"Waaaaaaaah!" That was me three weeks ago crying over my missing cat.
"Aaaaaaaargh!" That was me three hours ago cursing the same cat.
Life has a twisted little ironic sense of humor, don't you think? "Remember that lost cat she was all verklept over last week?" it says, jabbing its meaty finger in my directon. "Watch this."
The this life was talking about was me coming home from work two days ago and opening the door to an unused bedroom, currently serving as my closet while ours is under construction. This would also be Suzie bolting past me, happy to escape the bedroom prison she'd been trapped in since I closed the door early that morning without knowing she was lurking in the shadows. This would be me again, sniffing the corners, knowing full well that a cat can't stay in a room for 10 1/2 hours without doing something somewhere; and me smiling in dubious but heartfelt relief when I found no smell, no stain, no nothing. This would also be me this morning, opening the door to a pungent aroma wafting from the vicinity of the bed which, upon closer inspection, revealed that Suzie had chosen a cat box during her captivity after all. Not the old, soon-to-be-replaced carpet. How common, how...plebeian. Instead, the tufted, satiny plushness of a comforter atop a downy duvet, the duvet resting upon cozy blankets and sheets which, in turn, nestled on a billowy pillow-top mattress. Now there's a toilet fit for a queen.
Queen Suzie. Exactly what shall we do with Your Majesty? Charge you $55 for the dry cleaning? Silly me, you have no income, do you? Make you write "I will not soil the bed" 500 times? Oops, no opposable thumbs. Put a bell around your neck so that we'll know your whereabouts at all times? No, I think that, together with Buster's propensity for nocturnal collar shaking, would be much too annoying. I know! Let's locate that shed, garage, or whatever it was you managed to get out of awhile back, and put your royal pain in the butt back in it, shall we?
"See. Whatd'Itellya?" life says, smirking as it begins plotting my next surprise.
October 30, 2008
October 16, 2008
change
We sure have been hearing a lot about change these days. We need to change this! We've got to change that! Vote for change! You can't swing a dead cat without hitting somebody going on about change. Frankly, I think there's been plenty of change already. In fact, I haven't even caught up with the change that happened last month, last year, or even 10 years ago; and now it's looking like we could all be in for a whole lot more of it.
"Embrace change." "Change is good." These were the catchphrases the brass at Levi Strauss & Co. used to tell their sales reps. Which in translation meant grab your butts because something you're not going to like is about to happen. And sure enough it always did. Proving to me that change is not always good, even though it does make a catchy slogan.
Sometimes change announces itself and gives people a chance to prepare for its arrival, whether they want to or not. But in my experience, change mostly likes to sneak up on you when you're not looking. I think it likes to watch your reaction when you finally notice it. For instance, the other week I needed to move one of the girls' car from the driveway. And there it was, right there on the dashboard- change. Can someone tell me what happened to the regular old turning knobs and dials on car radios? On hers there were only bunches of microscopic buttons and little hieroglyphics meant to get across what it was the buttons were supposed to do, none of which showed me how to turn the volume down before my head exploded. I had to turn the car off, leap out, and slam the door just to make it stop, and I swear I could hear the muffled sound of change laughing.
And that spiteful change has crept inside the house as well. "In my home! In my bedroom! Where my husband sleeps...and my children play with their toys!" That's what Michael Corleone once said, although I think he was referring to gunfire and not change.
Suddenly I can't watch a movie by myself anymore because I don't know what buttons to push on which remote. More often than not lately, by the time I figure out how to answer the new digital phone, the caller has hung up. The fact that we even have a land phone marks us for ridicule with some change-happy people. Not that we don't keep up with any of the trends. It's a fact that John owned a big honking cell phone with a 5 pound battery and its very own carrying case long before Zack Morris ever thought about using one on Saved by the Bell! Nowdays people go around taking pictures with their cell phones. Pictures! I already have a year's worth of pictures on a digital camera that I can't look at because I don't know how to fix the device that connects the computer that opens the apparatus that runs the program that shares the file that lives in the house that Jack built. Change has made everything digital, wireless, remote, and hands-free. Not to mention miniscule, complicated, counterintuitive, and on my last good nerve.
Maybe I'm just getting old and crotchety, like Andy Rooney but without the gnarly eyebrows and the bit on 60 Minutes. After all, change is progress and all progress is good, isn't it? Maybe not all. I think sometimes change is just change, although I can think of a couple of good changes. Like putting wheels on luggage- where was that back in high school when I lugged my green, 100 lb. hard sided suitcases all over Europe? And who doesn't like built-in cup holders in their cars? It really frees up the hands for those who like to multi-task while driving. But as for most of the other stuff... you can keep the change. I do have one good idea for plugging into this whole change thing, though. I'm thinking of making matching t-shirts for John and me- kind of like those "Stupid" and "I'm with Stupid" t-shirts you sometimes see couples wear at the state fair. His will say "CHANGE". Mine will say, "I EMBRACE CHANGE." What do you think?
"Embrace change." "Change is good." These were the catchphrases the brass at Levi Strauss & Co. used to tell their sales reps. Which in translation meant grab your butts because something you're not going to like is about to happen. And sure enough it always did. Proving to me that change is not always good, even though it does make a catchy slogan.
Sometimes change announces itself and gives people a chance to prepare for its arrival, whether they want to or not. But in my experience, change mostly likes to sneak up on you when you're not looking. I think it likes to watch your reaction when you finally notice it. For instance, the other week I needed to move one of the girls' car from the driveway. And there it was, right there on the dashboard- change. Can someone tell me what happened to the regular old turning knobs and dials on car radios? On hers there were only bunches of microscopic buttons and little hieroglyphics meant to get across what it was the buttons were supposed to do, none of which showed me how to turn the volume down before my head exploded. I had to turn the car off, leap out, and slam the door just to make it stop, and I swear I could hear the muffled sound of change laughing.
And that spiteful change has crept inside the house as well. "In my home! In my bedroom! Where my husband sleeps...and my children play with their toys!" That's what Michael Corleone once said, although I think he was referring to gunfire and not change.
Suddenly I can't watch a movie by myself anymore because I don't know what buttons to push on which remote. More often than not lately, by the time I figure out how to answer the new digital phone, the caller has hung up. The fact that we even have a land phone marks us for ridicule with some change-happy people. Not that we don't keep up with any of the trends. It's a fact that John owned a big honking cell phone with a 5 pound battery and its very own carrying case long before Zack Morris ever thought about using one on Saved by the Bell! Nowdays people go around taking pictures with their cell phones. Pictures! I already have a year's worth of pictures on a digital camera that I can't look at because I don't know how to fix the device that connects the computer that opens the apparatus that runs the program that shares the file that lives in the house that Jack built. Change has made everything digital, wireless, remote, and hands-free. Not to mention miniscule, complicated, counterintuitive, and on my last good nerve.
Maybe I'm just getting old and crotchety, like Andy Rooney but without the gnarly eyebrows and the bit on 60 Minutes. After all, change is progress and all progress is good, isn't it? Maybe not all. I think sometimes change is just change, although I can think of a couple of good changes. Like putting wheels on luggage- where was that back in high school when I lugged my green, 100 lb. hard sided suitcases all over Europe? And who doesn't like built-in cup holders in their cars? It really frees up the hands for those who like to multi-task while driving. But as for most of the other stuff... you can keep the change. I do have one good idea for plugging into this whole change thing, though. I'm thinking of making matching t-shirts for John and me- kind of like those "Stupid" and "I'm with Stupid" t-shirts you sometimes see couples wear at the state fair. His will say "CHANGE". Mine will say, "I EMBRACE CHANGE." What do you think?
October 13, 2008
suzie
I am so sad. I've lost my friend of 10 years. She has disappeared and I don't know where else to look for her. I've walked our neighborhod calling her name. "Soooo-zie! Suzie kitty, where are you? Here, kitty, kitty, kitty."
She's always been an indoor/outdoor kind of girl, but she never goes far and she never goes for long. Until now. I don't know where she is, and I hate not knowing. Something's wrong; she always sits on her brick pillar perch just ouside the front door waiting to catch my eye through the window. Or lounges on her diving board throne waiting for me to call her royal highness in for the night, while making up her mind whether or not she'll come. Until yesterday, when she wasn't there...not when I came home, not at dusk, not after dark, not at bedtime, not past bedtime, not during the night, not early this morning, not at lunch, not when I returned from work, not now. I don't know where she is, or how she is, and not knowing is killing me.
"Cut!"
Dry those tears and fast-forward to today, Sunday. This morning, just as the moon and sun were changing shifts, she reappeared- dirty, pitifully skinny, and exhausted. Too tired to meow as she hobbled through the door, she hasn't yet told me where she'd been since Thursday, and I feel sure that's a mystery I'll never uncover. But now, a bucket of tears later, she's back, and the not knowing is immaterial.
Let me introduce you to our recent MIA, Suzie. Before Buster, back when the girls were begging, pleading, cajoling, wheedling, promising anything for a dog- doing their chores for a year without being told, doing each other's chores, doing our chores- my sweet husband developed the misguided notion that a cat would
She's always been an indoor/outdoor kind of girl, but she never goes far and she never goes for long. Until now. I don't know where she is, and I hate not knowing. Something's wrong; she always sits on her brick pillar perch just ouside the front door waiting to catch my eye through the window. Or lounges on her diving board throne waiting for me to call her royal highness in for the night, while making up her mind whether or not she'll come. Until yesterday, when she wasn't there...not when I came home, not at dusk, not after dark, not at bedtime, not past bedtime, not during the night, not early this morning, not at lunch, not when I returned from work, not now. I don't know where she is, or how she is, and not knowing is killing me.
"Cut!"
Dry those tears and fast-forward to today, Sunday. This morning, just as the moon and sun were changing shifts, she reappeared- dirty, pitifully skinny, and exhausted. Too tired to meow as she hobbled through the door, she hasn't yet told me where she'd been since Thursday, and I feel sure that's a mystery I'll never uncover. But now, a bucket of tears later, she's back, and the not knowing is immaterial.
Let me introduce you to our recent MIA, Suzie. Before Buster, back when the girls were begging, pleading, cajoling, wheedling, promising anything for a dog- doing their chores for a year without being told, doing each other's chores, doing our chores- my sweet husband developed the misguided notion that a cat would
- be an acceptable substitute for a dog and
- I don't know...what? be less trouble than a dog?
Wrong on both counts, Johnny-boy, but daddy points for trying. Anyway, quicker than you can say, "Oh my gosh, is that a fur ball or a lung she just hacked up?" we found ourselves the dubious owners of one very large, very big-eyed, very jumpy tomcat named Suzie. At least someone thought it was a tomcat. Turns out, he was a she. (Maybe the name should have been a clue when someone got her from a woman who got her from some guy who, before moving away and abandoning her, named her Suzie, which in my opinion is a sucky name for a cat, but anyway...) Suzie was a big, beautiful, full-figured woman. And like any woman, she wanted only to be admired continuously, handled infrequently, and fed repeatedly. As far as the girls were concerned she had just one flaw, as it turns out a major one...she was not a dog. Inevitably, Suzie, the cat, became mine.
I'm not really a cat person, but have gained a grudging appreciation for certain aspects of "catness" over these years. I often find myself mesmerized with her endless variety of poses which, while totally unaffected, look as if they were practiced for weeks to convey maximum charm. I love the fact that she appears so cooly detached, but does so while remaining within eye and earshot of her humans. I like the way she keeps me company when I pull weeds or clean the pool, which is something my own offspring never did. I admire her spunk. Suzie suffers no fools, and has been observed bitch slapping many a hapless cat that wandered into her yard, this despite being declawed before we got her. She even manhandles Buster when he gets cocky, but that's not saying much...how intimidating is a dog that wears a "Stud Muffin" sweater when he goes for a walk on "coolish" days, and has to be physically forced outside to do his business in a light sprinkle. Suzie, on the other hand, has braved some of the nastiest weather Oklahoma can produce, and Oklahoma produces a good deal of it.
In fact, apart from the fact that she's hairy, adores rolling in red dirt (something else Oklahoma produces a lot of,) prefers sleeping on duvets (upon which she deposits a hefty sampling of both the aforementioned,) purposely bypasses tile in order to barf on carpet, has that annoying little UTI requiring "special" high dollar cat food, and disappears for 3 days causing me to cry so much imagining her locked in some dark, airtight hellhole wondering why I wasn't coming to her rescue that my eyelids swelled so much I looked like Ron Perlman in that "Beauty and the Beast" TV show from the 80's and couldn't go to church and sing in the choir, she's really a terrific cat as far as cats go, which for some people with allergies is not near far enough.
Anyway, she's back. Back in the dirt, back on the bed, back in the house, back from the dead!
Back.
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