Somalia – Pain In The Bud

Aye, Captain Buddy Be Searchin’ For Pieces O’ Eight, Ye Scallywags!

Buddy, aka Graybeard, has departed for his annual adventure on the high seas aboard his ship, the Fowl Play. He really gets into talking like a pirate.

Ahoy, me hearties!

Tis that time of year when I depart the frigid coasts of me headquarters of New York bound for the pirate heaven of Somalia! ‘Tis tradition ever since me Big Buddy temporarily sold me to pirates for a hoard of booty an a jest and I spent a season learnin’ the life of a cat-o-the-sea.

Havin’ obtained me all the plunder I could carry, I returned to New York in time for the spring, rich in gold and the vocabulary of a true privateer. (And a proper cutlass too, though truth be told it were redundant with me sharp claws.) Ye landlubbers were mighty surprised!

So now I be known as Graybeard and my ship, the Fowl Play, is the Scourge o’ the Seas, makin’ sailors tremble in their boots at the sight o’ me mast with a big hulkin’ tiger eatin’ a plump turkey.

Captain Bud — “Ahoy! Land ho! Be prepared to drop anchor, all hands to the poop deck!”

Ahoy! ‘Tis many an incautious feline captain who met the watery grave of Davy Jones’ locker fer understimatin’ the Foul Play, tis it true. Many a red ensign me plunder for the rum, many a seadog know the name o’ Ol’ Graybeard an heard it true me put a shot across they bow!

Them sons o’ biscuit eaters become sharkbait if they underestimate Graybeard, so ye better strike colors an succumb to the inevitable — that Buddy’ll strike anchor, invite hisself aboard ye vessels and help hisself to the prime booty!

Only problem is, not a spot o’ turkey to be had on the high seas, so I have me men squib the deck, get the Fowl Play shipshape and make port often to keep the turkey larders topped up for the galley, ye savvy? Anyone who raid me turkey stash be playin’ with Jack Ketch and be sure to feed the fish, if ye catch me drift!

Avast me, ol’ Graybeard’s adventures on the high seas will continue till I find the legendary pieces of eight or the grog strike me with a clap o’ thunder, I always say.

Fer legend has it that there be an island where turkeys have eight wings, each more delicious than the last, and it be Graybeard’s obsession to find this isle o’ wonders. Just imagine how awesome it would be! Arrrr…belay that! Put it in yer mind that Graybeard’ll be rich in plunder and turkey if the mythical isle be found!

I have me pigeon here who’ll carry me dispatches back to that landlubber Big Buddy, so he can continue the bloggin’ an apprise ye buckos of me adventures. Until such time as the Fowl Play make port, I’d advise ye stay off the shippin’ lanes between the kingdom and the Caribbean.

Yer captain,

Buddy

I’m A Pirate! Argh!!

Little Buddy realizes he loves the pirate life!

Dear Landlubbers,

I ken many of ye were upset to hear I’ve been exiled, and truth be told I was none too pleased meself and dreamt of luring Big Buddy to Davy Jones’ locker and the watery grave he deserve, the disloyal scallywag!

But then I realized the pirate life is pretty awesome! Uh, belay that! Pirating be more fun than having a hundred red dots on me stern, ye savvy?

Them sons of biscuit eaters in the shipping lanes be carrying more plunder than ye know what to do with, and ain’t it delightful to steal from them scurvy dogs? Aye! I stash me booty in me litter box where no one will think to look for it.

That’s all the pirate words I know for now, hearties. See ya in port!

Buddy aka Greybeard

Pirate Buddy — Ahoy! Greybeard, scourge o’ the seven seas!

Bye, Buddy: Why I Got Rid Of My Cat

Buddy has been shipped to Somalia for a new life with new owners. What a relief!

When I started Pain In The Bud, my goal wasn’t to celebrate cats or to express my love for my cat by sharing his quirks and amusing anecdotes about his allegedly adorable behavior.

I had one goal and one goal only: To make money. That’s why you see ads all over this site, and it’s why I’ve been relentlessly hawking certain pet products. The companies behind those products pay me big bucks!

Which brings us to our next bit of news. Since I’ve been writing about Buddy online, creating a fictionalized version of him that is delightful and loveable, and selecting only the best photos to make him look handsome and dashing, I’ve received several offers to buy him.

To be clear, the reason I didn’t sell him before was not because I was hesitant to part with him. He’s annoying AF, he’s a degenerate catnip addict and he never, ever shuts up.

The real reason? I was holding out for more money. The more I wrote about him, the more delightful and adorable he’d appear to readers, driving his price up. It’s kind of like a basketball team giving more playing time to a player on the trading block, pumping up his stats so he’ll command a higher price on the open market.

The Buddinese Tiger — A promotional image that was part of my dastardly campaign to drive up Buddy’s price in the recent bidding war. He is not a tiger.

So when the most recent offer came in last week, I felt I’d driven Buddy’s price up as high as it would go. A potential buyer in Somalia offered $20,000 for the little stinker! In the meantime, another interested party — a competitive table-setting champion from Skokie, Illinois — offered $22,000.

It was time for a bidding war!

Ladies and gentlemen, I’m happy to report that Buddy has been sold to the Somali for $28,550. The lucky (or unlucky, really) bidder, a pirate who plunders the commercial shipping lanes off the coast of his native country, believed all the nonsense about Buddy being a fierce and powerful miniature tiger, and was in the market for a guard cat to help keep his booty safe.

They tell me there is no turkey where Buddy has gone, and he was very angry about that. Oh well. His new owner is also a neatness freak with OCD who vacuums his home six times a day, which I imagine does not sit well with Buddy, given his history with vacuum cleaners.

But who cares? I got almost 30 grand out of the deal! I’m going to buy a new Les Paul to replace the one “Buddy” (real name Jerkus Maximus) broke, my home is blissfully quiet, and I can sleep through the night without being woken by that infernal little tribble with a tail licking my face. Who in their right mind wants to be roused in the middle of the night by a purring cat? It’s absurd.

So it is with a not-so-heavy heart that I announce an end to Pain In The Bud. He really was a huge pain in the bud. Now he’s someone else’s pain in the bud. Huzzah!

P.S. With Buddy gone, I plan to refocus this blog on the wonderful world of Hummels and the extremely profitable Hummel resale market. Wanna buy the hottest Hummels at street prices? Hit me up.