Cool Cat
Just now I was looking in the refrigerator for my cat. She hasn't really matured into that elusive stage yet so it is rare to enter the house and not have her come running, hey did you miss me, what do you want to do now, am I annoying you, is that one bowl of food all I get, it looks like your scabs have healed, can I shred your hands again, hey you wanna rub my belly? and so when she didn't come running I looked in the refrigerator first thing because she likes to climb in there anytime I open it. She wasn't in there so the next place I was going to look was the toilet or the bathtub, her second and third favorite places to hang out. She came yawning from out under the couch though which is where she goes to prove wrong my criticism that she is no better than a Swiffer. In her opinion she is every bit as good as a Swiffer and to prove this will grab onto any article of clothing I put in front of her and let me drag her all around the house over the wood floors. Or she will go under the couch where no Swiffer has ever been, and where her chances of being positively compared are greater.
I have been traveling with my cat since she was 8 weeks old, by car, to Pennsylvania and NYC these last couple of months but have been contemplating leaving her behind on upcoming trips. I was out of boredom perusing a kitty care web site recently and was struck by the vehemence of one or two replies to a woman who asked how soon would it be ok to leave her new kitten by itself for one day. Her kitten was five or six weeks old and the one day trip she was planning was a month a way. First the woman got reamed by a person who was from the camp that subscribes to the belief that kittens should not be weaned before 8 weeks. Conventional wisdom used to be 6 weeks but I guess now it is eight. Another responder seemed very upset at this woman and said--You got a VERY young kitten and are now thinking about going out of town and you got this kitten WHY? Ouch. It's good though to get advice about things you are not sure about, even at the risk of being yelled at. I think I will write to the web site and ask for how long is it ok to leave my kitten in the refrigerator.
...more recent posts
Hole To China
My parents tried to instill in me a work ethic and I'm not saying they failed completely, I do have some relationship with the work ethic, but I have an eye that sometimes wanders too much, we can call it a lazy eye so as to avoid the calling of my whole being as lazy, although people have and I know at the very least that I am too lazy to argue with them.
It was my parents idea to have me mow lawns in my childhood neighborhood of Dallas, and a good thing too or I would still be digging holes to China in the young BC's backyard or crawling through the storm drains with his brother on hot summer days or engaging in other proclivities of the daydreamer. Hey, look at these pieces of metal shaped like the letter H I found on that construction site, let's form a Hercules Club. Well, in truth, I did those things and mowed lawns.
But after the day I stuck the tip of my right index finger in the shute of a running lawn mower, it was, without much discussion at all, or actually, any discussion, decided that my lawn mowing days were over. In those days you mowed and bagged the grass, edged the curbs and walk ways, and swept up with a broom the dirt and grass dug up by the edger. For six or eight dollars a lawn or as much as 12 dollars when people felt sorry for you, you little skinny, drenched in sweat, red headed freckled wisp of a boy. Pushing the mower down the alley to do Miss Connie's yard under the bright afternoon sun, Mr. Hanlin the New Zealander would say--look at how red your hair is Jimmy, I thought your hair was brown. It was both, a package deal, a two for one special.
My lawn mowing fortune amounted to 700 cash dollars and I kept it in my desk drawer. I have never been an avid spender so the money just sat there for a couple of years until my mother found it. She thought my banking habits were a bit reckless so she suggested opening a bank account and I did that. And it sat there for another couple of years until during the Carter administration, with my father's help, I invested in Georgia bank stock. About a year later it was the most active stock on the market, losing half its value. Shortly after that, having dropped out of college in favor of following the wandering eye, I cashed out and used 100 of it to pay back a girl who had bailed out a jail mate of mine, although as it turned out he had already been released, under the condition that he promised to go back to Canada. Mr. BC had put up my bond (it would not be the last time) and I would say it is unlikely that I have ever paid him back, although I'm sure I made some less than steadfast effort towards that goal. The rest of the money I used to finance my next low budget cross-country hitchhiking trip or to purchase cheeseburgers everyday until the mood to roam hit me next.
So how is it that I have ended up on an exclusive 40 acre property with two houses, a swimming pool, tennis and bocce courts, surrounded on every side by the Shenandoah foothills? Did I stare down that bear market and with money saved from collecting cans along the highway ride the next bull market to wondrous oblivion? No, I did not. This is a borrowed lifestyle, thanks again to BC, who on occasion wishes to resurrect the Hercules Club and sees me as the only credible Lieutenant. It is a good thing that with the Internet and highways and jet planes and trains the world can sometimes be shrunk down so that we are all closer to each other, because in that way when I leave here in the spring I can say not goodbye but see you soon.
My parents tried to instill in me a work ethic and I'm not saying they failed completely, I do have some relationship with the work ethic, but I have an eye that sometimes wanders too much, we can call it a lazy eye so as to avoid the calling of my whole being as lazy, although people have and I know at the very least that I am too lazy to argue with them.
It was my parents idea to have me mow lawns in my childhood neighborhood of Dallas, and a good thing too or I would still be digging holes to China in the young BC's backyard or crawling through the storm drains with his brother on hot summer days or engaging in other proclivities of the daydreamer. Hey, look at these pieces of metal shaped like the letter H I found on that construction site, let's form a Hercules Club. Well, in truth, I did those things and mowed lawns.
But after the day I stuck the tip of my right index finger in the shute of a running lawn mower, it was, without much discussion at all, or actually, any discussion, decided that my lawn mowing days were over. In those days you mowed and bagged the grass, edged the curbs and walk ways, and swept up with a broom the dirt and grass dug up by the edger. For six or eight dollars a lawn or as much as 12 dollars when people felt sorry for you, you little skinny, drenched in sweat, red headed freckled wisp of a boy. Pushing the mower down the alley to do Miss Connie's yard under the bright afternoon sun, Mr. Hanlin the New Zealander would say--look at how red your hair is Jimmy, I thought your hair was brown. It was both, a package deal, a two for one special.
My lawn mowing fortune amounted to 700 cash dollars and I kept it in my desk drawer. I have never been an avid spender so the money just sat there for a couple of years until my mother found it. She thought my banking habits were a bit reckless so she suggested opening a bank account and I did that. And it sat there for another couple of years until during the Carter administration, with my father's help, I invested in Georgia bank stock. About a year later it was the most active stock on the market, losing half its value. Shortly after that, having dropped out of college in favor of following the wandering eye, I cashed out and used 100 of it to pay back a girl who had bailed out a jail mate of mine, although as it turned out he had already been released, under the condition that he promised to go back to Canada. Mr. BC had put up my bond (it would not be the last time) and I would say it is unlikely that I have ever paid him back, although I'm sure I made some less than steadfast effort towards that goal. The rest of the money I used to finance my next low budget cross-country hitchhiking trip or to purchase cheeseburgers everyday until the mood to roam hit me next.
So how is it that I have ended up on an exclusive 40 acre property with two houses, a swimming pool, tennis and bocce courts, surrounded on every side by the Shenandoah foothills? Did I stare down that bear market and with money saved from collecting cans along the highway ride the next bull market to wondrous oblivion? No, I did not. This is a borrowed lifestyle, thanks again to BC, who on occasion wishes to resurrect the Hercules Club and sees me as the only credible Lieutenant. It is a good thing that with the Internet and highways and jet planes and trains the world can sometimes be shrunk down so that we are all closer to each other, because in that way when I leave here in the spring I can say not goodbye but see you soon.