So, clearly Hemingway the Self-Narrating Cat with the Fists of Fury deserved his own entry. But it was a good weekend, relaxing, out at my folks’ place. Highlights included:

– Watching five teenagers half-heartedly sign along to a song at my nephews’ church ("Upward"?) basketball game. One of the boys had greasy hair and was just precise enough with his gestures. I sort of loved him for about a minute. (Yes, you read that right — apparently learning sign language for song lyrics is now de rigeur… or something.)

– Realizing how many people were actually keeping score of the scoreless basketball game. (Also, my nephew was the MVP, if they had officially been keeping score anyway.) Also, it’s utterly ridiculous to tape the knee of an eight-year-old! (As the opposing team did.)

– Getting my ass kicked at Texas Holdem (please do not come out of the spamwork) by my eight-year-old nephew. Though I managed to hang in there and make a comeback. Bonus: Christopher going "all in" with his chips against said eight-year-old.

– Eating cornbread and other junk.

– Seeing the horses that live with the school bus. (I must take the camera next time.)

– Approving MySpace friends(!), my grandmother’s one-liners, and other things I’m forgetting.

I also got some reading done, more Fountain Award stories and finished a book or two. I may as well commit a 75 books update. Thumbnails, just as the other day.

7. Mothers and Other Monsters by Maureen McHugh. This was actually a reread (of course), for an interview with Maureen I’m working on. I finished the last story the same day this bad news came (though I have no doubt it will all come out okay in the wash, as my grandmother would say). Suffice to say that this collection is wonderful and beautiful and all of the other good things anyone has ever said about it. You should really check it out if you haven’t; if you have, check it out again. It rewards revisiting.

8. The Best People in the World by Justin Tussing. The first section of this novel is the best, as pretty much everyone seems to agree, but I enjoyed the whole thing. It’s an easy novel, in that the secrets are right out in the open for anyone who keeps reading, but the writing is quite beautiful and somehow it all adds up in the end. I actually loved the miracle hunters best, and wish they had a novel of their very own instead of just a few bits in this one. (Truly hideous cover design, btw; I believe it’s meant to invoke another wunderkind’s covers, but it doesn’t — nor does the book, actually.)

9. I Am the Messenger by Markus Zusak. Man, did I love this novel. If I told you what it was actually about, you might get the wrong idea and assume it’s hopelessly sappy. So I won’t. On the safer what it’s about, non-italicized version, it’s the story of 19-year-old Ed Kennedy receiving a series of mysterious Aces, each with instructions of a sort to figure out a message for the indicated party and deliver it. These messages directly impacted people’s lives; the stakes are high. Ed’s voice is hilarious and true. It seems to me there isn’t a false step anywhere in this book. Highly recommended. I wish I had time to do a whole post on this one. (Note: You can buy it at Amazon paired up with the fabulous Black Glass, assuming for some reason that escapes me you don’t already have a copy.)

Our household has taken in a new citizen, Hemingway Bond&Rowe the Cat, Polydactyl, LLC, aka Fists of Fury, aka Bigfoot. (Who joins, of course, George Rowe the Dog, Poster Boy for American Values, My Attorney.) I found him online at Petfinder, where these pictures come from and you can see more about him. I should say right now that the Scott County Humane Society does an awesome job (holla, Julia!) at describing the cats’ personalities and taking pictures that capture some of their spirit. (Unlike many of these poor cats, seemingly posed for that Hang In There poster; good organization, but nobody deserves to be snapped at such an unflattering angle.) Hemingway’s had a storied life so far, in just a year and a few months, and we’re his fourth home.

He’s really quite amazing and odd so far, just as his foster family told us he was. He’s apparently been hard to place, due to bad luck and freaky, evil people having adopted him previously (one of his adopters PUT LOTION ON HIS FUR TO MAKE IT SOFTER, then brought him back and said he was "mean"). He’s a total sweetie so far, if a little shy. Purrs, purrs, purrs; plays with toys; wants to be petted. He decided to come out from his various hiding places and explore about 2 a.m. last night, and I gamely got up and petted him. Now I am the awake-coma.

The thing about Hemingway is that he’s a true polydactyl. He has very prominent extra toes and he uses his paws like hands. He was opening cupboards and doors and such all night, checking out the joint. A cat with opposable thumbs (more or less): this could mean the end of civilization as we know it. (Definitely the end of any kitchen mousecapades, I’m betting.) Anyway, I’m left happily asking myself how I ended up in a house with three boys.

I’d never heard of Hemingway cats before, but they take their name from Papa, who had a pride of polydactyls and other cats. (This little article talks all about that and the 60 or so cats that still live in the Ernest Hemingway Museum and Home.) It’s a genetic trait, and apparently only a polydact can pass it on.

The impact of all this for you, dear readers, is that Shaken & Stirred will now bow to the grand tradition of Friday Cat Blogging.

*Sorry, Gavin! You were the only thing in the "con" column on the whole getting-a-cat front! And I saw a mouse! And plus, look at that face! How could we say no?