Search Term Extravaganza Part 2: All Your Questions Answered!

Crap, just had a strong visceral reaction to Pecunium’s link: the first set of photos is of Germans with kittens, and I wanted to take the kittens away.

But it’s not like the German military was a volunteer service.

Also, Elinor and her badass begoggled kitteh are fabulous!

Some (most) of those search terms make me really sad. I hope some of the angry people that accidently found their way here have been enlightened by this excellent site.

While we’re on the topic of kitties; RIP Colonel Meow 🙁

Oh, and on the ice cream subject. I usually have sad face while eating ice cream. It’s so delicious it’s guaranteed I will binge eat it if I have it. Therefore, I only allow myself to get it when I’m sick or having a colossally bad day.

You’re not kidding. My own grandpa was drafted into the SS. In 1944. While his family were forced to flee Yugoslavia.

Daaaaamn. Did he get through the war OK?

@ kittehs

“Fear for kitties, even long-gone ones, is a much more visceral response for me than with other animals (ie. it’s sharper, not that I don’t feel for other animals).”

Me too! I can’t rationalize it, but sure enough, any time I see something with cats being hurt, or a cat hit by a car, it bothers me to my core, ruins my day even. The assimilation by our Furinatti overlords is complete?

Sometimes good things happen to kittens in war zones. Maybe all those kitties were orphaned strays that the soldiers took in.

One of the few things I admire about my dad is that he was involved in a rescue operation during the Bosnian war in the 90s. He and his friends rescued colleagues, fellow Bosniak Muslims, and even a 9-year-old Bosniak Muslim girl who was gang-raped in one of the Serbian rape camps. He has often told me about how the girl was so traumatized by what happened to her that she felt numb and barely felt cold even though she was wearing a t-shirt in freezing temperatures.

None of that changes the fact that he’s an abusive asshole, but I appreciate the fact that he’s devoted himself to important causes like that.

Daaaaamn. Did he get through the war OK?

He did! He was a prison camp guard, placed in charge of Hungarian POWs. (He was fluent in Hungarian and Serbo-Croatian as well as German. I suspect I inherited my multilingualism from him, too.) Never fired a shot, mercifully. He’d also done mandatory service in the Yugoslavian army in his early 20s, which may have been why they approached him. And he was over 6 feet tall, which no doubt “helped”.

Ironically, at war’s end, he and his fellow soldiers didn’t know where to go to be demobilized, so they turned themselves in to the occupying Brits. Who promptly sent HIM to prison camp…in Scotland. The work was hard and the food was crap, but he survived.

And now for a cute kitty story from that period…the first cat he saw when he got out was a Manx, which is a naturally tailless breed. It gave him a shock, because he’d heard rumors that the Scots cut their cats’ tails off to save them time running in and out of doors. (It was an urban legend, of course. The Isle of Man, where the breed originated, is right near Scotland. It doesn’t take much imagination to speculate that the cats travelled across the water on ferries or fishing boats.)

I am sorry, the whole war was a nasty business and the common soldier had the brunt of it no matter which side he was on. I shouldn’t have said anything, and I hope I didn’t bust your nose too much.

I definitely had ancestors on both sides of the American Civil War, and probably I had slave holding ancestors. I really should know better than to blast at Just Folks.

Please don’t feel bad, you didn’t upset me in the least. I know what kind of person he was. Not a political bone in his body, much less fascist. He was not exactly offered a choice in the matter, unless getting to watch his wife and kids be executed before him could be considered an alternative. All conscription is bullying, but the Nazis’ brand was among the worst. Threats, lies, intimidation…that’s how they got the ordinary Germans to go along, and how they corrupted the good ones. You just ducked your head and tried not to be conspicuous, and prayed it would all end soon, somehow.

And yes, he made it through…see my post above. I wish I’d asked him more about the war before he died, though…he didn’t talk about it much. I can well imagine why he hated to think of it, though. His youngest daughter died at 11 months of malnutrition and dysentery, and was buried under a swastika flag. He wasn’t allowed to see her before she died. Then he was “offered” the “choice” between a Lutheran pastor or the prison camp commandant to officiate at the funeral. Guess which one he “picked”.

Yeah, it was shitty. I blame Hitler. That’s the only animosity I care to harbor, when all’s said.

I think the women in the middle picture is sad because she doesn’t know how to successfully eat ice cream. Lying completely flat on your back, staring into space and waving the spoon over your chest isn’t really the best approach. On the underhand, that’s probably more enjoyable than finding all the despair in the world in the bottom of a Haagan Daz container.

I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s with the scented candle references?

Back again to the subject of kitties, does anybody want to talk about their cat masters? I’m sure all you old timers have discussed this subject already but I’m still pretty new. It’s never a bad time to share about kitties is it?

I have two. The first one is Darrow. He’s named after Clarence Darrow who is one of my favorite historical figures. He’s 7 1/2 – 8 years old and I adopted him in ’07. He’s a big grey/black tabby with white on his paws, stomach and face including this adorable white triangle on his forehead. He always greets me at the door, even if I only leave for five minutes to go buy diet coke. He’s very even tempered and never growls or hisses. His worst flaw is that he likes to rip up paper and cardboard. Normally that’s fine, but a couple of books have fallen victim to him.

The newer addition is Dracarys. I got her a little over a year ago. She’s about three. She’s named for the word for dragon fire in Valyrian, the fictional language from A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones. It’s the command Daenerys gives her dragons when she wants them to burn shit. She’s a calico, which is why I named her that. Orange = fire, black = smoke, white = ash. She also had a very fiery temper when I first adopted her. It turns out hissing, growling and taking swipes is a response she has when nervous. She’s since become more a proper smug and confidant house cat. She’s very petite so that might be why she needs to compensate with fierceness. She used to be a stray so she’s obsessed with food and will eat almost anything. Darrow is a grazer and Dracy will steal his food so I have to separate them at meal times.

Sorry for the wall of text. Since this is a kitty friendly place I thought I’d ramble about my cats, cause that’s how I do.