Archive for the ‘Pawnee Kitty and Angus’ Category

Dear Hamish,

Thank you for your Christmas Skype. It’s always nice to see those from back home. And nae, I didn’t really notice your black eye. Well, maybe a little. Okay, a lot, but I’m sure it’s better now. A pity Heather had to duck and it was your face the candle hit. A good thing it went out after Peatmoss threw it.

You asked about, ‘You-Know-Who’, aka Pawnee Kitty. I recently found a book that listed several attributes on kitties. They are all so true. Here is my chart.

Slitty eyes – yes

Smelly – yes

Stares at others – a big yes

Takes notes – probably

Thinks about food ALL THE TIME – yes (she even asks me food questions and I’m VEGAN)

Loves only those who has food in their hand – probably.

Pawnee Kitty, of course, refutes all this. Aud will not respond. Later, Pawnee asked for proof. She added that, technically, she is not a kitty, but a separate species that is native to this continent. I came, of course, prepared.

Slitty Eyes. I have a photo. Definite snake eyes. Pawnee Kitty says her eyes are normal and who’s eyesight was better, hers or mine? I did not answer.

Smelly. She pressed me whole nose in her fur and made me take a good whiff. In truth, she smelled like hay, but that may have been because she’d been sleeping on my bed because she does that, you know, takes a nap on it.

So, okay, she’s not smelly. But she does have an odor and at times smells like a meat item.

Stares. She cannot refute this. She does stare. A lot. I can sometimes feel her eyeballs on me, studying me, mentally dicing me up as a potential snack. Pawnee points out this is me paranoia speaking. She never did say she didn’t stare. That is so totally a kitty thing.

Taking notes. I found them and flapped them in her nose. Unfortunately they were not in English so I don’t know what they said.

Thinks about food ALL THE TIME. She asks me food questions ALL THE TIME. She is so nosy. That should be on my list. Cats are nosy. They are nosy, nosy, nosy.

Loves only those who have food in their hands. I didn’t try this out. I do not need Pawnee to love me. Or even like me.

I must go and spy some more on Pawnee,

Will text later,

Yours, from the colonies,

Angus. McSheep


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I’m amazed at how many Scottish festivals there are in SC. Last week we went to Tartenfest. Angus had to go to be reinvigorated by all things Scottish. I had to go with him. Little kids want to hug him and then there are the sheep dogs. They just about come running when they sense Angus. It’s actually kind of funny. Angus trying to walk from A to B and a sheep dog is trying to get him to go right.

“Stop herding me!” Angus cries. A little hiss and a bop on the nose usually does the trick.

This year I went in my brand new Tarten gear. Angus did a double take when he saw it.

“Nay! Where did ye get that?” He rushed over to inspect the pattern. “This is nae Scottish.” It’s like I  committed a federal crime.

“You like it? Friends made it for me. Look, green for the forests, light brown and bits of red for the desert, gray for the mountains. This is for the prairie and this is…”

But he’s got his hooves to his cheeks in delight. Or horror. Sometimes it’s hard to tell.

“I thought I’d be more festive,” I tell him.

“You’ll stay far away?”

“I heard there’s a whole pack of sheep dogs coming. That’ll be fun.”

“You’ll stay close then?” Angus got a bit stressed out when he got in the middle of one of those that last time. “You’ll run them off,” he adds.

I was lucky a few dogs came to do their tricks so I wasn’t fibbing afterall. They all stood there, tall, eyes feasting on Angus, licking their chop, straining at the leash to go after Angus and herd him to wherever. I strolled behind Angus, me and my beautiful Tarten suit, britches and shirt. It’s not as comfortable as my buckskins, but I can take it for a little while. I can even dance in it, which I do when Angus hops on the table he rented and does his routine. People give him money for his moves. Some people comment on my attire. I should have gotten a tam as well. But I don’t like headgear.

There were bagpipes. There was dancing. There was stuff sold. It was a three day event and Angus went every day. I got a bit tired of it all, but I did promise. Now to get him to go to a cat show.

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Dear Hamish,

Thank you for telling me about the new Woolies album. I shall order it as soon as it comes out. I can’t wait. I was sorry to hear about your run-in with the chicken. If I remember correctly Peatmoss needed some feathers and I’m thinking she left the coop open. I hope your mum can fix the hole the chicken pecked in your kilt. Thank goodness the beak missed your body.

I’ve had another ‘illuminating’ discussion with Pawnee Kitty. One really has to wonder where she comes up with some things. Maybe ’tis because her head is so empty. We were having one of our ‘ay’, ‘ay’ discussions. You know. Like we do. I say ‘ay’. Then you say ‘ay’. And we know exactly what we are talking about. When I do this with Pawnee, who knows what she’s saying. Yesterday she stopped and said.

“This non discussion is making me feel like a cavesheep.”

“There are no cavesheep.” (That was me.)

“Cavesheep. Your ancestors. I picture unshorn sheep wearing ragged kilts, holding spears.” Pawnee.

“Ye, silly ewe. We don’t use spears. We don’t hunt.” Me.

“Grass. Back then you had to hunt grass. Back then wool only grew so long. No fluffy, fluffy sheep. The kilt is half woven reeds and wool strands gathered from the brambles.” Pawnee.

“And what makes you such an expert?” I ask.

“Don’t you ever wonder. And the only word mini sheep said was: ay. Picture this. One sheep waving his spear. Ay. Ay. That means I spotted grass. Ay. Ay. Ay. That means it’s real close. And then there’s a stampede of sheep running down the hill waving spears and yelling ay, ay. ay, which in this case means someone get the cooking pot ready.”

One really has to wonder about Pawnee. I had to distance myself from her and I snuck off while she went on and on about cavesheep and shouting ay, ay, and hunting make believe grass.

It’s time to go out and grab some grass before the geese take it. I will write more later.

Yours, in the colonies.

Angus. McSheep.

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The ‘Angus Movie’ is officially out and playing near a sheep near you. If you live in Scotland that is. If you’re in New Zealand you’ll have to wait a few more weeks. There are two versions and unless you’re one of my kind, you’ll never see the second one. That version is ‘selling’ out quick. Of course since no one’s charging any fees no one is making any money.

My friends did a bang-up job on the movie. At the end of the week they had Angus’ approved video ready and only had to put in the audio. As long as Angus didn’t look in the camera he was okay so they just had him narrate off camera mostly and inserted the bits I did, editing out the ‘you silly ewe’ and other things Angus says to me when he’s annoyed. I heard the twins are bit disappointed. They wanted less pastures and more alligators, any alligator. They all got edited out.

The other version, the one Angus never saw, it a lot more exciting with alligators, Angus fainting, Angus running, Angus trying to wrestle the camera away from me, etc. I give my full approval for it, but if Angus ever finds out, I don’t know anything about it and nor does anyone else.

So, you didn’t hear it from me.

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Angus’ sisters, the twins, insist there is an Angus movie coming out soon, like Christmas soon. It will star Angus, their brother. Angus says it’s all my fault and I had nothing to do with it.

At first Angus hoped the whole thing would die off, but more and more sheep began texting him and asking him about this Angus Movie. I wouldn’t mind seeing it myself. If it existed. Which it doesn’t. Or didn’t.

You should make the movie, I told Angus. Think about how being an actor will increase your sweetie potential.

The last part got him. Also I said that I had friends, friends I hadn’t met yet, who’d be interested in helping. After all, Angus has tons of pictures of pastures and I have video of him. In fact last week I got a whole lot of video of him. And it’s good video of him too not just him falling into a puddle or being chased by a goose although those would make good action scenes. My new friends thought so too. They arrived just when Angus kinda agreed that maybe he could do a movie. He called it: Pastures of South Carolina. What a snoozer.

It has to be more exciting, I told him. The twins are expecting action.

“The twins are wanting violence and mayhem. They’ll be wanting to see me wrestling an alligator.” He crossed his skinny arms.

“That would be a great scene. I have a stuffed alligator.” I drag it over and give it to him. He falls under the weight of it and must swim his way out from under. By luck one of my friends has shot the scene with his cell phone.

“It will be Pastures in South Carolina,” Angus says. “I shall narrate it.”

He gets his powerpoint ready and stands in front of the camera. And freezes.  Who knew he was camera shy. I’m thinking we’ll be keeping the alligator wrestling scene. I give my friends all the video I have and all of Angus’ pictures in his Best of SC Pasture’s folder. They are all excited and insist they will work with Angus on it. I’m going to have to see how it all works out.

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Dear Hamish,

Congratulations on the win in the dancing contest. ‘Tis bonny! I do miss the contests. Glad to know me moves helped. I was sorry to hear how the tent fell on your head. I was not surprised at all that they found Heather all tangled in the ropes and Peatmoss nearby. Those naughty twins. One has to wonder what they are thinking. If they even do. You should put a restraining order out on them.

I went to the State Fair again this year. ‘Twas a bonny day, sunshine, blue sky, and not hot. The heat this summer was not good to me wool. I fear for its quality. But back to the fair. It would have been perfect except Pawnee and I were banned from the agricultural exhibits. You may be remember that last year, Pawnee popped a few balloons and I accidentally ate a veggie. I tried to be brave, but I wish we’d stayed far away from the agricultural hall this year. I think we are banned from the fair altogether this time.

The person and her mum came with, or, rather, we went with them. I meant to stay with them the whole time. This lasted until Pawnee Kitty got a wee bit of lemonade spilled on her and ran off to disinfect herself. The person didn’t see the encounter, but I did and went after her. I told the mum where we would meet, at the rocket. ‘Tis a famous meeting place and there really is a rocket.

“‘Tis only lemonade,” I said. “And no artificial ingredients.” I found it tasty myself although the price, $5 for the smallest cup, too much.

“You don’t understand. It’s poison. I’m going to smell like a lemon for the rest of my life. You know how I avoid citrus smell.” She stood under a spigot and waited for a drop of water to splash on her head. The few wee drops hadn’t done much yet.

She got herself ‘un-poisoned’ and we made our way to the rocket. But there was free ice cream in the offering and Pawnee had to have a taste. As ice cream is not good for me teeth I studied the other food offerings. Me tummy was grumbling and I would like to have a bite. They have bacon wrapped cinnamon rolls, cracker jack ice cream Sundae, steak and meat ice cream, fried candy bars, and other inedibles. Where was the vegetation? The broccoli? I should have brought me own snack.

Me eyes went unbidden to the agricultural hall. I so wished to go back. But nay. I needed to not get in trouble. I concentrated on surveying the area for the person and her mum, standing high on a wall. Okay, so not so high, but higher than the ground. I thought I saw the person and leaned far over. And fell off the wall. Into a cup.

Och, Hamish, it was so embarrassing. Me hind hooves were sticking out on top and me noodle legs were kicking about. I screamed, but it only got stuck in the cup with me, echoing around and around me head. I just knew everyone was taking pictures with their mobiles and uploading them to Snapchat and Twitter and the like.

The cup tippled over. “Are you okay?” Pawnee asked as she pulled me out. There was an audible pop when me middle unplugged.

“How many photos were taken?”

“Darn. I forgot to take one. Can you do a do over?”

“No.” No one seemed to have noticed my predicament. I smoothed down me kilt. “I need to go to the vegetation and get composed.” I just know the corn and pumpkins and other delectables will help. It will ease me mental pain.

“We’ll not allowed.” She rightened me former prison. “Macgyver. That’s it, Angus, we’ll Macgyver our way in.” She patted the name on the plastic cup.

“‘Tis not a verb and the program is violent. Not for a sheep like meself.” The person watched it once. All I know is that the main character, Macgyver, who is not Scottish, uses ordinary, everyday objects to get out of trouble.

Of course Pawnee doesn’t listen. She picks up the cup, dragging it along as she pulls on me arm. “I have the best idea ever.”

Fast forward to minutes later. I am disguised as a pear and Pawnee uses a plastic spoon to open a back door. It works, which is a big surprise for me. Pawnee, by the way, has Macgyvered herself into looking like a jar of honey, the bear shaped kind. We make our way into the hall and along the wall. The balloon exhibit makers are back. This year they are making a giant beehive. Me eyes don’t linger. I covet the vegetation.

Apples. Corn. Pumpkins. Potatoes. Watermelon.

And what was this? A bit of vegetation that has escaped the confines of its neighbors and fled to the safety of the floor? I picked the wondrous morsel off the ground, wiping at the slight bruise on its side, taking in the delicious scent. Maybe taking in too much scent…

“Run for the hills!” Pawnee with a wee bairn after her zipped past. And that’s pretty much the start of the end right there.

Vegetation flew right and left. Balloons popped. A local television personality got trampled. And from the loudspeakers I heard:

“Pawnee Kitty and Angus. McSheep. Meet your party at the rocket.”

That’s when a net swooped me up and me with a vegetation still in me hoof. As Pawnee Kitty would say: Busted.

We didn’t have to pay anything. There wasn’t enough evidence to prove we did most of the damage, or any really, but the sheriff, aye they have sheriffs here, said it were best we stay away from the fair from not on.

I didn’t even get to keep me vegetation.

And that’s me sad tale. Me hooves are sore from typing and I must say goodnight for now.

Yours, in the colonies,

Angus. McSheep.


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Dear Hamish,

Thank you for your kind note. Me hoof is much better now. ‘Twasn’t bad afterall. I dinna even had to go see the veterinarian for it. I am sorry to hear about your selective hearing problem. I’m sure the twins all bribed the lambs at the school to pretend to talk and not say a word. Me Grandma said no oatie bits for the twins no more or they’ll rot their teeth out. Serves them right for stealing those oatie bits.

I had a horrible adventure with the person and it started off fine with a hike here and a sightsee there. I thought little when we drove into Santee State Park. ‘Tis by the gran loch Marion, the largest in the state. 550 or so miles of shoreline it has. The park has cabins out on a dock, over water. Very interesting.

As the trail the person wished to see was closed, she chose another one. It went down and over a burn, a creek they call it here, but we might rightly call it a river so wide it is. A bridge crossed it and we were on a bit of a peninsula bordered by two such creeks. Not a minute later and the person goes ‘oh’, and jumps. I freeze. There’s a splash. And another splash.

“Gators,” Pawnee whispers.

Oh, Hamish, me noodle legs go all wobbly and I fear I’ll faint, but if I do I will become a gator snack and there goes me wish to visit New Zealand and find me sweetie. Meanwhile Pawnee is drooling and probably would be drawing her bow if they allowed her to carry one in these parks. She’s often complained they do not. The person slides along, searching for gators, camera ready, but I sense she’s ready to run. The trail goes right past the alligator sunning spots, sandy bits along the burn bare of vegetation. How I get past I don’t know. I’m sure there are gator eyeballs watching me every step and thinking ‘taaaasssteeee’.

As you can tell I did not become a tidbit for the gators. The path curved inland and we moved away from the burn. Gators like water. I was safe. Or not. The path petered out and soon not bit of it was to be seen. It was go back or forge forward. Personally I would rather not face the alligators.  Of course I’d rather not be lost either. Once again I feared for me life.

“Are you lost, Aud? Are you?” That Pawnee Kitty was being a pest again.

“No. If I go this way we’ll come to the creek.”

Pawnee groans. “She forgot the first rule of not getting lost,” she tells me. She’s disappointed. “When you feel you are lost, stop, wait for help.” We look to where the person is marching.

“We’re doomed.” Now I will become a snack for something else and I wonder why I thought to even get out of bed this morning.

“Of course I know where we are.”

“Then why don’t you tell her, you silly ewe?”

“Found it!” The person dips down a slope. I run after and see the bridge. We are saved. I faint. When I come too, Pawnee is slapping my face, lightly, and is about to pour water over me head. A minute has passed and the person waits for us at the bridge pleased with herself.

And that was my visit to Santee S.P. We did see more of it, but kept good sight of the road. No more wandering off the path for me.

I’ll talk to you soon, in five minutes.

Your friend from the colonies,

Angus. McSheep.


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