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conserve energy, plz turns off ur lites.
picture: dunno source, via our lolcat builder. lol caption: katillac
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Cheezburger Network Blog
Come on children, keep in time!
Gud – slightlee after noon to yoo, Paul – an moast heartee felictashuns awn ur verree fine nawt second. Since it iz yoo, ai will trai to think ov a verree speshul an amewsing dans (paws – ar yoo still there? Yoo alwayz hav such gud ideas).
Mai sleepdepraived brayne just needz a liddle moar tyme.
An fur evereebuddy, ai browt bak a liddle present frum Dublin. Ai found this pome awn teh wall just befoar yoo go into the room to luk at the Book ov Kells at Trinity Collej. It’s written bai a 9th C Irish Monk in St. Gallen in Switzerland.
PANGUR BAN
I and Pangur Ban my cat
“Tis a like task we are at:
Hunting mice is his delight
Hunting words I sit all night . . .
Better far than praise of men
“Tis to sit with book and pen
Pangur bears me no ill will,
He too plies his simple skill.
Oftentimes a mouse will stray
In the hero Pangur’s way;
Oftentimes my keen thought set
Takes a meaning in its net.
“Gaiinst the wall he sets his eye,
Full & fierce & sharp & sly;
“Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.
Practice every day has made
Pangur perfect in his trade;
I get wisdom day & night,
Turning darkness into light.
Awn the wall were also several verree charming kitteh drawingz frum teh Book of Kells – wich haz LOTZ of kitteh drawings.
Hai, Janet, wekome home! Yoo wuz mist and much talked about: It seems that there is a land where everyfing is naymed after yoo, and yoo can has an infinite nummber ob kittehs. Awl in gud fun!
Thanks for the loberly peom. I lobs it; it has such a cozy, homey feel to it. What a gud companyon Pangur is—just as my little virjay kitteh keeps me kompany as I type, being plastered up necks 2 me in bed!
How wonderful it must be to see the Book of Kells (and lots ob other stuffs). I wikkied it and skimmed teh artikel, and found it most illuminating, and I will enjoy 2 go back an reed somemore. w00t, w00t for ancient insular art!
It wood B fun 2 see how this pome wuz written in teh original. I’m shure it woold B incomprehensibull 2 mii, butt I still would lubs too sea it.
Thankx Kitkay. It’z gud to be bak. Yoo wudn’t beleeve hao much ai missed ebreewun heer.
ai nebber thot ot google it until yoo did!!! Fur evereewun else – heer is a link to TWO translashuns taht ai think ai mite liek even bedder tahn teh wun ai rote. An there is also a link to the original text.
http://www.homepages.wmich.edu/~cooneys/poems/pangur.ban.html
welcom Janet!
what a kewl kitteh poem.
Wif dis clapping, mabee we cud do lederhosen dans
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZVouqXt5TSE&feature=related
der is muches clapping, slapping and turning in amuzing style. gotta wonder how dis dans evolved: does it impress teh wimens? I fink it kills ‘em wif lafter.
BTW, did you notice we can has new page format?
Oh mai gudness yes – did ai ever!!!! At furst ai wuz kwite horrified, becuz ai do nawt too well wif chanj – but ai am getting used to it – an ai think ai will laik it. A few thingz yet to bee fixed, but ai am thinking the Burgerz can doo just about enething.
Heers anudder kitteh pome yu mite awl lyk, “For I Will Consider My Cat Jeoffry”, by Christopher Smart. http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/for-i-will-consider-my-cat-jeoffry-excerpt-jubil/
Baysikully it ses kittehs R verree gud at bein kittehs, an taht shows tehy is trooly praysin Ceeling Cat. Is a gud pome, an Ai tink Jeoffrey a grate naem fore a kitteh!
Ambercat!! Yet anodder grate entry fur ar “esoteric cat literachure” thred! Ai noe there ar menee collekshunz ov cat literachure – but yurz iz noo to mee, too! Hav yoo known thiz wun fur a long tiem??
yup, tihs is in teh “Rattlebag” potery anthLOLogy, wun ob mai faves fore reedin in teh baffroom! Ai lyk hao it ses kittehs R gud at praysin Ceeling Cat cos tehy jus do wut kittehs R ment to do
waow, ai *sang* taht pome won taime inna koral – http://www.amazon.co.uk/Britten-Choral-Works-Benjamin/dp/B00004SSKS
byoutiful muzik!
Hao cool is taht! Ai GOTTA fynd a kwire to joyn!
Nice to see you are back in the US. I know you didn’t want to go, the Dublin Air traffic went on strike at night times…
LOLZ – thankz, Paul! Mai plane wuz indeed layte taeking off becuz ov teh strike. An then wuz layte landing doo too bad wether in Shicago!
An we almoast didn’t leeve Shicago to begin wif, becuz a blizzard wuz coming in. but teh pilot sayed to mee he wuz too fond ov living to fly if he thot it wuzn’t saife. But we did haz to get de-iced.
An tehn – wehn we got to teenietineeIngerland – ai woke up – an we were cirkling. Teh pilot said -” luk down – beneath awl tath fog iz London an Heathrow. Over tehre in the sunlite is Gatwick. We hav 40 minits ov fuel an tehn ai will hav to maek a decishun.” An EEEEEKKKK – he decided to land in the fawg!! Even after we landed (verree smoothlee, ai must say) ai still cudn’t see teh grownd.
But it dint much madder taht we were layte, becuz Dublin wuz awl fogged in, too – an awl teh planes were layte. EVENTCHULLEE ai got there – an mai deer frenz, hoo came frum jermanee an weren’t so layte, waited fur mee.
Hai Janet, iz gud tu hab yu bak. an fank oo fur teh lubbly prezint!! yu’z berry thawtfull!
glad to sea u bak JCH4K. we missed you bunches. hopes you had a gud time.
Good to have you back, girl!
Welkum bak Janet to you and ur 40millyun kittehs! Sowwy dat u was imcormbeeniyunssd bai teh fawg, is why we has to have so menny historricul buildings an such in teh Euw Kay becoz nobuddy wud visit if awl we had was our weather. Anyway is mush bedder to land in Heefrow in fog tahn in sno – if it had been snowing u wud still be heer, awn teh tarmac in ur plane, waiting for a parking spot (no joke, wunce took me four anna half howrs to get awf teh plane after we had landed
– after an 11 hour flite – nawt happy SJ)
SJ, dat iz awful.
Next tiem, u reely shud fly Bunway Airlines. They hab a supply ov kittehs an bunnehs, just fur dat situashun. Fur ebery 30 minutes on teh tarmac, ur get anudder kitteh or bunneh to hold. Martoonees and Mancattans r free flowing wen ebber ur on teh ground.
Juss anudder wai tehy sai “Fanks fur flying Bunway.”
Glad you is back, safe an sownd! An I hoep yur trip wuz fun, too.
Thankz, Cassidy. Mai trip wuz SOOOOOOO much fun. Saw lotz ov wunderful concerts an thingz in Florida – teh weather in Dublin wuz grate – nawt WUN drop ov rain. We saw lots of interesting sites – an the weddingz wuz purrfekt. Teh minister wuz teh Vicar of Dibley reincarnated, teh receptshun at the Fitzpatrick Castle Hotel lavish an splendid and the supper ov 7 courses quite delishus. An so grate to see mai old frenz again.
taht iz bestest kind ob pilot to hav, teh kind taht lieks living! (for me, flyin’s not so grate, akshully) glad yoo maed it saeflee!
Wilkum bak! {{JCH4K}}XX
Missed U.
>techie< Landing an aeroplane in the fog at London Heathrow is very easy. They have a device called an auto-landing radar, and if you have a suitable aeroplane, you can follow it down like sliding a model down a wire until you reach the ground at the end of the runway. /end
Thanks, paws4thot – ai missed yoo a lot!!
an ai guess the plane wuz suitable – it wuz a Boeing 777 – quite big, akshullee – an sinse teh pilot had told mee purrsonallee taht he wud trai verree hard nawt to kill us, ai pretty much trusted him (nawt tath ai had a choyce at taht poynt!) – but wayte!! Aren’t yoo supposed to reech teh grownd at the BEGINIING ov the runway?
Ah seez waht U meenz, but in flying runwaiz haz 2 endz an a middul, an no bigiininz!!
Oh – TAHT end ov the runway. Teh beginning end. Oar teh ending end – oar – OK – yoo ar rite. Just a middul. An TWO ends. Yoo see – at leezt wehn ai see taht sumwun is riter tahn ai am (wich happenz woefullee offen), ai hav no problem admitting it!
Ai suppoze, as a sinetist, yoo must bee moar precize in yur thinking???
So lawng as u reech teh runway, is awl gud – reeching teh grownd is nawt hard, dis will awlways happen wun wai or anudder!
And NE landin U kan wawk awai frawm iz a guid 1.
Yes – taht iz troo. Happee am ai wehn ai get to walk off teh plane. Ai just
wish flying weren’t so skerree. SJ – yur werdz ov wisdom ar stranjlee ov
nawt much comfort!
An at the end ov March ai haz to fly again – bak to Florida to vizit mai super-
rich cuzin. He wantz to see uz, ov corse, but he also wantz to show off hiz noo
multi-millyn $ haus – wif THREE boat slipz! Just a bit north ov Fort Lauderdale.
Akshullee – ai hav alwayz found flying – unnerving – but – sinze ai liek to
travel . . .
Hmmmm… he b lukin 4 companie?
Him gotz teh $$$$ an ai noes how 2 spend it!
jst remembur; flaiing iz teh sayfist wai 2 trabil. Reeli.
Hey!! We maed it – ai think – to the tenth commint! Cheezburger said commintz wud nest until ten – though there iz sumthing stranj at teh end ov the box (ummm – paws – ai suppose teknicalee we hav heer a middul an two ends?) bucuz wun cannawt see whut iz being typed.
An thanks, paws4thot – ai doo remembur taht. An ai doo beleeve it – when ai am nawt akshullee in teh plane taeking off or landing!
Welcum bak JCH4K!
Juss liek eberybuddeh else, I missed u. U mus be teh mostest popular purrson on ICHC. Dere wazn’t a dai that went bai that ur naem wazn’t brot up and kind fings said bout u. I hope dat u noticed teh street sines wen u got bak.
Teh entire ICHC site was redesigned fur u. Affer teh Cheezes gets awl teh stuffs wurked out (dey maek lots ov gud changes awlready) it will be the JCH4K version ov ICHC.
*smoo*
{{{{{JCH4K}}}}}
Oh Romeow! ai am so glad ai came bak heer today, oar ai mite hav missed yur commnt (sorree – ai seem to bee out ov adjektivez to describ how wunderful an kind an sweet an – EBREETHING peeple hav been to mee.
ai still can’t quite beleev it – tho ai see it wif mai own ayes!!!
an ai havn’t had time to go bak yet (ai KNOW there’s grate stuff bak there – cuz ai’v spent awl mai teim watchin teh paryaed!
…clap on, clap off! the clapper!
yush!
Kitteh’s copping teh copper clappers.
If you gets tat kultur refrens, you is berry old
uh ohw, ai mus be teh anteeq kitteh, or wuz dat “classic” frum teh otter day?
wuz teh copper clapperz kleen? LOL
dat WUZ a funnee “kultur refrenz” frum waaayyy back in teh day…..
but yew has to say dis wif teh dedpan of Jak Web to makes it teh funnee, yew no!
Looks like he’s trying to catch something…
“invisible fetther toy”
Pesky mosquitoz! I’ll get dem yet.
Finally, a solution for the interminable “lack of apposing thumbs” problem.
specially since it hooked up to can opener.
nom nom nom
Kitteh must clapz on teh lites to see hims Chia pet.
Gud 1! Kitteh grows kittehnip on hymns Chia pet.
Kitteh applauds yoo, but hiz hart isn’t in it.
Awrite, evveyboddy, put yore hans together fur teh fabalous Kitteh, doing her gratest hit song, “Cat, I’m a Kittycat, and I danse, danse, danse and I danse, danse, danse”!
kitteh fell fur infomerciul
and herewith is yet another reeson wY wii shoold naugt let cats watch TV. they R sukkers 4 “as scene on TV” produkts!
Pleez sir: icanhascheezburger, I prithee?
As JCH4K has given us some educashunal words, here is a story about an Irish kitteh:
A Persian Tale
THE wee schoolmaster, bein’ inclined to a dhrop of whiskey, an’ not gettin’ any great encouragement from the ould sister to take it in his own house, was in the habit of dhroppin’ intil Michael Casshidy’s pub most nights; an’ to keep the sister from thinkin’ long when he was away, he hit on the notion of gettin’ her a pet of some kind.
Now, though tis mortial hard to explain why, there’s a sthrong fellow feelin’ between a cat an’ an ould maid; an’ afther goin’ round as many bastes as would ha’ filled a zoo she fixed her affections on a big cat with a coat on it like a sheep, that she called a Persian, a conceited useless baste that would sit washin’ an polishin’ at itself with the mice runnin’ over it.
But ye never seen womankind yet that wasn’t fond of some useless bein’, cat or man; an’ for many a long day. Paddy Shaw, as she called him, was the comfort of her heart.
In the end, between the laziness an’ him bein’ a greedy gorb of an animal, Paddy grew to a most lamentable size, an’ could hardly move about; an’ Miss MacDermott got uneasy about him. The master said the only thing for him was whiskey, an’, troth, himself was well experienced in the same commodity.
“Whiskey,” sez the masther, “is the universal remedy for the male kind. The female sex seems to get on without it in a most remarkable way, but for their lords an’ masters there’s no medicine to be compared with it.”
Now I may tell ye Miss MacDermott had no such notion of the virtues of whiskey as the wee man had—an’ small wondher; for it was him had all the fun out of what whiskey was dhrunk in the MacDermott family, an’ herself all the bother. But she got terrible fond of the cat, and would ha’ done near anythin’ to bring it to itself again, so she give in to the masther’s notion, an’ even went the length of promisin’ to pay for any whiskey he bought while the cure was goin’ on.
The wee man was terribly pleased about it. He had been what you’d know off colour for a while before; but he brightened up straight away. At first I thought it was on account of him gettin’ his whiskey on the cheap, an’, mind ye, that meant somethin’; but all the same it didn’t explain why he was takin’ so much intherest in the cat. At last he let out the reason himself.
“Ye’ll think it strange, Pat,” sez he, “comin’ from a man like myself that has been singin’ the praises of whiskey these twenty-five years an’ more; but the truth is, a kind of a doubt about the virtues of the immortal liquor has been risin’in my mind this while past.”
“In the name of goodness, masther,” sez I, “what has put that notion in your head?”
“It was partly put there by the doctor, that has lattherly been usin’ some very alarmin’ classical terms in connection with my liver, an’ partly by the parish priest, a man,” sez the masther, blinkin’ at me a bit droll, “for whose opinion I have a great deal of respect, not only from his sacred callin’, but in his capacity as manager of the Ballygullion National School.
“Now I may tell ye, Pat,” went on the wee man, “that till lately any misgivin’ the pair of them was able to stir up was always scatthered like mornin’ mist before the third half-glass of Michael’s special. But what’s worst of all,” sez he, “for this while past there has been a thraitor in an’ about the middle button of my waistcoat basely suggestin’ that the effects of our national beverage is not just as beneficent on the system as has been supposed.”
“Ye’re never thinkin’ of givin’ up the whiskey altogether, masther?” sez I.
“I’ve been meditatin’ it seriously for some time, Pat,” sez he, “without gettin’ much further than that. But I see some chance of comin’ to a decision now that I’ve hit on the great an’ scientific notion of thryin’ the effects of a dhrop on the cat.”
“How in the name of goodness is that goin’ to help ye?” sez I.
“It’s as simple as two-times tables,” sez he. “The only difficulty I had was in the adjustin’ of what you might call the alcoholic values between me an’ the animal.”
“I don’t quite follow ye there,” sez I.
“Wait,” sez he, “an’ I’ll explain. I suppose you’re aware that the average life of a man is generally taken to be about seventy years?”
“I’m told they lived a deal longer in ould times, masther,” sez I. “Did they take a sup then, do ye think?”
“It’s undherstood, Pat,” sez the masther, “that they took a deal of dhrink before the Flood; an’ with all that they lived, some of them, to be near a thousand. It’s a very consolin’ bit of history, for if it proves anythin’ at all it’s that too much water is just as bad as too much whiskey; an’ the case of Noah, though he made his name by water, shows that he didn’t think a heap of it as a dhrink. However, seventy years is our average these times, an’ seventy years is all a reasonable bein’ need aim at.
“Now, as ye know, I’m just fifty-five. If I can stand it another fifteen years I’ve had my share, an’ barrin’ maybe in the matther of whiskey, I’ve never wanted more than my share. Well, the average life of a cat bein’, say, fourteen years, it follows that the vitality of the beast is as five to one compared with a man. Ye got the length of proportion at school, Pat, didn’t ye?”
“I did,” sez I, “afther doin’ a lot of damage among canes.”
“Very well,” sez the masther, “you’ll see at once that if the cat can stand three years’ whiskey I can stand fifteen, an’ that’s all I want.”
“How long is he at it now?” sez I, “an’ how is he doin’?”
“He’s only six or eight weeks at it yet,” sez the masther, “ant except in the matther of hair, where the beast is undoubtedly losin’ ground, he’s doin’ beyond my wildest dhreams. Instead of bein’ what he used to be, an idle useless drone of a crather, he’s skippin’ about like a young one, an’ kuhn’ mice—aye, an’ even rats—like a terrier. I’ve noticed the same thing with myself, many a time. There I’ll be in the school as heavy as a dunce, with even vulgar fractions a bother to me; an’ before I’ve been in Michael’s half an hour, I can do repeatin’ decimals in my head. I admit, mind ye, that the doctor had me a bit daunted a while back; but the outcome of this experiment has been very reassurin’. For anythin’ plain an’ straightforward like colic or the worms I’ll agree with every old woman in the neighbourhood that Dr. Dickson has his points; but when he takes it upon him to lay down how far alcohol is beneficial to the human system, the man goes clean beyond his depth.”
An’ away trots the wee man up the street with the tall hat cocked over his right eye, an’ him whistlin’.
It was a month or more before I met the masther again, an’ when I did he was very serious-lookin’.
“Ye find me very low in spirits, Pat,” sez he, noticin’ my look. “The truth is, I’m a bit bothered by the latest results of the investigations at present bein’ conducted by myself an’ that long-haired divil of a cat. I’ve been observin’ lately that although he’s bustlin’ about fussy enough afther the mice, when ye look into results he’s missin’ a deal more than he’s catchin’. An’ when I came to apply this observation to my own case, an’ put down on paper the sums I told you I could do so well in my head when I was sittin’ in Michael’s, I found out that though the decimals was repeatin’ plenty the divil a very much of it was the truth. I’m still very far from bein’ convinced that whiskey isn’t good for the brains, mind ye, Pat; but if the other notion should have come into the head of the P. P. it would be no great advantage to one MacDermott.”
“How could it, masther,” sez I, “an’ you teachin’ like a professor this half a lifetime?”
“There’s a little circumstance that has given me some uneasiness on the subject all the same,” sez the masther. “The sister at home there, though not perhaps in the same scientific way, takes near as much intherest in Paddy as I do myself, but that hasn’t kept her from complainin” about the mice a good deal this last while; an’ here about a week ago hasn’t she installed a lump of a tortoiseshell kitten as what our friends the Presbyterians would call ‘assistant an’ successor.’ I never thought anythin’ of it till comin’ down the road the next mornin’ doesn’t Father Richard stop me an’ suggest that I should appoint big Danny Burke a monitor.
He put it to me that he was thinkin’ about my health, an’ tryin’ to make my work a bit easier; but do you know, Pat,” sez the wee man, with the ould comical cock of his eyebrow, “I wouldn’t be surprised if there was as Presbyterian a kind of idea at the back of his head as a parish priest could credibly be supposed to have.
“Come away on down to Michael’s,” sez he, “an’ I’ll do a bit of experimentin’ on myself; for I’m in poor heart this minit.”
About the third wee drop out of Michael’s black bottle, he begins to revive.
“Wine, Pat,” sez he, “maketh glad the heart of man. We have the word of a very wise one on that; an’ ye may swear he didn’t learn it at second hand. An’ I’ll go bail if he’d lived in the time of whiskey he’d ha’ said the same about that too. If I was only sure it would keep on doin’ it, it’s a short life an’ a merry one I’d go in for, let the docthor say what he likes. But a kind of a doubt is creepin’ on me even about the fun part of it. It’s not lastin’ with the cat.”
“Ye told me he was very lively at the first,” sez I.
“At the beginnin’, Pat,” sez the masther, “when I’d got him to the right mixture the noble animal used to go about the house with a smile playin’ round his whiskers like the sun on a row of pint bottles. But lattherly his spirits has been goin’ down in a way that’s not at all encouragin’, an’ this last week or two ye could hardly live in the house with him.”
“Ye should give him less, masther,” sez I.
“I can’t,” sez he. “He’s carnaptious enough as it is; an’ if I dock him of one spoonful of his allowance he gets clean unbearable. He’s stopped chasm’ his tail, too,” sez the wee man, “the only bit of light-heartedness he had left. I’ve been thryin’ to persuade myself that it’s through him not takin’ the same intherest in it now that most of the hair is gone; but still it’s a bad sign.
“In my opinion his intellect is failin’. He’s beginnin’ to have delusions. Every now an’ then he’ll jump out intil the middle of the kitchen floor as if he was kuhn’ things. I believe it’s mice he’s seem’. It’s only the other night he made a wicked lepp at somethin’ he thought he seen, an’ near brained himself on the door of the oven.
“The wholly all of it is, Pat, the beast is rangin’ himself most damnably on the side of the P. P. I’m beginnin’ to see a melancholy prospect of spring water openin’ before me. The divil take all cats,” sez he, rappin’ on the table for another dhrink; “for this long-haired curiosity is sthrikin’ at the whole foundations of my existence.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, masther,” sez I; “I’ll dhrop round the morrow night an’ have a look at him. Maybe I could find out somethin’ else the matter with him than the dhrink.”
“If ye can, Pat,” sez the wee man, shakin’ me by the hand, “I’ll put the whole resources of Michael’s bar at your disposal, an’ carry ye home myself. But I misdoubt when ye clap eyes on the dirty brute ye’ll come to the same dismal conclusion about him as myself. Good night, now, an’ don’t forget what ye said.”
I was just dandherin’ quietly home to shire my head a bit before encountherin’ the wife, when who should come up behind me but Docthor Dickson. Divil a word of a good night or anythin’ else he said, but just into me like a day’s work.
“I seen ye comin’ out of the public house with the masther, Murphy,” sez he. “Do ye know that you’re assistin’ that decent foolish wee body to commit suicide?”
“Bless my soul, docthor,” sez I, “ye don’t mean to say it’s as bad as that with him.”
“I do then,” sez he, very short, “the man’s liver is nearly rotted away with the poison he’s been puttin’ into him these twenty years, with you an’ the like of ye eggin’ him on. Ye should be ashamed of yourself, Murphy. I thought betther of ye than that.”
“Ye may think betther than that of me still, docthor,” sez I. “I know he’s been doin’ himself harm this long time. But he’s in the notion of quittin’ it, an’ I’m goin’ up the morrow night to help him in the same direction.”
For I may tell ye that was what was in my head when I offered to go up. An’ with that I told him all about the cat.
The docthor turned away his head as I was tellin’ him; but I could see the shouldhers of him shakin’.
“There’s no doubt,” sez he at the last, “whether it’s the whiskey does it for him or not, he’s a comical wee crather. An’ it would be doin’ a kindness to the whole counthryside as well as himself if we could bring him round again.”
“An’ can it be done yet, docthor?” sez I.
“If he would only stop now,” sez he, “I believe I could save the liver yet, or at any rate bits of it. Let me think a minit. Do you really believe, Pat,” sez he, afther a bit, “he’s in earnest over this business of the cat?”
“I do,” sez I. “If the liquor kills the cat, I believe he’ll make a big stagger at stoppin’ it himself.”
“Very well,” sez the docthor, “would ye take a cat’s life to save a man’s?”
“If the wee masther is as bad as ye say—an’ I don’t doubt ye over it—short of a hangin’ matther I’m on for anything,” sez I.
“It’s well said,” sez the docthor. “Then come round by my surgery the morrow night an’ I’ll give ye a bottle of something to dhrop in the cat’s dhrink that’II make a quick an’ easy end of him. And if the wee man shows no sign of takin’ a lesson by it ye might near as well give him the rest of the bottle himself; for to be plain with ye,” sez the docthor, very serious-lookin’, “if he doesn’t soon alther his way of goin’, he’s likely to make a poor enough end of it.”
When I looked at the cat the next night, the docthor’s words came into my mind, an’ troth they were true. The divil a more miserable anatomy of a bein’ ye ever looked at in your life. From a big, lazy, sonsy-looking animal with a fleece on him like a Shrop ram he was gathered into a wee miserable dwinin’ crather with not as much hair on him as would ha’ made a shavin’ brush. I don’t mind tellin’ ye that the look of him gave my own thoughts a twist in the direction of spring water. For it come into my head that bad an’ all as it was for the cat himself, it would ha’ been a deal worse if he’d had a wife an’ family dependin’ on him.
“If the whiskey has done that on him, masther,” sez I, “he’s no great advertisement for it.”
“There’s no denyin’ that he’s gettin’ to be a very uncomfortable-lookin’ crony to take a dhrink along with,” sez the masther, blinkin’ at him very sober. “If ye can find nothin’ else the matther with him, I misdoubt the takin’s of Michael Casshidy’s bar is goin’ down one of these days with a wallop. But wait till ye see the change on him when he gets a sup. Here, Paddy, Paddy,” sez he, an’ reaches down a saucer.
Sure enough there was a wondherful change come on the brute the minit he seen it. Up went the ould moth-eaten tail over his back as if he was a kitten again; and though ye’d ha’ thought by the look of him a minit before he wouldn’t have budged from where he was lyin’ if the house was on fire, he was at the saucer in two lepps, an’ over the whiskers in it before it was well on the floor.
“It’s a horrid pity, Pat,” sez the masther, “that any doubt of the virtues of the stuff should be creepin’ on the cowld stomachs of the present generation; for there’s no denyin’ it’s the great medicine. Look at the poor benighted crather that hasn’t near the intelligence an’ none of the book learnin’ of a man like me, an’ even himself would hardly lift his head from the saucer if ye tould him the next minit was to be his last.”
There was more truth in the wee man’s words than he knowed. As he went into the panthry for two glasses, I emptied the doctor’s bottle into the saucer. The cat took about three more laps at it, shook his head, give back a step, an’ rolled on the floor.
“Masther,” I shouts, “masther! come here quick. The cat’s gone.”
An’ sure enough before the masther got the length of where he was lyin’, poor Paddy was as dead as Hecthor.
The masther straightened himself up afther a long look at him, went over to the dhresser where he had a gallon jar sittin’, an’ poured himself out a rozener that if the cat had got it would ha’ saved Doctor Dickson the expense of a bottle, I could hear the tumbler rattlin’ again his teeth as the stuff went down. When he turned round he was very white an’ washy lookin’.
“I’m sorry about the brute, Pat,” sez he, afther a minit or two. “Not because he’s dead; for the way things was goin’ with him, it was in my mind to step down to the docthor’s one of these nights an’ give him a speedy release; but it’s at the back of my head that maybe I didn’t give him fair play. Well, it’s past prayin’ for now, like many another thing, an’ we’ll let it go. First of all, by way of carryin’ out the funeral customs of this island, an’ next, to celebrate his memory, we’ll just have a thimbleful apiece.”
“I’ll put this stuff out of the road first,” thinks I to myself, liftin’ the saucer an’ throwin’ the contents of it in the fire.
When I looked at the wee masther he was layin’ down his glass. There was just what ye’d know of colour come into his face, an’ when he spoke it was the ould masther again.
“It’s three months, Pat,” sez he, “since the late lamented an’ myself embarked on this experiment, an’ five times three is fifteen. That gives me till October is a year. I’ll turn it over in my mind for a minit or two, an’ in the meantime we’ll carry out a great an’ appropriate notion that came into my head as I watched ye there pourin’ that saucerful of good dhrink on the fire.
“When I had made up my accounts to finish off my deceased unfortunate colleague I was greatly bothered about the question of his last rites. To give him Christian burial was clean out of the question; for as far as I could see there was no hope of him dyin’ in a state of grace. Then takin’ into account that the ould Egyptians considhered the cat a sacred animal, I thought of thryin’ their way of it; but the divil a thing I knowed about embalmin’—which was the way they done it—no more than my grandmother; an’ to pickle the beast would be to make a very scaresome-lookin’ corpse of him. But watchin’ ye just now, as I said, it come on me like a flash that we’d pay him our last respects in the ancient Roman manner.”
“An’ what else would that be but Christian burial, masther?” sez I.
“It’s another kind of Romans that’s in my mind, Pat,” sez he, “an older branch of the family. Away out to the coal-hole an’ bring a good armful of sticks an’ shavin’s to the foot of the garden, an’ I’ll show ye how it’s done.
“Now, Pat,” sez the wee man, layin’ the cat on the top of the sticks, “put a match to the shavin’s, till I go back for the rest of the materials.”
By the time I heard him behind me there was nothin’ left of poor Paddy but the bones; an’ when I looked round, the masther was comin’ down the garden with the gallon jar in one hand an’ two tumblers in the other.
“It was the practice of the same Romans, Pat,” sez he, “when they had burned the corpse of the deceased, to put out the fire with a drop of the very best—or rather, Misther Murphy,” sez he, blinkin’ in the firelight, “with the best the poor benighted heathen knew about, havin’ in those days nothin’ more satisfactory to dhrink than a cowld splash of wine. An’ though I don’t find it in the books, there’s no manner of doubt that, such as it was, they took a jorum at the same time just to dhrive away sorrow. So we’ll do the full rites by poor Paddy.” With that he sets the tumblers on the ground an’ pours out two stiff ones.
“Stand back now, Pat,” sez he; an’ before I knowed what he was afther he had cowped the gallon jar on the fire. The flames went up with a woof! would ha’ frightened ye, an’ for a minit I thought the masther was desthroyed; but when I thrailed him back, barrin’ the nap on his tall hat he wasn’t a thraneen the worse.
“Didn’t I tell ye,” sez he. “The divil an ancient Roman ever seen a flame like that in his life. It’s the great stuff— gimme my glass—an’ here’s Paddy Shaw’s memory in the last dhrop—worse luck—I’ll ever taste of it.”
LYNN DOYLE
1873—1961
This is from a collection of short stories about a small town in, apparently, County Down which was an immediate success. (1923) Two further volumes of stories about the town of Ballygullion appeared in later years. The narrator of all three volumes is supposed to be Pat Murphy, a Catholic small farmer with a taste for sport and whiskey—legal or illegal. Master MacDermott, the somewhat alcoholic schoolmaster of the Ballygullion elementary school, frequently appears in the stories.
The cat’s name, by the way, was probably not “Paddy Shaw” but “Padishah,” an appropriate Persian title.
Whoo hooo!!! Paul – tahnkz a LOT. Ai had nawt heerd vo this author (oar these storeez) befoar. An thiz iz a fitting a playce fur such a kitteh tail az we will lieklee ever find!
Tihs mus B teh LOOOOONGEST post EBAR on ICHC!
Congranumulations Paul 4 sheer typing energy!
wow
omfg!
clappity clappity
clapee clapee
lulz! Tihs Kitteh iz Kyoote 
Hee obbveorsle thnks hee cann clapp fr cheezburgerz! Yez, u cann litl Kitteh
Lolcats r ceriouzly rok
Kitteh iz all lik, “Whear be mah hoominservant? HAY! Get in hear! Chopp chopp!”
Kitteh dansus ‘Lectrik Slyde…sing along!….
You gotta know it
It’s electric
Boogie woogie, woogie!
Now you can’t hold it
It’s electric
Boogie woogie, woogie!
But you know it’s there,
Yeah here there everywhere
…clap, turn…more….
“Tihs iz teh wai whee warsh are handz, warsh are handz, warsh are hands…”
(Haz a 3-y-o, knoz awl teh kiddie songz…)
Ai members sumptinz bouts lill kittenz washin teh mittenz and lotza cryin….
Yez, NikkiY it be berry short storee where kittehs losted theh mittenz. But happee ended when theh founded mittenz and eberbody got nom nom on pie. mai favorit being roobarb. iz nawt cheesburger flavr, sry.
Kitteh lissens on der radio to The Pipettes singin’ ‘Pull Shapes’:
“clap yur hands if yoo wantz sum moar
clap yur hands if yoo wantz sum moar
Danse wid me kitteh boi tonii-iight
Danse wid me an we’ll be alryte
Der’s a whole floppy forest
Juss fur yoo an mee
So followz mah lead
An’ we’ll wun too tree
Pull Shapes!”
Wax on…
Wax off…
sez sensei kitteh
If yur happeh an yoo know et klap yur handz
Ai still mourns the loss uf teh burgerz.
Ai yused to run up an down ICHC land and gib awai burgerz like teh Gud Burger fairy.
Nao ai cant do dat noe morez… cant sai to Cheezefrens..
“Gud job… ai likes wotchur doin der.”
Cauz I gotz IE, ai guess.
Be ov gud cheer, leaderoftheband. Ai think Cheezburger iz werkin awn it. Ai hoep so, eneway!! We needz awl the Gud Burger Fairies we can get!
What yoo say there iz so sad. . .ai noe how bad ai felt those cupple ov tiems wehn teh burgerz weren’t werkin. Can yoo trai fyrefox? Ai noe sum peeple can’t – becuz ov werk or sumthing. Ai hav safari AND firefox, so ai’m ok.
Ai’ll 5Burger everywun fur yoo as fast as ai can ’til yoo getz yur burgers bak! (Tho ai noe it’z nawt the sayme – *sniff*)
If you use the collapse/expand thead button ( – / + sign in box at top left of message ) you can get them back, until you vote, or send a message yourself.
YES! It done did it!… onlies… made YOU, Paws4 disappear… but better than nuthin’.Thanks!
Ai getz you bak wif a click ennywaiz.
hai der leadersum peep. mebbeh iph u gowz allawai 2 teh “nummer f commintz” n clix up der him reset hole paij n nawt juss teh locawl powzt!
Bess orf luk wid himz an ur dyssappeeerin burghas.
eye wint 2 teh opera 4 a sperrryment – but foun dat awl teh prittee muzik gnoats – sew pashently tort 2 uz bai her majistee mary O’spok – hadz got mangelled sumthin sryus. Sew leas ur interweb sploder shews de gnoatz gud!
btw – u planninz 2 b leedersum ov teh mari O’chi band? ♫ la la ♫
U wantn “A Cumba-cumba-cumba-cumba-chero” or “Mambo Jambo” ?
We gotz boff alon with teh BIG gitarz and teh lidle gitarz!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MoU8Co3wiY0
Also… b bring teh big hairz,OK?
berree straynj!!!
4 U we duz
El Cumbanchero!
Beeg hair optionul
4 U we do Cumbanchero
Beeg hairz optshunal.
youtube.com/watch?v=MoU8Co3wiY0
Yeah, figgered dis wud happenz… jus wen U fink WordPress ain’t goin 2 do wut U asked….
it horks up all yur preevius mistaekz.
goff clap kitteh goff claps u
I hasn’t a funny for this one. I just wants to snorgle the kitteh. (S)he could be a twin of my bebbeh, who’s back in Minnesota. I misses her.
Now I layz me down 4 nap
I thnx to celingcat
im a cat.
Prittee Kitteh clapz
for Hewminz 2 gibz lushuss
brush-brush 4 herz fur
Prittee Kitteh coodz
rayze herz voyss, but datz woodz beez
moast undignifyd
Prittee Kitteh nawtz
spoyld cumpleetleee rawtunn. Iz
cloass, but nat cumpleet
Jack.
Hey guys,
Just so you know there’s a free PC Clapper out there for all you retro folks: http://www.pclapper.com
Retro? Ai dint even know there ever wuz such a thing!!
an Paul – nao yoo haz reelee piqued mai interest. Yoo ar a reel compewter purrson laik so menee (nawt mee, alas) peeple heer. Ai red teh “techno babble” paragraf – yoo can doo awl taht to?
An – pardon mee fur asking – whut else iz it tath yoo do? An remember – ai noe it iz sumwhat out ov lion to ask. Ai won’t be upset if yoo wish too remayn moar private.
JCH4K, it wood seem that there are 2 Pauls. I am the one who had the nawt second (and I still waitin’ fur der danz). The techno Paul isnt me, although I used to do a lot of computer work. I am a retired administrator (pencil jockey), owing to ill heath (Too much lead in de pencils?)
Oh – ai see. Yoo ar blak – an the otter Paul iz bloo. Otherwize – wud it even bee pawsibul fur there to bee two Pauls??
But – YOO ar teh Paul ai know an liek. So sorree still about teh ill health. Ai wud think taht it cud bee quite annoying. My dearest niece Jennifer haz multiple sclerosis. She wuz a star athlete (four times MVP fur the Universitee ov Chicago Women’s Soccer Team – Goalee) an now can walk awnlee with crutches. An she never letz it get her down. Taht she shows to us, eneway. Ai’m nawt shur ai cud bee so brave.
But yoo seem liek tath, too. Alwayz cheeful and nice – never complaying.
Oh Paul – your dans. Ai am so sorree. Ai can’t think ov sumthing taht is werthee of yoo. Ai dint want to do just ene old thing. julyisthebestmonth thot ov teh schuplattler danse – but taht’s nawt reelee rite. An to maek thingz werse – there weren’t ene otter dansers around – liek Romeow and Kathleen. In fact, as far as ai can tell – they’re STILL nawt heer.
So – it may nawt bee today, but yoo WILL get a nice danse fur this!!! Laik Scarlett O’Hara – az God iz mai witness, yoo WILL hav a good danse!!! Maybee sumwun will sho up layter today.
hey, Paul, congrad shoe lacings! come on ober to the JCH4K dae sillybrashun… We putted you on a flote wif speshul honurz.
(go luk ober at “move it move it” adn “world’s best mom” to see teh parayde shapin up. as an administrator purson, could you oranize dem wile i go to werk?
Paul and JCH4K,
I noe dat dere is anudder sellabrashun going on fur boff ov u on in anudder thred. But, I hab an idea and Iz gonna do it eben if nobuddeh iz heer.
Letz danse to
Iffs Ur Happeh and U Kno It – Clap Ur Hands!
I’m bery happeh fur Paul’s nawt second, and JCH4K being bak.
*jump wiggle step step*
*clap clap*
*swiggle twiggle step step*
*clap clap*
*jump step wiggle step swiggle twiggle jiggle giggle*
*clap clap clap clap clap*
WaHOOOOOOO!
i are hear! I joyne in!
Ai r joining in a day lattur, do wif no less enfusiam, yay, Paul \O/!!!1!1
Romeow – again – yoo hav saved teh day!!! Ai cannawt tell yoo how much ai harts yoo!
But wayte – ai CAN!!! Ai harts yoo a lot, Romeow!!!
Yay!!!! At last!!! A sootabur sawng!!
Iffs Ur Happeh and U Kno It – Clap Ur Hands!
OK, Paul!! Teh dansing haz begun!!!!
*jump wiggle step step* Whoo hoo!!
*clap clap*
*swiggle twiggle step step* Whooooo hoooooooo!
*clap clap*
*jump step wiggle step swiggle twiggle jiggle giggle* giglolhooooo!!
*clap clap clap clap clap*
(awl togedder now!) WaHOOOOOOO!
praying mantis kitteh
…is praying wit eyes open
Eeeexcellent! (Mr. Burns voice)
dang it awl, now i iz guna b singin dat song all nite!
Human! I need a nutther cold drink!
Hmm.. Lukz liek mah kitteh, Pheobe, but cudn’t be… Pheobe iz a thumb kitteh. but she no can do fun stuff… we just glad she dun no how open teh doors.