Open up your heart and let it grow twice the size of anyone I know

[sovay]

I spent the afternoon and evening with my niece. Have a picture of Hestia in the cat tree which I took while flat on the couch afterward, holding the phone over my head with one hand and petting the artistic subject with the other.



Godfrey Cambridge in Bye Bye Braverman (1968) gives the best surprise Yiddishkeit until Ed Begley Jr. in A Mighty Wind (2003). I thought for years that I was constitutionally allergic to neurotic Jewish comedy, but am now considering the possibility that I might just be constitutionally allergic to Woody Allen.

Comments

[chanter1944]

Hold the wire, the cat is on the line. XD Hello there, Hestia!

[sovay]

Hello there, Hestia!

Drop all calls for Hestia!

[chanter1944]

Forgive me. I've had this poking pleasantly at the back of my brain for a day and a half - *drop* all calls for Hestia?! XD Today, as a partial result of a CBC interview with someone entirely unrelated, the idea germinated.

Hestia is on the piano again. Fortunately for everyone currently in the house and, one assumes, anyone passing nearby, given the tendency for piano music to carry, she isn't half bad at the instrument. How she's managing to shift from fluid arpeggios to rapid, cheerful major scales and back again is anyone's guess, especially as she both lacks thumbs and sports claws. Nevertheless, she is, back paws balanced on the piano bench and tail a cheerful exclamation mark.

"Hey, Hestia!" That's the blue-coated longhair, leaning over the rail at the staircase's top landing, telephone receiver on a length of metal-bound cord held in one half-raised hand. It's the receiver she taps lightly with the opposite set of fingers, once she's sure the other party's looking up. "Cut it out. I'll only be a minute, and no offense. I just can't hear."

The cat does cut it out, though she promptly and cheerfully sticks her tongue out at the visitor*, and if the bluecoat lass's eyesight were better, that response might have been enough on cuteness grounds to make her drop the receiver. As it is, she retreats, waving thanks and murmuring into the handset, something about New York and Thurston and second fiddles. Hestia might just be seen eyeing the distance between her current perch and the ends of the visitor's mane as though contemplating a leap, before giving up the idea with a feline shrug and sauntering toward the wireless's controls. Uh-oh?

*Feel free to assume this is someone else's house. I don't mean to even fictionally gatecrash yours. Where's Autolycus? I'm not sure yet!