Monday, January 31, 2011



I,Pinkie, do not like the cold. I'm sitting on my nice warm bed with my best friend Toby looking out of the window. It's all white.

I remember the warm days, when I was on the walkway eating worms, now there is a great memory. How about when Kate took us to the beach and Toby and I got away? Great Fun! Toby was bound and determined to swim. Hey,Toby you sink like a stone, dude!
Ah, memories of spring and summer.

Today it will be more of the same: looking out of the window, sleeping, eating, and the occasional dash outside know. Sometimes the sun comes out and totally fools me. I think, its warm again, but no, its not.  My only inspiration is my food. Once I eat, all inspiration is gone. Back to bed and the window and the white, to sleep, perchance to dream of warm days and nights. 

-- Brought to you by Pinkie's b.f.f. and guest blogger, Eileen Hurley! 

Saturday, October 30, 2010


One of my rules of paw is -- keep it short. 
Brevity is the soul of wit, right?
First thing in the morning
when I go into my office, 
I remind myself -- 
be concise, 
to the point.
That’s my style.
Hunting and pecking 
with two claws is slow going.
The fewer words, the better.
Whoa, look how many words 
it took for me to say
keep it short.

Sunday, October 17, 2010


Yesterday, my friend Fisher left this world. Toby and I will really miss that dog.
Fisher lived with our Auntie Eileen, who takes care of us when Kate and Jim are away. As far as Eileen could tell, he was part Lab and part Weimaraner. She called him a Labaraner, and said he had the best qualities of both.
Most dogs aren’t big on sharing. Even I, Pinkie, don’t like to share. But when dogs came to Fisher’s house, he let them chew his bones and play with his toys, and he just looked the other way.
Eileen always said Fisher had a gait like a Tennessee Walking Horse. And he could run like the wind. He ran until the day before he died.
Eileen says he went fast, just like he did everything in his life. She buried him overlooking a creek with things he loved: tennis balls, a tomato, a strawberry and a marrow bone.
Farewell, Fisher! Wherever you are, I hope there’s an endless field and you’re out there, running. 

Wednesday, October 13, 2010


Standing here with Toby
looking at this tree makes me feel
like waxing poetic:
Falling leaves, orange and red,
An ordinary tree becomes extraordinary.
Leaves turning from green to gold.
Leaves as light as the breeze become roaring bonfires.
How was that? Please don’t call it doggerel.

Sunday, September 26, 2010


    Our friend George died last Thursday. He ate a big breakfast, purred beside Kate as she read the paper, then stretched out on the foot of a bed and never woke up. Kate and Jim say it was a peaceful way to go, but so sudden it was a shock. They are a mess.
When George arrived at the McMullan's, he was a little thing, but his personality was strong, even then. Jim wanted to name him Hector. But Leigh started calling him George, and the name fit. 
George was only thirteen when he died , but he was a hefty one, so maybe that's what did him in. That boy loved his kibble. George was a looker, but he had brains, too, and kept up with the latest books. 

George loved licking Jim's cereal bowl. He loved snuggling with Leigh and Kate. He loved spreading out his large body in a passageway and looking at Toby and me as if daring us to try to get by. I usually made a run for it, but Toby mostly waited for a human to escort him by George the Terrible.

George didn't like closed doors, visiting dogs, visiting humans, or the vet. Getting him into a cat carrier was all but impossible, so he had a house-call vet, and the vet always brought along an assistant to help handle George. More than once, the assistant was bleeding and bandaged when she left, and Kate slipped her 'combat pay.' It was never a good idea to mess around with George.  
    When Kate and Jim found George on the foot of the bed last Thursday, they wrapped him in a soft towel. Kate held him and cried and cried while Jim dug a hole in the backyard, and they buried him beside three other McMullan cats, Annie, Groucho, and Wendy. This is the first time in thirty-five years that Kate and Jim haven't had a cat. 
The day George died, there was such sadness in our house. Toby wouldn't take treats and he moped around like he'd lost his best friend. I managed to eat my treats, but I felt the same way.   
We all miss you, Georgie. 
George McMullan

Thursday, September 23, 2010


Have I mentioned that I live with Jim McMullan, the famous illustrator? Yep, I do. Jim has started a twelve-part blog about the art of drawing for The New York Times.
In his first posting, he says that drawing helps develop the eye to see more acutely. I wish I could draw, but it's hard to hold a pencil or a pen without 
thumbs. (See paw below)


Still, if I could draw, maybe I could see food more acutely when it falls on the floor.
If you have thumbs, check it out! 

Thursday, September 16, 2010


I like to have a book in front of me,
and a shelf of others beside me
so I know the supply will not run out.
There's nothing like a book to take one
far away.

What am I reading now? you ask.
A book about French bulldogs.
It's fascinating!
It doesn't take me far away, you say?
Okay, it's more of an interior journey.
I recommend it!