Save a Cat, Hug a Donut

 Happy National Hug Your Donut Day! It’s also National Cat Day!

...Now that I read that, I think I might have those sorta backward...

Wish I’d realized that before I got myself all covered in sprinkles... and took a bite out of my cat.

I notice that there’s no National Hug Your Dog Day. I suppose that’s because one doesn’t really need an excuse to hug a dog. And hugging even the most amenable cat can sometimes be an unpleasant experience, full of claws and teeth and tears....

The Singularity Approaches!

An article in today's Times explains that, in the next year, "learning" computers will become commercially available.  The cutting-edge software in these computers is modeled on the human nervous system.  By imitating the human brain's ability to develop new neural pathways in response to external stimuli, these computers will effectively "learn" from their mistakes, thus eliminating (or at least greatly reducing) the need for reprogramming.

The breakthrough moment? "Google researchers were able to get a machine-learning algorithm, known as a neural network, to perform an identification task without supervision. The network scanned a database of 10 million images, and in doing so trained itself to recognize cats."

From that point on, computer scientists posed ever-more-challenging identification problems to these learning computers, which demonstrated exponential improvement.  The computer quickly identified
images of George Clooney:

And Gwyneth Paltrow:

The computer had no problem with historical figures, either, as this picture of Benjamin Disraeli proves:

And finally, when tasked with procuring an image of the Grand Canyon, the computer responded in a matter of nanoseconds:

Truly, the future is upon us!

(Yawn)

Too tired to write.  Here's a video of kittens playing with ducklings:

BEST. WEBSITE. EVER!

Notice anything different about today's post?  You probably don't, but I do--or I will in about 80 words.  Tonight's musings, you see, are being composed not in their usual venue at Blogger.com, but rather on the Best. Website.  Ever: "Written?  Kitten!" (http://writtenkitten.net).

The site is exactly what it sounds like.  OK, maybe that requires a bit more explanation.  If you go to "Written? Kitten!" you will find an empty text box. Start writing in the box.  After writing 100 words, you will be rewarded with a picture of a kitten!  And as if that weren't enough, every 100 words thereafter--OH, I JUST GOT MY FIRST KITTEN OF THE DAY!  OOOOOOHHHHH, IT'S A WIDDLE OWANGE OOGY-WOOGY WIF BLUE EYES AND A WIDDLE PINK NOSE!!!!

Ahem.

Sorry.

As I was saying, every 100 words thereafter, you will receive a "fresh kitten."  If this isn't a cure for writer's block, I don't know what is.  And consider the pedagogical possibilities.  I'm thinking of requiring my students to type all their assignments on this site.  "I'm sorry, Johnny.  But I wanted at least a five-kitten essay.  This is three kittens at most."

One caveat: You cannot save work on "Written? Kitten," so you need to copy and paste your work to a word processing program or e-mail every kitten or so.  Still, it's more than worth any such minor inconvenience.  Thanks to Ms. Brandy Gibson for introducing me to this site, a site that could go a long way towards making the world a better place.

At the Vet

Noticed this brochure:

Now, how do you suppose this cat feels being the spokesmodel for "Internal Parasites"?  I would be on the phone to my agent immediately!  "You promised me 'Lifelong Wellness,' and look what happened!"

Life-Saving Tip

Hours after being adopted, a 21-pound cat named Pudding apparently saved the life of its owner, who was having a diabetic seizure, by jumping on the woman's chest and biting her nose until she regained consciousness.  This, people, is precisely why I rub butter on my nose every night before I go to bed.  Just in case.

All the Shamefulness of Cockfighting without Quite So Many Disembowelments

Best.  Weekend.  Ever.

As I write, not one but two major cat organizations--the International Cat Association and the Cat Fanciers Association--are throwing their annual feline fetes.    Let me be clear: While I enjoy the spectacle of mass quantities of kitty cats, I have also always suspected these events to be shams.  Pure popularity contests! Which is why I was happy to see that some passionate cat fanatics (you know, you can't spell 'fanatic' without C-A-T--albeit rearranged) have taken it upon themselves to organize actual competitions to determine objectively who is the top dog among cats (you know, you can't misspell 'competition' without C-A-T).

According to the New York Times, the newest distraction for sport-hungry animal lovers (or animal-hungry sport lovers) is feline agility contests ("In Feline Agility Competitions, the Biggest Obstacle Can Be the Cat").  In these competitions, cats negotiate obstacle courses of hoops, ramps, and tunnels, coaxed along by their owners with feathers and other dangling enticements.  The challenge is not so much physical--any non-geriatric cat with basic motor functions can negotiate these obstacles--as psychological: You will likely go insane before convincing your cat to run the course.

Frankly, as much as I enjoy watching cats do pretty much anything, I can't see this "sport" taking off.  Aside from the technical issues mentioned above, there are limited sponsorship opportunities.  After all, the more people invest in cat-training, the more cats will choose to negotiate the obstacle course--if only to get these humans to leave them alone.  And given that a successful "run" takes less than ten seconds, the opportunities to sell stuff during a match are only slightly fewer than those offered by a typical sumo-wrestling match.  And we don't even get to see two fat guys collide.

How We Learned to Stop Worrying and Accept the Fact That Cats Rule Our Lives

Yes, Sloppists, it's come to this. We are writing about the Cats of Solipsist.

Since COS (Cousin of Solipsist) and FOS (Friend of Solipsist) are already taken, they will henceforth be referred to as POS (Pets of Solipsist).

The Solipsist has many cats, primarily because WOS suffers from OCD: Obsessive Cat Disorder. She's never met a cat--or, really, an animal--she doesn't like, and she has a tendency to get suckered by a feline face gazing plaintively into her eyes.

Originally, we had a relatively sane two cats (the NUMBER was sane, not the cats; there is no such thing as a sane cat): Kendi and Mocha.

Taco, was an accident: We trapped a kitten and intended to give it away to a friend. WOS, however, quickly grew attached. And then there were three.

When we were moving out of our apartment, Kudzoo started following the Solipsist around. He was extremely friendly, and, despite our best efforts to shoo him away, he decided to curl up in a basket and go to sleep. And then there were four.

Kudzoo with ???

When we arrived at the house into which we were moving, a kitten was waiting for us in the front yard. She came into the house. We told WOS we really couldn't keep this many cats. Later that night, while we were stretched out on the floor watching TV, the kitten, Kupu, reared up and, for no reason, bit the Solipsist right on his butt. The Solipsist squawked and grumbled, "We're NOT keeping that cat." When WOS stopped laughing, she replied, "Oh, yes, we are!" And then there were five.

Kendi passed away about a year later, and it seemed like the household would stabilize at four cats. After we moved again, an orange cat took to spending time on our deck. WOS would feed it and, eventually, coaxed it into the house. Before Orange had time to react, WOS slammed the door behind her and that was that. And then there were, again, five.

One day, Orange ran away, but, before we could re-acclimate ourselves to four cats, a kitten "ran" into the house. Well, at least WOS told us the kitten ran into the house. Subsequently, WOS let slip that the cat was actually minding its own business down on the driveway until WOS encouraged the cat--by grabbing it and hugging it--to enter. Gremlin quickly endeared herself to the Solipsist by sneak-attacking while we were eating ice cream. Well, OK: Orange was gone, Gremlin could stay. And then there were five.

Orange came back. And then there were six.

Then, one Sunday morning, WOS and Solipsist came home from an evening getaway. Solipsist was engaging WOS with some typically riveting sociopolitical commentary:

Solipsist: Blah, blah blah. . . .

WOS: Shhhh, I hear something.

Solipsist: Blah, blah blah. . . .

WOS: SHHHHH!

Solipsist: Blah, blah, blah. . . .

WOS: SHUT UP!!!!!

We shut up.

Sure enough, we heard a frantic squeaking. We went into the bedroom. We looked into the clothes hamper, from whence issued the squeaking and saw what looked like an exploded cat. In fact, it was just Gremlin. Gremlin and her five newborn kittens!

No, we don't have eleven cats. That would be insane.

We gave one kitten away.

Now, Theseus, Heidi, Leo, and Bobo--plus Mr. Hans von Schnerval, an understandably neurotic guniea pig--round out the menagerie at Solipsist HQ. Some call us crazy cat people, but, really, once you've got three cats, it really doesn't matter any more: Your life is over, so you might as well take in more. Ultimately, they're pretty endearing little creatures.

Next, we're going to start collecting turtles.