#209 - BOARD to DEATH (just read it before you criticize my spelling).

My first real encounter with a live snake
(which I shall reveal here) was a DOOZIE 
and occurred around the first of August in 1968

Though not a professional snake wrangler, I have handled snakes (itty bitty garden snakes) before.  After all, I was once a Girl Scout and a den mother for a group of 8 cub scouts.  I had been shown (several times) how to correctly handle snakes and how to tell if they were venomous.  Also, come on, over the years I have watched dozens of shows by Mutual of Omaha and the Animal Channel. 


At the time of this encounter I was living in a small farm home in the Missouri Ozarks.  My husband (soon to be ex, but that's another story) had moved us there from Palm Desert, California.  I loved the Ozarks area and the house was the home in which my husband was born, so it had meaning.

Out behind the house was a small barn and in the pasture were three horses.  One was a big, white, frightening, wild eyed, stallion.  One was a mean little Shetland runt (who loved to nip my thigh and rump).  And, one (which was ours) was a retired, circus horse who knew all kinds of tricks (if you knew how to prompt her).   Ginger was 26 years old and as smart as a whip.  She didn't like to be ridden so she would always detour under low hanging branches and close to the trunks of trees.  I got knocked/scraped off several times (but she never did that with my kids). 

Ginger, Gene, Patty and me (can't believe I had my hair up in curlers)

The horses would not go into the barn no matter what I did.  I tried leading them, luring them, cooing to them and on and on and on.  Finally, I decided it was because there were boards just laid down on the dirt floor.  When I walked on them they would wobble a bit so I can imagine how they would move when the horses stepped on them.  Plus, there was other junk stored in that barn.

So, one day, since it was getting close to fall I decided the barn needed to be cleaned out for the horses.
In I went with a rake, a shovel, a wheelbarrow, a broom and a bucket with various items in it.  I hauled all of the junk out and stacked it behind the barn to be carried off or burned.  I worked on this all morning and into the afternoon while a friend watched my kids.  Then it came time to pull out the boards.  Everything was going fine until I got to the 5th board.  As I lifted it up a hugh (and I do mean HUGH) snake darted out then back under the next board.

I had only seen the animal for a brief second but long enough to consider it one of the most beautiful snakes I have ever seen.   This snake had orange, light-brown,  even a pinkish body that was highlighted by darker chestnut brown bands that formed a whole series of hourglass shapes across its body.

See, isn't it beautiful!

Immediately I thought of my son Gene.  He would love a snake as a pet. Therefore, I set about devising a way to catch it.

I glanced around and quickly came up with a plan which involved the bucket, a broom and a small piece of wood for a lid to the bucket.  Armed with this snake snaring paraphernalia I proceeded to raise and toss the 6th board.  The snake tried to pull the same maneuver and slip under board #7.  But, ha..ha..I was too quick for him/her.  After flinging the plank I grabbed the bucket and broom.  Then I beat the tarnation out of the snake with the broom and steered him into the bucket.  Whack, whack, whack, turned up the bucket, then slapped the make shift lid on the top.  Now, I could have reached down and grabbed it by the neck at the back of it's head, but since I hadn't gotten a real good look at it I decided not to take the chance.

Satisfied with my smart move and my prize I picket up the bucket, put it in the back seat of my car (with a rock on the lid) and headed for my father-in-laws country store, just down the road.  I wanted to know just what kind of snake I had caught (this was the olden days before internet).

When I arrived several men from the area had congregated around the inside of the store.  As usual they were drinking beer, sharing stories, and laughing.  I came in the door and they greeted me with a few nods and a "Hey, gal."

I put my bucket down, removed the lid tilted it towards the men and said, "Do any of you guys know what kind of snake this is?"  Before I could finish my sentence ALL of the men jumped up falling all over each other and fled the store.  Some were running, (one jumped through the open screen-less window),  all were cussing and yelling all sorts of unpleasant comments.  I put the lid back on the bucket and looked out the door.

My husband yelled from the parking lot,  "Karen, you've done a lot of hair-brained things but this one takes the cake."  Get that darned bucket out here (only he didn't exactly say darned)."

When I returned to the door with the bucket in hand I could see all of the men lined up with shotguns in their arms.  Now, this was the Ozarks, my friends, and since my husband and I hadn't been getting along lately I thought that this might be what is referred to as a QUICKY DIVORCE, Ozark style.

My husband asked me to gently put the bucket down in front of the men, and back up.  Ok, like a good wife, I did what I was told and then there was a deafening sound as all seven men fired at the bucket.  The bucket was blown to smithereens as was that beautiful snake.  DEATH was brutal and swift.

In not too kind of a tone or gentle language (and with one hand on his hip and the other hand pointing a finger at me), my husband told me that I had managed to capture an unusually large Copperhead whose venom could have killed me before anyone could have gotten me to the hospital.  He went on to add that this was the blind season for Copperheads making it an extremely dangerous time to mess with them. 

What did I say in response?"Oh, and it was so pretty."  To which my husband threw up his hands and stomped off.

I tried like crazy to find a yellow smiley face snake.  This will have to do.
By the way, do you NOW get my little pun of a title? 
 (Ok, ok, a little cheesy but it is all I could come up with)    kt 8/2011

PS:  WOULD YOU BELIEVE THAT 43 YEARS TO THE MONTH I CAUGHT A YOUNG COPPERHEAD!  On September 8th I was leaving the hospital after visiting my dad and a kid ran to the nurses station and said, "There's a snake in the waiting room.  My dad thinks it's a copper head."  Without missing a beat I said, "I'll take care of it."

When I got there a young snake about 12 inches long was laying up against the base board under a chair.  Four other people were standing about six feet from the critter.  Although small, I knew immediately that it was a young Copperhead.  A young woman entered the room with a broom and a bucket.  I started to laugh as I remembered the above story.  I just told her to stay where she was.  I took a trash can, tipped it over, stepped on the very end of the snakes tail and it quickly slithered into the dark bucket.  I tipped the bucket up and then tied a knot in the plastic baggie.  Handing the trash can with baggie and snake to the girl with the broom I said, "There you go."

The next morning when I returned to see Dad I asked his nurse if she had heard about the snake in the waiting room.  She said yes, and then I asked her what she had heard.  Her words exactly were, "I heard that there was a Copperhead snake in the waiting room and some crazy lady caught it and gave it to an aide."  Then her eyes got big and she said, "Were you that crazy lady?" All I could do was laugh.

#208 - ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR?

Ok, I received an award and really don't know what it's for.

I checked the online dictionary and no surprise; there is no such word.  So, I broke down the word in order to ascertain it's meaning.  My first attempt gave me the answer.   Lie bs ter.  Ahhhhh, I get it.  

"er"= a person who...

lie = telling something that is not true

bs = bull Sh*!   (guess I could have said poo).

So, does the heart mean it's given with love? Haven't a clue.

(A week attempt at poetry and notice the nice pyramid it makes.)

(And for you who have compulsive/obsessive issues....Yes, I know I left the "T" out)

In reality, this award is actually a reward for fabricating.  Hummmmm,  this means that possibly there are those who may not believe my blog contains stories that are NOT completely true.  I'm shocked!

You mean that no one believes that I accidentally s stapled my glove to my hand (see What A Maroon), glued my foot to the floor (see A Sticky Situation), or burned a hole in my night gown (see #Recipe For Disaster)?  Oh, mannnnn, this HURTS as they are ALL true ;{

So spread the love!

Here are the rules:

1. Thank the giver

2. Reveal your top 5 picks and let them know by leaving a comment on their blog-and follow them!
3. Copy and paste the award on your blog.

4. Have faith that your followers will spread the love to other bloggers.

5. And most of all - have bloggity-blog fun!

That's it?  No embarrassing questions to answer.  Nothing personal to reveal?  Nothing humiliating?  I don't have to share with the world the unusual shape of the birth mark on my butt?


So, should I thank the giver?  What the HECK!  Thanks, Donna at Weaving A Tale or Two.

1,3,and 5 are taken care of. Number 4 is a given because all of my followers spread the love daily. Where I have problems is number 2.   I have to pick 5 out of the dozens of contenders for the award.  And there in the problem.  Most of the bloggers I read do not accept awards.  I end up giving them to the same bloggers over and over which really isn't fair to them.  These things take a lot of time (I have been working on this for over 6 hours...No lie....6 hours).

"Rules are for sissies!"

And here is what everyone reading this is waiting for....  How in the heck is she going to change this one?  The minute the phrase, "Here are the rules:" popped up, my mind froze and the sound of screeching tires echoed inside my head.  I swear I could smell the smoke.  Well, some rules are good ones to follow; like to be polite.  But, how can I be polite and accuse choose five BS-ing liars?  

So, I searched through the blogs I follow to see who could possible fit in this category.  And I only found two.  Incidentally they are both men.  I wonder if that means anything????????

Lazarus at The LG Report (Female Like Me) was the first one that came to mind (sorry LG but, I did read your Thursday, July 28th post.  It definitely falls into the BS category).  However, LG does not accept awards.  Probably because he wouldn't have enough space on his blog page to post them...he is that good!  He is ONE OF A KIND.

Nick at Along These Lines (A Tourist’s Guide to Libya) would absolutely fit into the BS category.  His blog is often outrageous and always hilarious.  However, Nick is recovering from surgery and it wouldn't be polite to expect him to respond.  His blog is A VERITABLE SMORGASBORD OF HUMOR.

Ok....I've got one...APRIL, at Confessions of a Terrible Mom (a total misnomer)! Comcast-the cable mafia comes to mind.  I am sure that some of her posts are a blend of truth and lies exaggerations.  A person can't be as funny as April  without STRETCHING the truth a little.  Ok, I am sending this award to her.  Nope, can't, April is cutting back on her blog time since school started (she home schools her kids).  SO APRIL, YOU DON'T HAVE TO ACCEPT THIS AWARD.

Next, I thought of Melynda at Crazy World boxing with boys 
and her buddy Elisa at The Crazy Life of a Writing Mom Miss Priss and “The Wave”.
I mean,  mannnnn, these two gals are absolutely NUTS (which is something I can identify with).  One might think that there is some fabricating or truth stretching going in there somewhere, but after reading them for a while I am beginning that this is actually their wild and crazy life.  When someone comes up with an "ABSOLUTELY BONKERS" award THEY are getting it (so is fishducky if and when she starts to blog).

It breaks my heart but, I could only find one person to send this to, and she won't have time to accept.  The rest of the bolggers I follow are too sweet and innocent to fall in this category.  Therefore I must forfeit the $1,000,000.00 that came with this award.  And, unfortunately no one else will get it either (Ohhhhhhhhh, so sorry! As Jim Fay would say...Jim Fay’s Love and Logic).

But, I do have a tip for all of you out there... ... ... 

DON'T SEND KT AN AWARD BECAUSE SHE WILL ALWAYS            
SCREW WITH IT!

kt 8/11/2011

#207 - A TAYLORed POISONING

Lying on the floor of the small, cold, room, she was sure that she was about to draw her last breath.  How could her life have come down to this?  Just yesterday she was happily going about her daily routine unaware of the impending attempt on her life.  Wracked with pain she raised her head to peer into the darkened room beyond the door.  Can she drag her weak body to the phone?  Can she get help?  Or, has the poison advanced too far into her system to allow her to move.                     


Again and again the spasms came.  She wretched for what seemed like an eternity and then her bowels began to empty.  How could Marie have done this to her?  It must have been some kind of bizarre accident.   She passed out for a while only to be awakened by the howl of her faithful dog in the next room.  He knew she was in trouble, but he could not extricate himself from his night-time crate. 

Knowing it would soon be too late, she managed to slowly inch herself across the floor.  With her last bit of energy she pulled herself up to the counter and called for help.  Help arrived within a few minutes and she was whisked off to the hospital where it was confirmed that she had been poisoned.   Poisoned by Marie Callendar with one of her famous Café Steamers.

Ok, so I'm NOT a novel worthy writer, but that was the situation I found myself in at one AM on Tuesday, July 11.   I finally made it to the ER room around six AM.  It was a tad more fun than the gastronomical events occurring on the bathroom floor.   There was nothing left to pump from my stomach as I had purged everything but my appendix and the three toenails that had yet to be sucked from my feet.  So they hooked me up with fluids to rehydrate me (since I was starting to look like a Tim Burton character from one of his  bizarre films).

By that afternoon I was back home and laying in my recliner, sipping 7Up.

I felt awful, but I was on the mend.  At seven PM I started to get up to fix my father his dinner. That is when the REST OF THE STORY developed.

I couldn’t get out of my recliner!  I mean, no matter what I did I could not pull my behind up out of the chair.  I have never experienced anything like this before.  First, I started a bouncy-bouncy routine hoping that one of the bounces would get me high enough to get my feet under me.  Nope!  Didn’t work.  Next, I started a rocking motion to try and propel my body out of the chair… … No luck there either (however, I almost turned the chair over backwards).  After trying several other ideas I finally got myself turned around backwards in the chair and pushed away with my arms.  To my relief that worked and I was up on my sock covered feet (key phrase).

Slowly, I walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and extracted what I would need for Dad’s meal.  You know the phrase weak as a kitten; well I understand that phrase now.  Like a sloth moving through the forest I made my way to across the kitchen floor when (not so sloth like) one foot slid one way, and one foot slid the other.  Onto a step stool I fell.  I was in a semi splits pose (down on my left knee and up on my right heel)  and clinging for dear life onto that darned step stool.  No matter how hard I tried I could not push myself up off of the step stool.  The only thing I could do was to allow myself to fall to the side.  As I leaned away from the small ladder I remember saying aloud,, “Oh, Mannnnn, this is going to hurt!”  And it did!

This put me on the floor and then that damned darned (oh, to hell with it) damned TV add flashed through my brain,  I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.   I started to laugh (yes, really).  I lay there laughing when my dad clomped (no, he doesn't let his walker roll smoothly he goes step- step-step and then picks it up and plants it further away = he clomps) into the kitchen to see what was going on. 

“Can I help you up?” he said.   This made me laugh all the more.  I could just see the both of us lying on the floor until the cows came home.

“No, Dad, just get me a phone,” I replied.  To this Dad clomped off in search of a phone.  Now, understand this, I have a phone in EVERY room, but Dad couldn’t find one (you see he is hard of hearing and hasn’t used a phone since the old cradle type).

In Dad clomps again.  “I can’t find a phone.”

“It’s by the microwave,” I croak.

“Where’s the microwave?”  he asks (while standing about one foot from it).

I tell him to go sit down in his chair and then I started to crawl through the kitchen floor. 

Actually, it wasn’t a crawl it was more like a scoot and I could only manage a few inches at a time.  While communing so closely with the floor I noticed that it needed a good scrubbing and I started laughing again (I mean what a time to start thinking about scrubbing the floor).  It took me forty-five minutes to make my way across the floor to where I could see the table, and there I spotted a phone.

I hollered (screamed really loud) for Dad and he eventually retrieved the phone from the table for me.  I called 911, then told Dad to unlock the front door.  I laid there on my not so clean kitchen floor waiting for my total humiliation to begin.

(FIRST, LET ME APOLOGUISE FOR A WORD USED IN THE 

SECOND SCENE OF THIS VIDEO):

In just a few minutes two police officers walk through the front door and into the kitchen.  Remembering the routine my dad had to go through when we called for someone to help him off the bathroom floor; I rattled off my name, where I was, what day and month it was, and what happened.  They smiled, looked at each other, and the male said, “I see you do this often.”  They helped me up and planted me in Dad’s wheel chair (at my request).  They then suggested I get one of those little buttons that would summon help if this ever happened again (why would I do that when it is obviously much more fun!)

I wheeled around the kitchen, got Dad’s dinner (2 hours late), and stayed in that darned wheel chair until bedtime.  Since it would not go through my bedroom door I got out, and walked (thinking that I had a nice, clean, well padded rug on my floor and I could sleep there if I fell again.)  while holding onto everything possible.   I eventually made it to my bed, and collapsed.  Suddenly it hit me, "Hey, they send an ambulance when Dad falls, but they send cops when I fall!  What's up with that?"  Then I started laughing again. 

The following morning the weakness was gone.  I found out later that this is one of the side effects of food poisoning.  Much to my chigrin, I have 6 more of these dinners in my freezer.  Well, what's the chance that this could happen again?  I'm so cheap that I guess I will find out........ someday.

kt 7/2011

NEXT MONDAY, I ACCEPT AN INTERESTING AWARD.  
AS PROMISED, I FAILED TO FOLLOW THE RULES (AGAIN).  
SO, BE THERE OR BE SQUARE (Oh, that is soooooooo lame). 

#206 - OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF BABES

This is about the age my 

little angel was when

 this story happened.

This is absolutely my favorite story, and the star of this story is my daughter Patricia.  It is hard to describe young Patricia.  She was my daring one; she was continually pushing the envelope.  As a young child she was definitely a drama queen who would constantly find ways to surprise us all. 

For example, before she was two, she found out that crying was a good way to get attention (but, most kids know that).  She was an adorable little imp and would cloud up whenever the mood struck her.  Only this little charmer would add a her own little twists.  She would dash through the room and dramatically throw herself onto the couch, bed, or whatever was available.  But, even that wasn’t enough for Patty.  She would detour by a box of kleenex, avail herself of a few tissues, press them to her face (leaving plenty of peeking room), and then perform the dramatic "fling" onto a piece of furniture.

I have already written several stories about Patricia but this next one happened when she was almost three years old.  It, by far, takes the prize and I decided to post this one on her birthday.

To set the stage, it was a lovely evening in a quiet little neighborhood in Southern California.  My family and I had just sat down to dinner.  Dad (the stern but fair principal of the local Jr. High) sat at the head of the table, as usual.  Patty (the imp) was parked at the foot of the table in her high chair (minus the tray) looking like an angle.  Mom (a slightly prudish, one time escrow agent, now housewife) was sitting on the side to Dad’s left.  Gene (my earnest six year old son) was sitting on the side to Dad’s right.  I (at that time a courtroom clerk at the municipal court) was sitting by my mother and to Patty’s right.  The table was neatly set; a Norman Rockwell setting if there ever was one.  There, have the picture?

My mother was an excellent cook and we all sat there with our mouths watering at the fare she had set before us.  There we were, the typical American family of the sixties.   We were a normal (except for me as I had just gone through a divorce), very wholesome (not a fowl word could ever be heard), church going  (every Sunday like clockwork) family about to have our typical, normal, wholesome, delicious dinner.  

Without warning Patty spoke up… … …   From her beautiful, pink, bow shaped mouth came words I WILL NEVER FORGET!   This sweet little child in a sing song-ie wee voice said,

“Pass the F- - - ing peas, please.”

(Only she said the actual word.)

Dad’s fork stopped two inches short of his mouth and he froze with the dazed look of a dear caught in headlights.

Mom let out a gasp that practically sucked her napkin off the her lap and threw her right hand across her heart.

Gene, then in kindergarten, fell to the floor laughing hysterically and clutching his groin (he, apparently had already learned that word somewhere).

I sat there dumbfounded as Mom and Dad slowly turned their eyes from Patty to me.  Ok, ok, in my misspent youth I did use THAT WORD once (ok often) to drive a point home or when I was angry.  But I hadn’t used THAT WORD since my children were born.

You could have heard a pin drop if not for the gasping and giggling coming from my son on the floor.

Patty immediately formed a frown on her forehead and looked irked that no one was passing her the peas.  She opened her mouth as if to speak again and that is all it took to immediately mobilize me.  I  burst out of my temporary coma and launched myself toward her.  Scooping her up into my arms I rushed to the bathroom; Patty protesting all the way. 

As I am sure you can imagine, how hard it is to have a discussion with a three year old child about the inappropriateness of a word, and questions about where she learned THAT WORD!  “What word, Mommy?” she said.  What made it worse is that I had to use THAT WORD in order to ask her.  It was awful!  I didn’t know what to do.

Well, about thirty minutes later we returned to the table.  Gene began to giggle again, but both Mom and Dad shot him a look that clammed that kid up, fast.  We made sure that Patty had plenty of peas and potatoes and roast, and everything else we could think of so she wouldn’t need to ask for anything for the rest of the meal.

Later, I informed my parents of what I had gleaned from my little talk with Patty.  Irately, Patty had said, "Mommy,  Sammy’s brothers say that all the time."  

Now, Sammy was her little playmate from next door (who had four older brothers).  Consequently, my mother (who was the caregiver while I was at work) made sure that Patty never went to Sammy’s house ever again. (Incidentally, Sammy was the kid Patty tried to test her toy thermometer on…rectally.  See  PAPER OR PLASTIC listed below).

In the first part of the story I told you about Patty’s attention seeking stunts.  Well, I tried everything to get rid of THAT WORD, but once Patty found out about all the attention she received (using THAT WORD) she used it more often.  

Consequently she was kicked out of two preschools for what they called, earthy language.  They always gave me the fish eye when I came in to pick her up.  Then she entered Kindergarten.  Needless to say, I wasn't looking forward to my trips to to the principal's office.   The first day I thought it fair to warn the teacher of "THE PROBLEM".  I don’t know what that teacher did (I was afraid to ask because if she told me I may have to report her for child abuse) but before the first quarter was over THAT WORD was gone.

POST SCRIPT:

During her college years THAT WORD showed up again and enjoyed a long run.  I think it still OCCASIONALLY pops out.  It's amazing how THAT WORD doesn't have the same ring to it once a person has children.

AND ON A PERSONAL NOTE:

Happy Birthday, darling.  With you around there was NEVER a dull second.  You kept me on my toes and gave me reason to laugh frequently.  I treasure each and every memory of you, my dear daughter.  I would not change even one little moment of my life with you.  

I am so very proud of the woman you have become.  You are a loving and devoted wife and mother who gives it all when it comes to your family.  You are an attentive and supportive daughter and have acted as my cheerleader on several occasions.  You make this world a better place and I love you so very much.  You are so F---ing awesome! 

Mom

And here's my beautiful angel now:

Watching her children at the bow of the boat...

While in Ocean City, NJ 2011

POSTS ABOUT YOUNG PATTY:
Poor Kid 1    Poor Kid 2    Poor Kid 3    Paper or Plastic   No, Gene, You Can Not Hit Her

STOP BY NEXT MONDAY FOR A TAYLORed POISONING... ... ...

 kt 8/2/11

#205- A LETTER TO SHAY AND LOGAN

This picture was taken this summer 2011.

Shay and Logan are my daughter's children.  They live on the east coast and I don't get to see them very often.  I miss them very much.


One day something happened with the young cat they named Tinker Bell.   I just had to try to put it into words and share the fun.  By the way, the name Tinker Bell didn't stick.  This is the cat I now call Kit... ... also, Cassy was a dog I had before Toby.

Wednesday, January 9, 2008

My Dearest Shay and Logan:

I want to tell you a story about something that happened to Tinkerbell (Tink) just yesterday.

I have been working on the windows in the den for about a week (I’m sure you remember it as the room off the kitchen that is a brilliant blue and white).  At the end of each day I pile all of my tools and stuff on the top shelf of my unfinished bookshelf.  It is important to the story to understand that this shelf is only supported by a few books at each corner. 

It is equally important to know that Tink has taught herself to go in and back out of the doors to the garage (as long as I do not push them shut).  She comes in from the garage by slipping her curious paw under the metal storm door tugging until she can wrench it open enough to slip her equally curious nose through the opening.  Then she pushes against the door and it easily gives way to her nudge.  Both doors gently swing back to their almost closed positions once she is in.  She simply reverses the procedure when she decides it is time to go out.  Tink has been doing this for several months now, which proves what a smart kitty she is.  This skill is something that Cassy (who should be renamed “Big Dumb Chicken” won’t even try).  The storm door scares the devil out of her (as does just about everything – but, that’s another story altogether).

Anyway, back to Tink’s story. It was late yesterday afternoon and the weather had turned cold and damp.  I was snuggled up in my recliner; reading a good book and listening to the cold north wind bring in the threatened rain.  Tink, apparently having her fill of the fickle weather, let herself quietly in.  She chirped her usual greeting (which is something like a rolling meow) and jumped up on her stool by the window and over the heater vent.  She settled in to warm herself and check out her yard for interlopers.  Suddenly, the top shelf shifted and dumped its entire contents beside Tink. 

Now, I want you to say the words one thousand one. OK, say them again only faster.  That was how much time it took for Tink to “streak” into the garage.  I have never witnessed an animal’s reaction as fast at this.  I don’t know how she did it without breaking the sound barrier but she was gone in a flash.  The only indication that she wasn’t there anymore was the loud thump on the metal door as it slammed shut when she hastily exited the room.  I didn’t actually see all of this because she was so fast my eyes couldn’t take it all in.  The sound of her knocking open the storm door only a split second after the contents slid from the shelf was all I needed.  I could the see the entire exodus in my minds eye.

There sat Tink, minding her own business, warming her body after a cold foray into the late wintery afternoon.  She is feeling safe and comfy; watching her favorite animals flit in and out of a brush pile placed by the curb.  She has no intention of returning to the frigid out doors as it is beginning to rain.  She is thinking about ways to snag one of those pesky birds when she does decide to go back out.  Suddenly, her placid world was flipped inside out (or should I say SHE was).  Menacing objects came hurling down onto her from high above.  I do not know what she thought, but I AM sure it had nothing to do with birds!

If I had been filming this entire episode I am sure all that would be seen is a blurred streak flying into the air, across the floor and out the doors.  However, if we could slow the picture down we might be able to see Tink with every hair on her body on end, her legs flailing in the air, bottle brush tail stiffened, and  panicked eyes as big as buttons on a large teddy bear.  We would be able to follow her aerobics through the air as she flipped off the stool and flew toward the closest exit.  We would be able to see her streaking across the carpet, pull the first door back and hit the storm door so hard that it made a racket as  it flew open into the garage.  We would be able to see her flee the garage under the slightly opened door and escape the attack of the unknown aliens that invaded her home.

While hysterically laughing at Tink’s reaction I straightened the shelf and returned some of it’s contents to their place.  I then went into the cold afternoon to retrieve her from whatever hiding place she had found.  I called for almost 15 minutes before she finally answered my call and waltzed up to my leg.

She did not want to return to the scene of her attack.  She pushed against me as I brought her through the door.  Her ears were flattened tightly against her head, her body was tense and her eyes were narrowed into two tiny slits.  To say that this room is no longer her favorite.  I put her down in my chair as I tried to reassure her with my voice. But, Tink was glowering at the corner of the room where the attack took place.  Growling, she leapt from the chair and slinked in counter-attack mode across the floor to the foot of her stool.  Once there she immediately started slapping the electric screw driver that laid on the floor near the heating vent.  I guess, in her mind this was the culprit that turned her happy home into a disaster area.  She beat it several times with both right and left paws to make sure the darn thing was dead!  Convinced it was no longer a threat she jumped back up onto her stool and immediately began to take a cat bath to calm her frayed nerves.

This whole scenario struck me so funny that I laughed deep belly laughs, non-stop, for almost the entire 15 minutes from start to finish.  Through all of this Cassy had first disappeared behind the chair then came out doing her “What? What?” dance when I erupted into laughter.  I can’t believe I am still l laughing about an event that only took a fraction of a second to play out.  

I love you all and hope you enjoyed my story.

Love,
Grammy

7/2011

YEAH!  ...IT'S COMING UP...BE SURE TO BE HERE NEXT MONDAY FOR ..."OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF BABES."  


AND, WHILE YOU ARE AT IT PUT A BIG SMILEY FACE ON SEPTEMBER 16TH FOR THE  "Mini Skirts and Laughter Lines Launch Party." 

#204-"BOO!, BUG-A-BOO, T0BY, AND A KITTY TOO!"

PARDON THE BRIEF INTERRUPTION:  Ok, fishducky, don't go all postal on me.  "A Miracle" accidentally posted and I had to yank it off.  It won't post until October 10th, sorry, kiddo  kt 

Gene William, Age 4 (he is 15 now).

You all know what I mean when I refer to the “startle reflex,” don’t you?  Well, mine is extremely more developed than most.  For example, one of my grandson’s favorite pastime (when he was a little kid) was to slip up on me and say, “BOO!”  At that, I would fling whatever was in my hands up into the air, jump about a foot off of the floor, shoot my arms out, and shriek.  Gene William found this hilarious.  Over time he realized that he didn’t even have to say boo but just sneak up and stand close to me to get almost the same reaction.  In fact, he could get that reaction several times in a row as long as I didn’t know he was lurking close by.   There have been times when I just turned around and jumped out of my skin because I wasn’t expecting him to be behind me.  The degree of the “FREAK OUT” would be dictated by the strength of whatever I was concentrating on, prior to the surprise.

I have always had this over-reaction to surprises of this nature and have often wondered what would happen if a truly BAD guy snuck up on me.   I would probably do the same thing and startle the BAD guy who would reflexively shoot me.  Never would I ever be composed enough to grab something and protect myself.  Knowing me, I would simply go off like an automatic fire alarm and shower said BAD guy with spittle and what ever was in my hands at the time (hopefully an anvil or frying pan).

All of this is being told to you to help you envision a short episode lasting about 3 seconds which developed into a "startle reflex" marathon.  I was sitting here at my computer typing away; deeply involved with what I was writing.  Suddenly, something brushed against my foot and bit my little piggy.   I kid you not, I came up out of my chair so fast that both knees slammed into the desk and I left the chair like a person propelled out of a cannon.  I was across the room and at the door when I spotted Bug-A-Boo, my grandchildren’s ferret. 

Apparently, Bug-A-Boo was feeling his oats as he threw all four legs out like a scared cat, sprang from the floor,  his body making this funny U shape, and took off like his tail was on fire.  Out the door he flew.  Apparently, one of the kids had not completely fastened his cage door when they were visiting him (Yes, LeAnna has moved on but the critters are still here because she does not have a place to keep them…… BUMMER!) 

GREAT!  Now I had to search the house for a ferret who could be almost anywhere in this 9 room house.  This part of the event took a few minutes.  I was on  my hand and knees looking under my Dad's bed,  sweetly calling, “Bug-A-Boo, Bug-a-Boo, here, Bug-a-Boo,” when something pounced on my rear.  Since I was concentrating on Bug-a-Boo I let out a yelp for the second time in 3 minutes.  Even though it seems impossible, I levitated with all of my body off the floor at the same time like someone in a Chris Angle stage show.  It was Toby who had decided to enter the fray.

Seeing Toby, the ferret went up onto its back legs and clunked his head on one of the slats, coiled it‘s body onto itself and lunged out from under my dad's bed.  He loped in that weird way that ferrets do where their back legs catch up to the front legs and take on the look of an inchworm on speed.  But, Bug-a-Boo’s back legs not only caught up with his front legs, they passed them.  This caused him to do a funny flip and roll.  I was impressed because he continued at break neck speed to the back of the house with Toby fast on his heels.  I was right behind Toby (Ok, lagging a bit) and we took on the appearance of a strange, fast moving, circus parade (obviously, I was the clown).

When I arrived at the door of the guest bedroom, Bug-a-Boo was under that bed and Toby was half under the bed with his behind in the air.  Just as I arrived a frightened kitten (Yes, LeAnna added another pet to her menagerie) ran from under the bed and up my pants leg to my chest.  Her sharp little claws laying down tracks as she ran up me like a tree.  Reaching my shoulders she sprang for the top of a recliner, bounced off it, and disappeared into the kitchen.  Of course, I uttered yelp number 3 at the surprise and YELP numbers 4 and 5 at the tracks being laid down on my body.

Toby was so excited he didn’t know which animal to pursue so he kept looking back and forth from the bedroom to the kitchen.  Finally, he decided that the kitten was going to be his new target so off he went.  I managed to get Bug-a-Boo out from under the bed, toss him in his cage, and slam home the door.  Then I took off for the crashing sounds coming from the front room.

When I reached the front room a recliner was over turned (apparently when the kitten jumped to the back and Toby hit it in hot pursuit).   Several pictures on various tables were knocked over, the kitten had climbed Kit's cat tree to the very top, and laid there calmly looking down at Toby.   Toby was in a recliner by the cat tree barking, and wagging his tail and butt (always a tandem act) in celebration of a jolly good time.   Grabbing Toby, I slapped the leash on him and led him out the back door.  As I passed through the den I looked up to the mouse enclosure half expecting one of them to pounce on me as I passed by.  Thank God they were all in their terrarium merrily running to nowhere on their wheel (come to think of it... ...
it seems to me that this was exactly what I was doing for the past 5 to 6 minutes).

Once I got Toby outside I collected the kitten, deposited her in the den, closed the door, went to the front room, righted the recliner/pictures, and sat down to catch my breath.  It was at that moment that the front door burst open with a bang and my two youngest great grand children entered the house clamoring like a troop of crazed monkeys.

Having used up my allotment of startle reflexes I just sat there wondering if Tequila was a possible answer to my problems.

 kt 7/2011

SEE YOU NEXT MONDAY FOR...... #205 - "A LETTER TO SHAY AND LOGAN"
  BE SURE TO WRITE THE 8/29 ON YOU CALENDAR FOR MY FAVORITE STORY.   

P. S.  Since I wrote this Leanna, kids, and menagerie have moved on.

ANOTHER P.S. TO FISHDUCKEY:

ABOUT YOUR BRAIN, I FOUND IT!  THAT STUPID GOAT ATE IT AND THEN WOOFED IT UP LATER ON MELYNDA'S LAWN.  IT MAY NEED A GOOD WASHING BUT IT SHOULD BE GOOD TO GO.

For those of you who think I have gone around the bend you need to read

Deer Me and Crazy Challenge (particularly the answer to #9 and fishducky's comment).