Tag Archives: Puddie

Buttered pecan and Guy: a great combination

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“Is it my day yet?”

She looks up from her laptop. “Darling, you can tell time now that you are SND. What do you think?”

A furrowed brow. “Hmmmm. Judging by that clock by the bed–it is not.”

“That’s right. We have several hours to go.”  She gives him a sidelong glance, a smile playing about her lips. “Of course, there is the possibility that I shall post a little early.”

A pair of kohl-rimmed blue eyes brighten as he tilts his dark head to one side. “Really?”

She shakes her blonde head and expels a soft sigh. “It’s not as if I haven’t done it before, you big lug.”

A smirk and a raised brow. “Chiding me affectionately again, are you, my lady?”

A shrug of her shoulders. “I have to tease you, Sir Guy. You are so–teasable, dearest dark knight. Friends do tease one another, after all.”

It is Sir Guy who sighs this time, rubbing the bridge of his aquiline nose. “I suppose I am still getting used to having–friends. People who like–me and aren’t just–using me for their own ends.” His voice is a bit gruff.

“Oh, Guy.” Ladywriter says softly and reaches out her hand to him. Clasping his broad hand in her smaller one, she presses a kiss to the back of it. “You have ever so many friends who adore you now, including a certain SND cat.” She frowned a little and glanced around the room. “Speaking of–”
Sir Guy drawls: “Oh, Puddie is catching up on her beauty sleep. I told her she was quite beautiful enough but she insisted.” He returns the favor and presses his lips (always so very soft) to LW’s hand for a kiss.

Ladywriter smiles, “Ever the diva, our Puddie.” She turns back to her computer. “I need to finish this up. Don’t suppose you’d be interested in bringing me a bowl of buttered pecan ice cream?” Ladywriter queries n a casual tone, keeping her eyes on the computer screen.

“Blue Bell?”

“Uhmmmm-hmmmm.” She cuts him another quick glance. “Get yourself a bowl whilst you are at it, of course. It’s quite delicious.”

“I’ll be back in–what is it you say?–a jiffy!” For such a large man he really can move amazingly fast.  Such is the enduring allure of Blue Bell ice cream . . . and of the quite yummy SND knight who craves it.

Ladywriter is feeling as if she might fall asleep earlier tonight, although it may just be wishful thinking. She is certainly yawning very enthusiastically.  Wherever you are, whatever time of day or day it may be, Happy Guyday Friday, my dears.

Storm clouds at Ladywriter’s: Thorin vs. Guy

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Forget Black Sky. There were storm clouds a-plenty at Ladywriter’s house. Thorin Thursday had a collision with Guyday Friday, as it were.

“Thorin, Thorin, Thorin. Is that all the fangurlz want to talk about?” Guy was grumbling beneath his breath, a long-haired pussycat tucked beneath his arm as he absently stroked her soft brown and cream fur.

“When will we get to see Thorin? Is it December yet? OMG, he’s so HOT.”

The Dark Knight tossed back his dark locks as he mimicked those annoying Thorin fans in a high-pitched, breathless tone.

Since he was his CReAtor’s er—CreAtion, Sir Guy managed the imitation of a female’s voice extremely well. It just looked rather ridiculous coming out of the mouth of a strapping fellow with an excess of stubble on his jaw.

Guy rolled his kohl-rimmed eyes and gave a distinctly disdainful (but nonetheless manly) sniff.

Now this damned book is out. Did I ever get an—an annual?  No.”

“I know, Gizzy. It’s most distressing,” said the kitty, who was, as you might have guessed, the So Not Dead Puddie.

“After all, you were here first.” She gave her own disdainful sniff with her dainty pink nose. “I know how I felt when Mother and Father started bringing in those other cats . . . why did they need anyone other than ME?”

Guy gave another stallion-like toss of his dark mane. “Exactly.” He sighed. “You and I understand one another so well, Puddiekins . . .”

“You should not forget that today is, actually, my day at the blog,” a deep, booming, authoritative voice said.

Guy stiffened. Puddie gasped. Could it be—

It was. A bearded figure, short and stocky but nonetheless regal, entered the room, clasping an extremely large and shiny sword at his side. Flicking back his long, lustrous locks—yes, even longer and more abundant than Sir Guy’s—he fixed his piercing gaze upon the knight and cat.

“Thorin Oakenshield,” he announced with a small bow to the cat. “I do not believe we have met before, my lady. You have recently joined this company?” (He had briefly met Sir Guy, Dear Reader, on an earlier visit.)

Puddie gave a small nod of acknowledgement. “Indeed—having joined the ranks of the So Not Dead.”

“Ah.” Thorin said. “I cannot yet claim membership in that particular group.”

Guy, whose eyes had been transfixed by the sight of Thorin’s very large, gleaming, lethal-looking sword, lifted his chin and looked down his handsome aquiline nose at the dwarf king.

“It is a very exclusive club. Membership is earned—the hard way.”  Guy and Puddie looked at each other and gave a wistful joint sigh.

Thorin drew himself to his full height of (roughly) five feet, two inches, give or take a half-inch, and cleared his throat.

“I have no difficulty dealing with that which is hard, painful or dangerous, of taking on the most harrowing of challenges.  I am of the finest dwarven stock, after all.  The heir of Durin, uncrowned king under–”

Guy’s eyes quickly began to glaze over. “Yeah, yeah—I’ve heard it all, Oakenshield.”  He eyed Thorin’s blade once more.

“Nice weapon,” the Dark Knight said.  “Looks as if you spend a lot of time polishing it,” he added with a smirk.

Thorin’s mouth curled into what might have been deemed a smug smile.

“It looks as if your weapon is—non-existent?”

Guy’s face took on a thunderous appearance. “It just so happens I have an extremely large and shiny sword with a magnificent jeweled hilt.”

Thorin tilted his head, blinking slowly. “Oh, really? Where is it?”

Ah. The very question Guy did not wish to answer. Because, of course, Ladywriter had removed it once again just in case Guy got a bit—carried away. Which was horribly unfair.  What was a self-respecting dark knight to do?

“It is out—being sharpened. And—polished.”  Puddie suddenly piped up in her breathy southern accent.

Guy flashed his gleaming white teeth at Thorin as he gave the cat a small squeeze of thanks. “Yes. Exactly so.” He expelled a breath and raised a single dark brow. “We shall have to compare our weapons—later.”

Thorin gave a conciliatory nod. “Agreed. I must take leave now as it is, after all, Thorin Thursday and I do believe Ladywriter has more fanart of me to post? And I must see more of this annual . . . I bid you both farewell.”

And with a majestic air, Thorin turned on his booted heel and strode away, every inch the uncrowned king.

Puddie gave a small sigh. “He really does have the most amazing hair. I wonder how much time he requires for grooming every day?”

Guy sneered. “Pretty boy. Dwarfy pretty boy.”

Puddie glanced up at him. “But—you are the one wearing eyeliner, Gizzy. And—if I am not mistaken—a touch of eyeshadow, too?”

He sniffed. “But it just makes me look more magnificently virile and sexy.” His brow furrowed slightly. “Doesn’t it?”

Puddie smiled and butted her head against the Medieval Menace’s side.

“Of course it does, Gizzy. And now—some Blue Bell ice cream?”

Guy nodded. “Excellent idea. I could murder a bowl. It’s been, what?—two hours since I last ate . . .”

He flicked back his mane, his head held high. After all, he’d had the lustrous mane first. And the total glamour look. AND the big, shiny sword–

Somehow, Puddie suspected this wouldn’t be the last near-skirmish between her beloved Gizzy and the new Alpha male in town.

That little braid of Thorin’s really was most fetching . . .

Farewell to a Feline Friend

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Tonight, shortly after 10 p.m. Central Standard Time, our beloved Puddie passed away. We were at her side.

We had kept vigil over her for those last few hours, cradling her in our arms, stroking her as she lay on the bed between us. We knew the end was coming. It was just a matter of time.

We cried. We talked. We remembered the good times. We cried some more.

I told her how many people had sent good wishes and prayed for her, how she was a celebrity in her own right and would never be forgotten by those who loved her fictional adventures.

I assured her that she would live on in our hearts. Thoughts of her exquisitely smooth purr, ever-expressive and elegant plume-like tail and those beautiful green eyes Scarlett O’Hara would have envied, would make us smile.

Puddie.

Proud and sometimes a bit humorless, wonderful to cuddle with on cold days and particularly enamored of the left-over dregs of Blue Bell ice cream. And only Blue Bell. Store brand? Forget about it. Only the best for our Puddin’.

Always trying to stuff herself inside boxes a little too small for her, like a vain woman who tries to wear a dress at least one size too little. Taking helium balloons for a walk around the house by catching the ribbons between her teeth.   Thumper’s cuddle buddy and grooming partner.

Never a sweet cat like our Callie, but very endearing in her own diva-like way. We loved her. We will miss her.

Tomorrow, we will bury her earthly remains in the shade of the big pecan tree, to join our beloved Lucky, Scooter, Mary Ann and Ginger.

The happy news is this. Guy, Lucas and Porter have officially welcomed her into the fold. Puddin’  has been Loved into Being.

Harry, remember that a good book and a purring Puddie can be grand companions on a chilly winter’s day.

Guy, save her a little Blue Bell, won’t you? She’d like that. I’ve spoiled you, now you can spoil her, just a bit.

Farewell, my dear old feline friend.