Cats Dwell Above

Cat

Another fun haiku

both cats dwell above
my comfort zone — both
recliners occupied

When I sat down at the computer this morning, I took the folding chair left there from last night —  when Pookie had been occupying my comfortable office chair and I didn’t push him off. This morning as I started typing Pookie came along and looked up at me, then jumped into the unoccupied office chair. Finders keepers and all that.

When I got up and got myself a coffee fifteen minutes later, Pookie wandered out to the kitchen. I got back to the office in time to see Angus jump up and settle comfortably into the chair Pookie had vacated. (Vacatted ?) Point for Angus; 0 for me. Many times Bob and I come into the office and find Angus in one chair and Pookie in the other.

Cats have that sense of entitlement built into their nature; they may claim you as their people, but they make it clear who comes above and who comes below in the grand scheme of things. Whose comfort is of greater importance, whose not so much.

Yes, a house cat will want to be nearby — if they feel like it, or if something interesting might be transpiring. So when I’m in the living room, now able to occupy the recliner our (now deceased) Panda once claimed, Angus snuggles down in the other recliner and Pookie gets the sofa. Or vice versa. But while Panda lived here she definitely staked her claim on the most comfortable recliner and would not be ousted.

Okay, I’ll admit it. We let our cats call the shots. They are, after all, quite affectionate when they have a mind to be. Just so long as we remember who gets first crack at the comfy chairs.

Written in response to Fandango’s prompt: BELOW
and for “International Day of the Cat”

Memory of a Bird Rescue

I see that today’s RAGTAG Community prompt word is MEMORIES.
Opened my DropBox file and checked how many memories I’ve stored. Since I started my new system where every file is neatly categorized, I can take a quick check of the files starting with Mem–.

I counted 120 of them. So I can ace this prompt. 🙂

I suppose the idea is to write a fresh one, but I’ll cheat and pull one out of storage, a tale not posted for a long time. Hope you enjoy it.

Out of the Lion’s Mouth…

One balmy spring day I was visiting with my next-door neighbour, Marilyn. She has a lovely, flower-filled yard and we were walking on the lawn checking out the perennials around her house.

Several times we took note of a small bird hopping around on the ground not far from us. The tiny bird looked similar to a chickadee in coloring, yet we could see it was not a chickadee. Marilyn and I remarked about how tame it seemed to be, hopping around only a few yards from our feet.

Then we went across her back lawn to check out a new flowerbed she’d made in the middle of the lawn. Before long we saw the little bird again, not far away from our feet. Her three barn cats had also wandered over to hang around with the ladies, maybe hoping a bit of nibbles — or a least a bit of friendly petting — might come from some kindly hand.

Suddenly her buff-colored cat jumped up and dashed over to the little bird and grabbed it in his mouth. I hurried over to inspect the situation: the poor bird’s head was in the cat’s mouth and its wings were flapping frantically trying to escape.

If the cat had injured the bird—like damaged a wing so it couldn’t fly— I would have left well enough alone. But the bird’s wings were obviously fine. And the cat was in a dilemma, too: as soon as he opened his mouth to deal with the bird, it would make good its escape.

You will know what a soft heart I have. I said, “Enough of this! We can’t have slaughter going on right before our eyes.” So I bent over the cat, grabbed its head, and pried its jaws apart. The bird, now released, flew to a nearby shrub and then off into the trees. A wiser bird for his close call.

The cat looked bewildered. Like, What just happened here? Where’s my lunch? Marilyn laughed and said, “He’s never had anyone do that to him before. I think you’ve offended him.”

“Well, too bad. I couldn’t bear to watch the slaughter,” I told her.

Later after a few minutes’ thought. I asked her, “Do you think God has to do that for us sometimes, too? We get ourselves hopelessly ensnared in some vice and He actually has to pry open the devil’s claws in order to set us free?”

And she answered, “Maybe He does.” It does seem that some folks are amazingly rescued from the most dangerous situations or pulled out of violent lifestyles.

When I got home I looked up that little bird in our bird book, and learned that it had the simple, descriptive name: “black and white warbler.” It’s a migratory bird here; we see them only passing through to the North country. I sure wonder why that one was so brave (or foolish) as to hang around our feet? And I’m glad that her cat didn’t win that battle.

Obedience Lessons

Caesar and the Sub

As usual, George didn’t bother with the buzzer at the main entrance, but walked around the corner of the apartment building to knock at the patio door of his grandson’s ground-floor suite. When he arrived he saw a huge dog staring at him through the glass. The great-whatever-it-was immediately announced his presence with resounding woofs.

Damien rushed to unlock the door. “Hey, Grandpa! Good to see you. Quiet, Caesar. This is a friend. FRIEND,” he repeated.

“I sure wouldn’t want to be a burglar trying to get in here with that brute waiting to devour me!” George stepped through the window into the living room area. “So this is your new hound?”

“Yeah, this is Caesar.” Damien ruffled the fur on the dog’s head. “Had him two weeks now and so far we’re getting along great. Really, his bark is worse than his bite.”

George chuckled. “I wouldn’t want to put that to the test. I won’t ever try sneaking in to surprise you.” He cautiously held out his hand to the dog and let Caesar sniff it. “Who sold you this beast?”

“A breeder south of town. His Great Dane had a litter, but some of the pups weren’t the purebreds he was expecting. Some other genetics got added to the mix at some point. He was rather dismayed about that, but gave me a good deal on this pup.”

“Yeah, I can see this isn’t a purebred anything.”

“I don’t care. I can tell already Caesar is going to be a faithful friend. When I take him for a walk, nobody’s going to hassle me. Anyway, Grandpa, sit down.”

George took a seat on the sofa and Caesar, with a happy grin, sat on the floor beside him. George reached out and gave the dog a cautious pat on the head. “So you’re going to trust me, are you, fella?”

Damien walked into the kitchen area and came back with a plate overflowing with a humongous submarine sandwich. “I was feeling hungry after our run through the park, so I was just fixing myself a sub. Do you want me to fix you one, too?”

“Sure,” George replied. “But make mine half that size. I don’t run through the park — or anywhere else — anymore.”

Damien grinned as he set his plate on the end table beside the recliner. “Yeah, I guess this would be pretty big for a lot of people. Ham, turkey, or both?” he asked as he headed back to the counter.

“Just turkey, thanks.” George watched Caesar walk over and sit beside the end table, his eyes focused on the sub. “You’d better hurry, Damien, or you won’t have a sandwich to come back to.”

Damien turned and saw Caesar sniffing toward the sandwich. “Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s well trained.” He quickly slapped together his grandfather’s sandwich, then opened the fridge door. “Do you want a drink with this, Grandpa? Cola or ginger ale, or iced tea?”

“Ginger ale would be fine.”

“Caesar and I have been going to obedience classes. We’re learning to communicate.”

“Obedience classes? Sounds like a great idea.”

“Yeah, we’ve had four lessons already. One thing he’s learned is not to touch any food until I say, ‘Nosh, Caesar.’ Then he knows it’s for him.” Damien grabbed pulled a can of pop from the fridge and shut the door.

George, who had his eyes on the dog, was amazed how fast Caesar devoured that sandwich once he heard the magic words.

“Uh, Damien… There was a little miscommunication here. I hope you still have enough fixings for another sandwich?”

Damien whirled around and saw his empty plate. He smacked his forehead with his hand. Caesar was looking up at him with eyes full of gratitude, his tail thump thumping on the floor. “Guess I can hardly blame him. I did give the command.”

George laughed. “It looks like he learned his lesson well. And now you have, too.”

“Yeah, I’ll remember this one,” Damien said ruefully as he reached for another sub bun.

🙂

Fandango’s one-word challenge for today: LESSON

 

The Sweet Life, Thanks To…

…A LOT OF CLEVER PEOPLE!

Good morning everyone. I’ve evicted Pookie from my office chair and taken his place to write a few lines in response to our daily prompt words. Since he’s notorious for jumping back into my chair again the moment I leave the room, I’d best stay put until I finish.

I was awake around 3:30 am this morning — at Pookie’s insistence — and staggered to the door to let him out. Most folks are unwilling to cope with a cat getting them up in the wee hours and I shouldn’t have to, either. New management aim: cats out at 11pm. They can embrace the night with all its wonders, like the scurrying of tiny critter feet. (I’ve observed that they love embracing tiny critter feet et al.)

Anyway, the sun was up already, just starting its long journey across our prairie sky, and the internet is always live, so I took a peek at a couple of sites offering one-word writing prompts for today. Fandango’s word in particular, kudos, opens up a lot of possibilities! My mind circled around the thought for a few minutes as I crawled back under the covers, then I zonked out for the rest of the night.

At a decent hour I got up again and made my way to the bathroom. Kudos to the inventors of indoor plumbing, shower heads, and toilet paper. (How many of you remember the old outhouse with tissue supplied by various mail-order companies? I do, and infinitely prefer the indulgence of today’s softer replacement.)

My thanks to whoever invented the spinning wheel and decided to try spinning cotton into a thread. (I think Eli Whitney fits in here somewhere.) I’m quite thankful to see the end of wool undies and stockings! Speaking of decent undergarments — bless your dear hearts, Wonderbra, Maidenform and other companies that have given us the comfort and support we ladies enjoy today. My mom told me once that all they had in her youth were home-sewed cotton bras that gave neither. And corsets have been abandoned. My undying gratitude for that!

Throw in a heap of accolades to the person who invented polyester. My lightweight dress for today is all cotton, but I’m thankful for all our poly-cotton dresses and shirts that don’t need to be ironed.

Which brings me to knits. Weaving threads into fabric is fairly self-evident, though looms were a real boost in their day. But I’ve wondered different times, whoever had the brilliant idea of winding threads around two sticks and looping them around somehow to create a fabric. Being a knitter myself, I can imagine how much trial and error that would have involved? That person likely got a lot of criticism for fiddling around and wasting time.

From simple home knitted garments, some brave soul went on to inventing a knitting machine, which now give us our T-shirts, sweaters, sportswear, and fleeces. Kudos also to Whitcomb L. Judson, an American inventor from Chicago who invented the interlocking mechanical teeth and constructed a workable zipper.

I wander into the kitchen and take my morning thyroid pill, which I’ve taken steadily for the past twenty-five years or so. Where would I be without that? We visited with a young couple on Sunday and the husband was telling us he’d come through a rough time when his arms swelled up, the muscles in his legs cramped painfully, he was cold, his hair was falling out. His doctor ran tests and discovered his body was really low on thyroid hormone. He started taking synthetic thyroid pills and his symptoms all cleared up in rapid time.

When I think of all the heath issues I’ve faced, I give thanks for the wonders of science and medicine that have combined to keep me alive so I can enjoy this morning. Antibiotics, anesthetics and surgeries, chemotherapy. Kudos to the inventor of multi-vitamin pills, too, which give so many people all over the world a healthier life. And could do so much more in poorer countries, if only funds were available to purchase them.

Now, with one last word of thanks to today’s Word-Prompters, I’ll end this session of awarding kudos. Have a great day everyone.

Daily Addiction : COPE
Fandango :  KUDOS
Ragtag community: INDUGENCE
Word of the day challenge : NOTORIOUS
Your daily word prompt :  EMBRACE
houseofbailey  : NATIVE

Share Your World

There are a number of writing challenges and prompts in the blogging world, among them is Cee’s Share Your World, which she posts once a week. She posts a number of questions, some on the humorous side, supposedly to share some of our likes and dislikes with our readers.

Anyway, here’s her list of questions for this week and my responses:

You can have an unlimited supply of one thing for the rest of your life, what is it? Sushi? Scotch Tape?

Thinking along immaterial lines, I’d say “FRIENDS.” But in terms of actual things, my practical answer may contradict that noble aspiration. Just leave me in the Library — preferably with pens and stacks of notebooks, since you’re never supposed to scribble in library books.

Books

Pixabay

Teleportation or flying?

Teleportation is a sci-fi thing, where all your cells turn to — energy? — and are flung off to some other place or planet. Then you materialize again. Being fearful of the unknown, I’d worry that during teleportation my cells might get swirled around and I’d come together again with two arms on one side, or lose a foot in transit, or all my hair? Not a risk I’d ever take.

Besides, I love flying. One time, as the plane was taxiing down the runway full throttle  and the roar of the engines thrilled our ears, I turned to the fellow in a business suit sitting next to me and said, “Don’t you just love flying!” 🙂

He replied in a crisp British accent, “Personally, I find it nerve-wracking.” 😦
Oh well. Can’t please everybody.

Would you rather live where it only snows or the temperature never falls below 100 degrees?

winter street

Pixabay

I can’t take the heat…but to live where it only snows? To never have spring…never any nesting birds or flowers? Could I bear it?
In either case I’d be staying indoors, so my choice would be looking out at sand dunes or snowbanks. Hmm…

What did you appreciate or what made you smile this past week? Feel free to use a quote, a photo, a story, or even a combination.

Our private school put on a program of songs and skits Wednesday evening for the end of the school year. Lots of smiles and chuckles. Of course the highlight was watching our three grandchildren up on the stage doing their parts. The oldest is out of school already. Why do those school years fly by so fast?

Cat sleeping

Pixabay

We have two cats that both think my desk chair is the most comfortable and best-located seat in the house. I’ve evicted one or the other of them a dozen times this week, but all I need to do is go pour myself a coffee and when I get back…
(This gives my husband more smiles that it gives me. 😉 )

New Culinary Cozy Mystery

A few days ago I wrote about P G Wodehouse and his quirky characters, his humorous turns of phrase. Well, as chance would have it…
A week or so ago I downloaded a mystery through Book Bub and finished it last night. The author has created a main character, Chef Maurice, reminiscent of Hercules Poirot and humor that echoes tones of Wooster and Jeeves. Zany, delightful, and a mystery right to the end!

Chef Maurice. and a Spot of Truffle
a Chef Maurice Mystery

by J. A Lang

I’ve heard of truffle-snuffing pigs before, also temperamental French chefs. When Ollie, the local forager and mushroom supplier doesn’t turn up with the needed omelet ingredients one day, Chef Maurice goes to collect and discovers in Ollie’s fridge, in the guise of potatoes, some rare and precious mushrooms. And they carry the scent of an English woods. Where did Ollie discover these? Are there more nearby just waiting to be unearthed?

Chef Maurice adopts Hamilton, a micro-pig who proves himself well able to snuffle a truffle, and they check out the local forest, with good friend Arthur along to temper the exuberance of the chef. Searching for this valuable variety they come across Ollie’s body.

Now they need to know if Ollie’s death was the result of a secret truffle turf war. Or was it because Ollie had a little business on the side selling another species of mushroom to local teens?

With his up-beat, well mannered disposition, Hamilton is a hit with the staff. Everyone is horrified when he’s pig-napped and the Chef receives a package of shrink-wrapped bacon and a warning note.

The only minus point, which may bother some readers: clues aren’t all revealed up front. On the last day Chef Maurice does some investigating, the results of which remain unknown to readers until that evening when he explains his conclusions and reveals the guilty party. I didn’t mind this — it made the ending more of a surprise. I couldn’t guess before he actually named that person, who it would be.

This is one case where you really can judge a book by its cover — kudos to the artist. When you see Hamilton’s jolly grin you know the story is going to be funny.