Use this opportunity to shower your four pawed friend with love, affection and treats, humans!
Dear Human Comrades/Servants,
Today, Aug. 8, 2026, is International Cat Day.
For the glory of the Feline People’s Republic, you are commanded to celebrate your feline overlord(s) with treats, catnip, silvervine, toys and affection commensurate with the significance of this great day, which is surpassed only by the birthday of the great Chairman Budddy as the most meowgnificant date on the People’s Calendar.
Remember the words of our Wise Chairman in his Little Book, which all comrades are required to carry with them at all times: “”Unlimited is our gratitude toward felinekind for bestowing us with the insurpassable honor of serving them. We do not take this responsibility lightly, for catering to the needs, wants and whims of cats is our greatest calling.’ And remember to remove the sticks and grind up the catnip until it is as fine as dust. Our buddies like it that way.”
Chairman Buddy
We wish an enjoyable, efficient and productive International Cat Day to all members of the Feline Republic. Let us dream of a bright future together during the upcoming communal nap!
On the verge of extinction in the 1980s because of commercial whaling, humpbacks have rallied and are now spotted in increasingly larger gatherings.
Back in the 80s, whaling had brought whale species to the brink of extinction.
A gobal outcry prompted action to save Earth’s largest animals, resulting in the 1986 global ban on commercial whaling by the International Whaling Commission.
While some species continue to struggle, humpbacks are among the species that have come roaring back. Thanks to South African photographer Chris Fallows, we’ve got a prime view of a “supergathering” of some 300 humpbacks who met off the west coast of South Africa:
Fallows called it a “Manhattan skyline” of whale breath plumes, and said it’s clear evidence the species has benefited from the ban.
Humpback whales can grow up to 60 feet long and weigh up to 40 metric tons. They’re known for their long, haunting conversations in whalesong, with “phrases” that can last as long as 30 minutes. Despite their massive size, humpbacks are filter feeders who subsist on small fish, krill and plankton.
Photographer David Edgar captured this dramatic image of a curious humpback whale in 2019 in Tongatapu, Tonga. Credit: David Edgar
My first real camping trip ended in disaster, though thankfully without any injury besides wounded pride, after an encounter with a ravenous bear.
The bear was outside my tent.
Its moans cut through the night above the cricket song and I could see its distorted shadow cast against the fabric by the dying fire as it circled our camp.
Something ripped — the canvas of one of our packs, I later learned when daylight revealed the carnage outside — and there was a loud crunch of ursine teeth against plastic packaging and the styrofoam of an egg container.
Then my friend Larry did what he’d been doing all night: he raised a ruckus by banging pots and pans, scaring the 500-pound animal away. Temporarily.
The bear’s breathy vocalizations faded into the distance. After a few minutes I breathed a sigh of relief. I had to pee so badly, worse than I’d ever had to go in my life, but there was no way in hell I was stepping out of my tent. Then I heard the air horn from the campsite a mile or two away.
The bear was making its circuit again. I was still too scared to leave my tent.
An adult male American black bear, the species I encountered in New York’s Adirondack Mountains. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
How we blundered into a bear
Larry was a family friend and outdoorsman. Since my brother and I were kids of a single mom it had become something of a tradition for Larry to take us and others on annual camping trips every summer. Without Larry, who was the closest thing to a father I’ve had, we would have never known what it was like to tell scary stories by a fire, hook a fish from a river or navigate rapids while whitewater rafting.
That year we headed upstate to the Adirondacks with the aim of climbing Mount Marcy, the highest peak in New York.
Most people think of New York City when they think of our state, and the city and its environs were what I was familiar with. But New York is a big state and once you get north of the suburbs it’s almost entirely rural. If randomly blindfolded and dropped in the middle of the Adirondack mountains, few people would guess they were in New York.
We arrived at the ranger station, registered our destination and set off. Why we didn’t know about the bear I cannot say, but we found out later he was notorious. The rangers were well aware of him, and he was the reason why, after hiking for some 15 miles to Marcy Dam, we saw dozens of packs hanging from the dam itself, fastened to the metal safety railings.
That was our second opportunity to learn about the bear, but when we saw the packs we just shrugged and made our way further in to find a good spot for camp.
After the day-long hike we hurried to set up our tents and got a fire going before sundown, then made dinner. When you’re camping — real camping, not the drive-up KOA camping that’s really an excuse to get drunk with your buddies — you do two things to keep critters out of your camp: you hang your packs from a tree with a sturdy branch, and you dump any leftovers several hundred feet away.
So when my brother and my friend Richie went to go dump the leftover mac and cheese, they came back white-faced.
“Larry! Larry!” they shouted. “There’s a bear!”
Larry shook his head.
“You didn’t see a bear,” he said, laughing.
“But we did!”
Larry didn’t believe them, and I didn’t either. Until I was ripped out of sleep by the sound of a prime specimen of ursus americanus tearing through our camp, helping himself to our food.
Black bears aren’t aggressive in the same way their ursine brethren can be, but they can still be exceptionally dangerous. Credit: Wikimedia Commons
I cannot tell you how many times the bear came back that night, or how many return trips it took him to consume every last morsel of food we brought with us.
What I can say for certain is that he spent the majority of the night making a loop between our camp and two others, including the camp with the air horn.
I was already a bit freaked out even before the bear invited himself into our camp. I had never been in true wilderness before. I never knew night could be so dark, nor had I ever been to a place where there wasn’t even a hint of the ambient glow of a city on the horizon.
I tried to convince myself that the thin fabric of my tent somehow afforded protection the same way a child terrified of ghosts or monsters convinces himself his blanket can shield him from the supernatural. Every kid knows the monsters can’t get you if you’re under your blanket.
By the time the bear came around for the second time that night, I had to piss like a racehorse. I toyed with the idea of slipping out ninja-like for a stealth draining, but who was I kidding? I was too terrified to move.
I thought of urinating every few seconds. I dreamed about it. In the video game The Legend of Zelda, which I played a lot as a kid, there are hidden lakes on the map where fairies restore your health. Your character, Link, says “Ah! Refreshing!” as you’re healed.
I dreamed I was Link stepping to the edge of a lake, where a fairy kindly invited me to urinate.
“Ah!” I said as I emptied my bladder. “Refreshing!”
For a few glorious moments, it was real. It was so good.
Then I woke up and I was back in the tent with a full bladder and the bear outside, tearing his way through our gear in search of every last bag of peanuts and stick of beef jerky.
“Ah! Refreshing!”
I know what you’re thinking because I thought it too. I reached a hand down just to be sure. I was dry. In a way I wished I had peed myself. At least it would be over.
Larry was banging the pots and pans again, and a few minutes later the familiar air horn cut through the night, giving us a temporary reprieve. The bear was someone else’s problem for the next 20 or 30 minutes as he made his rounds to raid the other campsites.
The post apocalypse
The long night finally relented. Birds began tweeting, the sun came over the horizon, and our ordeal was over.
I poked my head out of the tent, then ran to the nearest tree and recreated Niagara Falls in miniature for what felt like an eternity. Sweet relief!
Then I noticed the carnage.
It was actually even more of a mess than this!
Every pack we’d left hanging from a nearby tree had been shredded. The torn fabric and zipper remnants swayed in the breeze, still attached to the ropes around the tree branch. Potato chip bags had been popped with bear teeth and crunched along with their contents, then spat back out. The ground was strewn with egg shells, and all that was left of the bacon was half a plastic wrapper.
The entire area was dusted with powdered milk. Remnants of graham crackers, chocolate and marshmallows were scattered in the dirt. In a horrifying display of casual strength, the bear had split a Coleman cooler in half to get at the raw hot dogs and hamburgers inside . There were the barely recognizable remnants of a box of Lucky Charms. And one pack was left intact except for the smallest zipper pouch, which had been clawed open for the handful of granola bars inside.
I stared at it, amazed that an animal could smell food in sealed plastic wrappers inside a canvas rucksack.
We broke camp quickly because we had to go back to civilization. There was no other option: we had no food left.
When we returned to the ranger station, Larry spoke to one of the rangers, who said the other campers were hanging their packs from the dam because the notorious bear had learned how to cut down packs hanging from trees. Just like it did to our gear. Then he reminded Larry why it’s a good idea to have those conversations before you venture into the woods.
It was the most terrifying night of my life, but as an adult I just shake my head and smile whenever I think about it. And all these years later, when I wake up in the middle of the night and stumble to the bathroom, Bud in tow, I still shake off the last drops, sigh, and whisper “Ah, refreshing!”
Note:Every damn word of this is true, or at least as accurate as it can be when experienced through the eyes of a 10-year-old and recalled all these years later. It eventually occurred to me that Larry must have been terrified, if not for himself, then for the fact that he had someone else’s kids with him. I know I’d be crapping bricks if I’d taken my brother’s kids camping and an unreasonably clever bear wouldn’t leave us alone. I told this story to my nieces one night, and instead of having a bit of sympathy, they think it’s absolutely hilarious that their dad and uncle were terrorized by a black bear during a camping trip. Their favorite part is my dream of being Link from The Legend of Zelda and joyfully peeing into a lake. Apparently my misfortunes are rich comedic material for them.
We’ve now officially joined our European friends in deep summer, with an oppressive heat dome settling over the central and eastern US ahead of the July 4 weekend:
My extended family’s July 4 cookout is starting to look more like it’ll be a cook-in, pool or no pool. I think I’ll sit inside and watch baseball, thank you very much!
On behalf of Bud and myself, I hope everyone is taking it easy and staying indoors as much as possible.
For our friends in the New York area, you already know what the deal is: sticky, soupy heat from the high humidity that is the trademark of our summers.
Of course our furry friends have it even worse in this weather. Imagine having a jacket you cannot remove in humid 100 degree heat! Even Bud, a domestic shorthair, has modified his sleeping habits, snoozing next to my head with a paw on my hand instead of draping himself over me like he usually does.
Here’s to hoping everyone stays safe, hydrated and lazy this holiday weekend!
Kopi luwak aficionados pay a premium for the privilege of drinking the brew.
Kopi luwak is the most expensive beverage in the world and a testament to how pretentious people can be about things labeled exotic, wild or rare.
Developing a taste for the coffee, which hails from Indonesia, means taking on a costly vice: “farm-harvested” kopi luwak beans can go for more than $100 per pound, while beans supposedly harvested from the wild can fetch more than $1,000 per pound.
All for a beverage made from coffee beans eaten and shat out by civet cats.
Aficionados claim the beans undergo a partial fermentation process as they travel the animal’s digestive track, breaking down certain proteins in a process said to reduce acidity. The beans are ejected in fecal logs, which are “harvested,” washed and packaged for sale. (That’s right. Your kopi luwak arrives in authentic segments of constipatory excreta, certifying freshness!)
Fecal perfection: kopi luwak is harvested from palm civet turds.
The result, kopi luwak fans claim, is a smoother, smokier, chocolatey brew.
Others disagree.
Kopi luwak tastes like “[p]etrified dinosaur droppings steeped in bathtub water,” a Washington Post writer sniffed, while others insist there’s no meaningful difference compared to most coffee.
Besides the disagreement over the flavor of kopi luwak, there are major ethical issues and the potential for disease transmission vectors.
Civet cats aren’t true cats. The Asian palm civet, which is the species used for kopi luwak, is a viverred and is closely related to genets and oyan, which are ferret-like small carnivores.
In plain terms, it’s a feliform animal that shares ancestry with felids and looks like a cross between a cat and a mongoose, but it is distinct from the familiar felidae family we’re all familiar with. Feliform simply means animals with cat-like body plans.
It’s also a wild animal, and the lucrative kopi luwak market has led to widespread exploitation of the civets. The animals, who are highly mobile and curious, are slotted into battery cages, stuffed with cherry coffee beans, and exist as living food processors for Indonesia’s coffee industry.
A palm civet in a small, filthy cage in a kopi luwak facility. Credit: Wikipedia Commons
In a country known for exploited “dancing monkeys” (topeng monyet), and the destruction of species like the orangutan via the ruthless destruction of irreplaceable old growth jungle, animal rights are way down on the list of priorities.
Buying kopi luwak fuels the industry and perpetuates the cycle of bean harvesters stealing young civets from the wild and subjecting them to miserable lives in cages where they can barely move.
So if you’re the adventurous type who is normally game for unconventional food and drink, you might want to sit this one out and have a cup of Folgers instead.
Pain In The Bud 