooms. The stairway was wide with a huge landing (great for group photos), the front desk was the original, and on the wall behind it was the board that used to light up when a guest requested room service. And the woodwork! Hanging on walls throughout were old photos of the original inn and it was amazing to see that the only thing that really changed were the people and clothing fashions. The structure of the inn itself remained virtually unchanged.

I was thirty eight years old when I found myself unexpectedly employed there and I ended up staying for ten years before I met Hans and moved away. A few years later I came back and this time Hans came with me as the dining room piano player. I still remember years ago at Christmas after finishing up a dinner theater shift the waitstaff were all standing in the breezeway looking out over the grounds. With the moon in the sky and the twinkle lights under the snow covered shrubbery glowing, it was impossibly beautiful. I told the college kids I worked with to remember this place, that there was no other place like it and someday they'd tell their kids about it. Those college kids are now pushing 40.

We had golfers who stayed at the inn when they were young and every year thereafter, only now they brought their sons and their grandsons with them. Couples who'd been married there came back for anniversaries, some celebrating 60 or more years. Many men, well over eighty years of age, would stand in the lobby and reminisce about the days when they were bell hops. And all of them would get a hug from us because they were our family.

Weddings (sometimes three in a weekend), Christmas dinner theaters with both matinée and evening performances sold out (that was hard work!), class reunions, rehearsal dinners, family reunions, birthdays, anniversaries, showers, not to mention Mother's Day and Thanksgiving (both of which brought in over 1,000 guests each); we did it all and we did it together.

Since the day I received the horrible news about the inn I can't stop looking at the pictures I've taken along with all the pictures and memories my friends have posted on FaceBook.

Those old photos on the walls? Gone.

The piano that Hans used to play? Gone. Along with all the sheet music.

Our cranky ice machines that gave us hell all summer long? Gone.

The little Christmas villages sitting atop their mirror ponds surrounded with cotton snow? Gone.

All the antique beds, dressers, buffets? Gone.

Stainless steel tables, food warmers, coolers, ovens, pots, pans, chafers, our fabulous new vacuum coffee pots that kept coffee really hot? Gone.

The century old maps of the town depicting all the competing inns? Gone.

Our trays and tray jacks (there were 4 tall ones us older ladies used because of our backs)? Gone.

The stainless steel pitcher we shoved our shared tips into for years and years? Gone.

The dreaded elf costumes for Breakfast with Santa? Gone.

Help's Hall (I would roam this area whenever I had the chance.); the middle wing of the inn that contained all of the seasonal decorations, tons of glassware, plates, dishes, punch bowls, outdated coffee carafes, rolls of wallpaper and carpeting, laundry carts, linens, quilts, and an abandoned garden sized clawfoot tub I had my name on if it ever got sold? Gone.

Our massive freezer (where we had to scoop ice cream in the summer or it would melt and it didn't matter if we were freezing) with its huge steel door? Gone.

All those salt and pepper shakers we filled and emptied each season, hundreds of them? Gone.

Never again will I answer questions about the inn with guests or share the many ghost stories I've been privy to. I won't wipe down high chairs or booster seats or sweep the dining room where I knew that one spot on the floor was paint spatter and not food. Because they're all gone.

Never again will I wrestle and fight with an overloaded, wobbly wheeled cart as I kick and shove it into the dumb-waiter in order to get it down to the Victorian Room for dinner theater. And I also won't get cable grease on the cuffs of my white shirt when I retrieve the cart once it's down there. Because my dumb waiter and those wobbly wheeled carts are gone.

I won't say, "Don't take that cute teapot to that table of ten women or they'll all want one!" Because all our cute teapots are gone.

Hans, who has worked and traveled all over the world, remarked to me once, "I've never seen a group of people work together the way you guys at the Riverside do."

I see the inn standing tall and proud, and I see all those things in our pictures and in my head and they seem so tangible, yet I know they're gone and I haven't grasped it yet.

At the Riverside you could always come home. You could be gone for years, your life could have taken all kinds of twists and turns, but when you entered the doors of the inn you were home and someone was there to greet you. Welcome back! We've missed you!


But we can't go home again.


Because she's gone.



May 2, 2017. Dear Friend's husband took this picture.

 

Friday, April 21, 2017

Aweigh!

 

 

Wilbur's opinion of my blogging abilities.

 

Eight days after departing Stuart, Florida we've moved about 180 miles. 800 more to go.

I just got online to publish the blog post I labored over for days, and discovered it's gone. My draft disappeared.

Actually, it was not about this trip, but was about our last day on the ICW from two years ago. The only reason I didn't write about it then was because it was just an awful day.


So in short (and remember this was all in one day):

While underway I had to jump from our boat into the dinghy and bail it out as we forgot to loosen the painter and it filled with water.

In a very narrow part of the ICW a trawler in front of us came to an abrupt stop and proceeded to reverse. They very nearly hit our port rear quarter as Hans managed to motor out of their way.

In the same narrow waters a huge yacht in front of us stopped and began backing up just before going under a draw bridge. When I hailed him on the radio asking if there was a problem, he screamed at me and said he had to let oncoming traffic through first. The oncoming traffic turned out to be a small dinghy sized fishing boat that in no way needed us to stop.

A family of five, who in their kayaks, had been sitting idlely along the channel decided they needed to cross in front of us to the other side RIGHT NOW! Hans throttled back on the engines as they madly paddled and I'm pretty sure they spend their spare time running across highways in front of semis.

And finally there was the idiot who didn't understand that he needed to stay on his own side while passing under a draw bridge and ran us into the fenders. We were horrified to see him coming straight at us and even with me standing on the foredeck waving at him to move over, he just kept coming. The bridge tender called on the radio to him and told him he needed seamanship lessons. I tried to call him on the radio about the damage to our boat and he wouldn't answer.


We've got seen way too many of these along the shorelines.


So before heading north this time I was remembering that last awful day and I'm hoping this trip will be a little less exciting.

 

Do you think I'll be safe down here?

 

Friday, February 24, 2017

Wasting Away Again in Geezerville

Someone really doesn't have it so bad.

 

Hans and I continue to spend our days enduring that seemingly endless revolving door of doctors' appointments. We've been poked, prodded, squeezed, monitored, jabbed, dilated, cleansed, scoped... However, after 13 office visits it does look like the end is in sight! About 6 more and we hope to be done.


On the days we don't have appointments we've got a little routine down pat that works for us. Off to the Y we go so Hans can swim laps and what's nice is that Walgreen's is on the way for prescriptions (talk about a revolving door!), then to the library, and finally the Y where I sit in the car with Wilbur and read while Hans swims. And yes, nearly every trip is filled with bad pit bull breath emanating from the back seat as Wilbur accompanies us pretty much everywhere we go.

In my last post I got all snarky about having to deal with Voice when it came time to schedule some blood work.

I now owe Voice a huge apology.

The day of the appointment Voice granted me, I walked into a waiting room just buzzing with agitation. I was instructed to sign in at a little computerized podium and I rushed for it before a woman who'd walked in the door beside me and kept screeching, "WHAT? WHERE?" could get there before me. Was I rude? All I know is I had my information typed in pronto and was quite happy to type yes in the spot that asked if I had an appointment.

A screen on the wall, similar to an airport's departure and arrival monitor, listed patients names and times. Fuel was getting added to the fire when people realized their names weren't listed at all or they had very long wait times. No one was shy about loudly voicing their concerns and I could feel a mob mentality taking form. I didn't see my name but kept my mouth shut and made sure I was close to an exit. The girl at the front desk was clearly at her wits end and kept yelling out into the room to please ignore the screen and then got into a loud argument with a woman who was a 'walk in' as opposed to one with an appointment and would just have to wait her turn. "I'm going to your competition the next time!" the angry lady yelled. Good luck with that, I thought, because this is it. It was a bit scary and I was dismayed to find the frantic text I'd sent to Hans failed as there was no cell service in the office.

And then I was called in. I could feel the stares burning into my back as I walked through. I was so shocked to actually get in only 15 minutes past my scheduled time, I forgot to pass out when my blood was drawn.

 

Enjoying life between appointments


Last week we had back to back eye appointments so we went in together.

It seems like only yesterday that Hans and I used to go dancing every weekend and now we spend our time walking into places where everyone's using walkers and canes. "Dear God," I asked Hans, "is this us in a few years?" and he looked down at the monitor cables sticking out of his shirt and said, "I think we're already there."

I have never seen an operation such as this Eye Institute place in my life. I swear they have to have a traffic controller to keep track of everyone. We started in the packed main waiting room and then I was cut from the herd first. I passed through a large round room with several exam rooms radiating about its circumference. After being relieved of my contact lenses and glasses my pupils were dilated and then I was ushered into yet another waiting room. Honestly, I had my hand out in front of me as I felt my way to what I hoped was a vacant seat (I am that nearsighted). My eyes were oddly numb and the Kleenex I used to dab at my teary eyes was stained an ugly yellow and I wondered if my face was yellow too but was embarrassed to ask. I fished my book out of my bag and with my nose nearly touching the pages I read until someone brought me back my glasses. With a huge sigh of relief I put them on and exclaimed, "Hey there!" and leaned forward and gave the man sitting directly across from me a big kiss. It was Hans and he was holding a yellow stained Kleenex too. The lady beside me remarked she hoped we knew each other and Hans said this was a great place to meet women; way more fun than the colonoscopy center.

I was first out again and after a successful exam involving blinding lights and eyeball yanking, I was spit back into the first waiting room where I reeled up to the counter and made another appointment (yippee) this time for a contact lens exam. Nope, sorry, no can do, you need a different doctor for contacts.

Hans appeared shortly thereafter and made his next appointment. Since we both looked like Stepford Wives with our bizarrely dilated pupils we hopped over to the library which was close by to wait until the daylight didn't feel like it was searing into our brains even with sunglasses. Then finally back to the boat where we had to placate Wilbur, whose feelings were severely wounded at being left behind.


I have to make one last lab appointment (I hope!) and you can bet I'll be calling my good friend Voice.

 

Oh, the drama that exists in our berth.

 

Friday, February 3, 2017

I'm Hearing Voices and I Don't Like It.




Surely someone with a working dinghy will give me a ride off this boat!



When Hans and I arrived back in Florida we already had seven doctors appointments scheduled. We are both believers in preventative medicine but since our insurance coverage is basically an HMO and good only in Florida and we'd been in PA for a few months we had no choice.

So, now, in addition to taxi-ing Wilbur ashore for his preventative therapy (i.e; just us avoiding poopy revenge attacks aboard the Knotty Cat in our absence), and when we aren't trying to figure out why the dinghy motor has become a huge stinker leaving us adrift in the mooring field, we sit in doctors' offices filling out paperwork. Unfortunately though, it seems like every appointment we keep just spawns itself into yet another one. Colonoscopy? An office visit first, then the procedure, then a follow-up. Cataracts? Office visit, possible PCP visit next (even though you were there for a physical last week), then hopefully surgery and of course another follow-up. Mammogram? Office visit first... ad nauseum. Our original seven appointments have morphed into thirteen so far and I expect that number will grow.

Oh, and after you finally figure out which lab your insurance covers for blood work just try to make an appointment. The other day I sat in our car on my phone for an entire hour while Hans was at one of his doctors appointments (and trying not to worry about what might be happening to the groceries we'd gone and bought that were sitting in our trunk). After a half hour on hold with our insurance carrier I finally got the number of a lab. And then the fun really started. My entire transaction with the lab involved me 'talking' to a woman's computer generated voice and while I'm not a fan of this kind of service I admit I did get an appointment rather quickly. It was only after I hung up that I realized I'd gone and committed to an afternoon appointment when my blood-work was supposed to be done in the AM.

I googled the lab and dialed their local number. I then hit the number 0 on my phone in that old tried and true method of bypassing the 'voice' in order to speak to a real person.

The following is our dialogue.


Voice (far too cheerful because she knew she held the cards): You've indicated you'd like to speak to a person. I'm sorry (no she wasn't), that option isn't available. Please visit our website at www.wereallydontgiveashit.com.

I'd already been to that website and it hadn't helped at all so I called the original number back in order to talk to the voice who'd been so helpful the first time around.

Voice: How can I help you? (She kindly gave me a list of options. I chose 'reschedule an appointment', SIMPLE!)

Voice: Would you like to reschedule a date, time, or location?

Me: Date and time.

Voice: You'd like to reschedule a date and time. Great (really? that's great?)! What day would you like?

I chose the same date. I just wanted morning instead of afternoon.

Voice: You chose February eighth. What time would you like?

Me (getting all excited because this really was simple after all): 10:00!

Voice (dramatic pause): Ohhhh, I'm sorry! That time isn't available. Let me tell you what times I do have. I have 2:45 and 4:30.

Me: NO!

Voice: Okay. Let's pick a different day. What day would you like?

Me: February ninth.

Voice: You chose February ninth. What time would you like?

Me: 10:00.

Voice: (dramatic pause): Ohhhh, I'm sorry! That time isn't available. Let me tell you what times I do have. I have 1:15 and 2:30.

Me: NO!

Voice: Okay. Let's pick a different day. What day would you like?

Me (in addition to getting really tired of Voice's phony sympathy and ready to tear my hair out for fear I'd have to go through an entire calendar month): You **%#ing bitch!

Voice (dramatic pause and then quite primly): I'm sorry, I don't understand that request (oh yes she did!). Voice (continuing in a wounded tone): What day would you like?

Feeling bad now that I'd offended Voice, I picked another day and she finally gave gave me my 10:00 appointment.


Now I just have to hope for a calm, non-windy morning in order to get ashore without the dinghy motor failing and getting soaked in order to pass out while getting my blood drawn.


But before that happens Wilbur will want to go ashore because he knows the other marina dogs have marked his spots from the previous day and the marina employees are just dying to see him...


Multiply this times thirteen and you now have an idea of what life is like for us here on the waters of Florida.


Noooo! Don't make me get back on the boat! I have to piss on that tree that Harry just pissed on!

 
 
 

 

Sunday, January 22, 2017

Home. Again

 

Very pretty. But cold


It seems like we'd barely unpacked our bags in Hooterville this past spring where the grass never stopped growing when all of a sudden it was January 1st and time to repack and head back to the boat.

Just like that, nine months of hard work was over.

Speaking of hard work, December didn't disappoint as we were busier than hell and my Pacer App logged in several 10 mile waitressing days. Dear Friend and I were beyond counting down the days, we were now counting down the hours, and yes, finally the minutes to when the inn would shut its doors for the season.



Again, very pretty. But cold.



I crawled through the door of our little farmhouse after my very last shift, took a shower, put on my pjs and fluffy robe, and collapsed into my camp chair. Everything from my arches, heels, and ankles, to my back ached, and while I've never taken a Xanex or Valium in my life I believe I now know what it must feel like. Knowing there would be no more emergency summons (Oh my god! Get your uniform on, we need to go in early!), I let the stress of the last month drip off me and I felt like a strand of overdone spaghetti while I dozed in front of our space heater and TV while snowflakes drifted outside our windows.

This occurred at noon and I pretty much stayed comotose until collapsing in bed and sleeping soundly til the next day.

 

But, it was time to get back to our boat. Our home.


I tearfully hugged Dear Friend goodbye and we departed on a 17 degree(F) morning and crossed the state in order to visit the cutest baby in the world (our granddaughter!). Andi greeted me with one of those huge smiles only a three month old can pull off wherein her whole body contorted and we all got a wonderful view of her toothless gums. She then demonstrated to Papa Hans just exactly how far she can stick out her tiny lower lip before letting loose a banshee wail.

On a different note I have to say I'm extremely pleased to find my son is an excellent cook and not one of his dishes contained Skittles.


Our next trek was further south where we spent a couple of couch-potato filled days with our youngest daughter and her girlfriend. Baby Girl has a knack for picking out great movies to watch and we finally got to see 'The Martian'. And also on a different note, I'm extremely pleased to note Baby Girl is an excellent cook and even though I love Chinese takeout, it was not on the menu this time.

 

We once again piled into our car (man it was still cold outside!) and this time we aimed straight south. At each rest-stop we would shed a layer of clothing and all of a sudden we were in Florida. Well, not really 'all of a sudden' as we had to fight our way through some of the craziest traffic and insane drivers I've ever encountered.



Are we there yet?


We (mostly I) were vastly relieved to find the Knotty Cat in excellent form (ie; cockroach free) and she was launched with little fanfare. A lot of drama on my part was avoided when we were informed that we could spend the night on the wall and not have to leave within an hour of launching. This allowed me time to scrub the topsides (three hours alone on this project), do a quick provisioning run (bread, lunchmeat, COFFEE, etc...), drain and fill our water tanks, make up our berth, put away all our junk (how does one stuff so much stuff into a Corolla is beyond me) and try to talk Wilbur into using a potty patch again. Gone are his long days of 'boys only' walks with Hans in the countryside.



After working on the outside all day long there's no sitting down until all this crap finds a home!


We left early the next morning, got through a lock and arrived at our home for now.


I fear progress took a giant leap forward while we were on the farm and has quickly surpassed us. Since the water fountain at a rest-stop was frozen, I asked Hans to get me a bottle of water and just as I was ready to send out a search and rescue team he arrived back at the car in a foul mood. It would appear the vending machine not only didn't take quarters, it didn't state just how much said water would cost. "Oh, I know how many calories everything there has, like I give a shit!" He huffed. "But I have no idea what the hell I just spent on this damned water!" He was livid. "For all I know some asshole is using my credit card now!"

I had to laugh and brought up the movie The Martian. "You know, Matt Damon might have been able to get off Mars with all his MacGyverish methods but after being up there a couple of years I bet he wouldn't be able to figure out these vending machines either."

I was hoping there hadn't been too much progress on the waterways while we were gone but then we jumped onto our Active Captain App. Let's just say I'm glad we have a couple of months to figure things out again.

 

Very pretty. And warm.

 

Saturday, December 24, 2016

The Real Legend of Christmas

 
Once upon a time, many, many years ago every Christmas Eve, Santa Claus relied upon Wilbur the Red Nosed Pit Bull to help him deliver presents to good little boys and girls and kittehs (but not very many kittehs as they are seldom well behaved) and dogs all over the world. Wilbur was eager to please and loved helping Santa. Wilbur's jaws were strong so that even in the worst of weather he never lost a present and was able to carefully place toys and treats underneath every Christmas Tree.




Then something very bad happened.

One year an especially evil kitteh who wasn't going to get any presents from Santa, because, well, because it was a kitteh and therefore evil, and because it was especially jealous of Wilbur the Red Nosed Pit Bull, pulled a nasty trick.

The night before Christmas Eve the evil kitteh said to Wilbur, "Wilbur, I am your friend and you should try some of this silly water. It is very tasty and it will make you feel good." Wilbur was very happy that a kitteh would be so nice to him and to show his appreciation, he drank many cans of this fun stuff.



Wilbur did feel silly and then he became quite dizzy and passed out cold. Poor Wilbur slept right through Christmas. Santa Claus looked and looked for him but the evil kitteh told Santa that Wilbur said he had better things to do than help a fat old man in a red suit deliver presents to a bunch of snotty nosed brats.


Santa was desperate and immediately contacted a Red Nosed Reindeer he'd heard of named Rudolph to assist him. Rudolph, who was a huge sissy and was never allowed to play in any Reindeer games, had nothing better to do anyway and agreed to help.



And so history took a turn that has long since been forgotten.

Rudolph went down in history as a hero and ended up with the girl.

Pit Bulls became vilified.

Kittehs however, will forever remain evil.

And if Paul Harvey were alive today this legend would end with, "And now you know the rest of the story."

Good day, Merry Christmas, Happy Festivus, and Happy Holidays to one and all from the crew of the Knotty Cat.

 

Originally posted in December 2013. This year I'm too lazy to be original so I'm just reprinting it.