#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).

#157-TOTALLY TUBULAR TUESDAY (Jasper Jacob Laird)

Somewhere around 1972 we had a Beagle named Jasper.  He was one of the stubbornness dogs I have ever owned (unless Toby takes over that dubious honor).

This is Jasper and my son, Gene.
they had just won the dog show.

I don’t remember where or how we acquired Jasper, but I do remember he was the cutest little guy.  I went about my usual routine teaching him to sit, come, stay, and potty on a paper (on the back porch).  All was going fine until he got older  You see, he was the first male dog I had ever had.  Eventually, the errors of my ways were made evident.

One day I was in the kitchen when Jasper went to his potty to relieve himself.  That’s when I got the big surprise.  Jasper was raising his leg and peeing on the wall.  The urine then ran down the wall and onto the paper (well, at least it ended up on the paper).  At first I just taped a newspaper (backed by plastic) on the wall.  But, that was only a temporarily fix until I retrained him to go outside.

Jasper liked the cat post, too!

One month later, Jasper, was house broken and doing his business outside.  But, this caused another problem.  I was sharing  a duplex with my parents.  Half of the yard was theirs and half was mine.  Now just try to explain this to a young Beagle.  Mother’s half was edged by rose bushes, which displayed the most beautiful roses in a myriad of colors and types.  Mom loved her roses (and so did Jasper).

I was home on the Saturday mother first caught Jasper in her roses.  He was gleefully digging at the roots.  Now, there were plenty of other places Jasper could have dug, but he chose the rose garden.  I think he must have seen my mother digging in her the roses, making those careful little bowls around each one, and decided to join in.  When I heard Mom yell at Jasper I looked out the window to see her swiping at him with a broom.  He just thought it was some kind of game. 

Mom tried everything to keep him out of her roses.  But, as a continuation of the game he began to run by the bushes, pluck a flower and play toss and fetch with it.

She came up with all kinds of ideas to discourage Jasper, but the funniest one was when she bought a huge shaker of cyanine pepper.  She sprinkled the pepper liberally all throughout the rose garden.

It didn’t take long to see and hear that this wasn’t going to work.  Hearing Jasper whimpering and sneezing, I went out the back door to find him feverishly digging in Mom’s flower bed.  His eyes were beet  red and he was sneezing and wheezing like an aging pipe organ.  Mother came out about the same time I did, threw up her hands, and said,  “I’ve had it!  He’s going on a chain as soon as I can get one!”

That is when I decided that Jasper needed a new home.  I thought it would be crewel to chain such an active young dog.  So, (since he had good papers) I found him a home at a local stud farm.  I am sure Jasper never missed us!  But we missed him (especially my son)!  
kt 3/2011

#156-SO, WHO'S THE REAL ANIMAL HERE?

MAX

About fifteen years ago I had a cat named Mad Max.  He was a crazy black cat who was a riot.  I went to the pound to get a kitten for my dog, Chelsea, (a hyper toy poodle) who needed a playful companion.

When I looked around the cat enclosures at the pound there were several cats but none caught my fancy.  As I was walking out, two little black legs shot out of a bottom cage and snagged my jeans.  Most of the bottom cages were empty and I hadn't seen the little squirt.

I asked the caretaker if I could see the attention seeking cat and she opened the cage.  At that very moment this kitten sprinted out of the cage, jumped up onto her desk, swatted at a ball on top of the desk and sent the ball flying across the room.  He took off after the ball (which had caromed into another room) and disappeared.  All of this took only a matter of seconds.  With a big smile on my face I said to the lady, "If you can catch him, that's the one I want!"

CHELSEA

Well, hyper Chelsey and Mad Max were a match made in heaven.  The wrestled and tussled and played their way into my heart.  Several years later, I had to give Chelsey to my Aunt Zelda (who had just lost her dog of 15 years).  I had let Chelsey stay with her while I was on vacation and Aunt Zelda started to cry when I came to pick Chelsey up.  I just couldn't leave with my dog so Chelsey became Aunt Zelda's dog.

Max was lonely and ended up having to cope with a new dog, Luke, my German Shepherd.  But I have yet to get to the story I wanted to tell you about Mad Max.

SIMON

About 8 years ago I was keeping my son's Rhodesian Ridgeback, Simon, and trying to find him a home.  He was way too rough for the young children in my son's home so the dog had to go.

Max had made friends with Luke, but  Simon was another matter.  Simon wanted to EAT Max (you see, Ridgebacks were originally bread to hunt lions).

Simon had only been here for a few days when I heard a terrible ruckus out in the back yard.  I looked out to see that Simon had Max down on the ground and it looked as though he was killing him.  Max was screaming and putting up a valiant fight while Luke looked on, confused by Simon's attack.

I thundered through the house and out the back door.  I yelled Simon, NO!  But, Simon ignored me.  The only thing I could think of to do was to pull ALPHA on Simon.  I attacked him growling and snarling.  I bit him hard, he yelped and he let go of Max.  I snatched Max up immediately and Max was not out of his defense mode yet, as Max bit and clawed me on the arm.  Awhhhh $#:!.

First I wrapped Max up in a large towel and put him in a carrier, in the car.  Then I cleaned the bite and scratch wound as best I could and headed for the vet. (about 40 minutes away).  I had neglected to check to see if I had enough gas, and yes, you guessed it, I didn't.  Half way there I ran out of gas and had to call for roadside assistance.

After an hour by the side of the road,  several complaints by my father (who had accompanied me) and feline vocalizations (of the worst kind) we were on our way again.  When I arrived at the vets. I explained the situation (he broke into a big grin when I told him about biting Simon).  Incidentally the vet. did (jokingly) suggest that I might need to bring Simon by for shots, too.   I left max with the comedic vet. and headed for the hospital emergency room to have the bite taken care of.


Well, the emergency staff cleaned up the bite (which took two stitches), gave me a shot and shared the story throughout the hospital.

Max was OK, I was OK, and Simon was a little cowed when he saw me,  Luke was wondering if we were going to play that fun game again and Dad just shook his head.
kt 3/2011

#152-TOTALLY TUBULARY TUESDAY(Toby)

Uhhhh, Hi.  My name is Totally Tubular Toby; you can call me Toby.  I think I'm a people, but my mom keeps calling me "her baby".  Is a "her baby" people?  Her father calls me "that dog."  When I make mistakes she calls me other names (but I don't think I should tell you).  This world is so hard to understand.


Today I have a very scary and confusing story to tell you.

You'd look sad too if you went through what I just went through!

The other morning my mom had a very serious look on her face.  She held me and hugged me, but I just squirmed and chewed on her shirt sleeve because I didn't want any of her gushy, gooey, lovey, dovey, stuff that early in the morning.


Mornings are for romping, chasing the cat, getting into as much trouble as possible, and eating.  This is when I knew something was up.  Mom wasn't fixing my food.  PANIC ATTACK!  WHY ISN'T MOM FIXING FOOD?  I tried to tell her my fear as I cried, "WHERE IS MY FOOD?  MOM, YOU KNOW HOW I LIKE FOOD!  I NEED FOOD, NOW!"  She ignored me (well, she tried anyway, I'm kinda hard to ignore when I hangin' onto her pant leg with my teeth).


Finally, she got my blanky out of that darned kennel, picked me up and headed for the "ride" (STILL NO FOOD!).  We got into the "ride" and went to the place of smells.  It is a place that stinks of a lot of different kinds of animals along with a yucky smell that I can't quite put my nose to (not that I'd want to. Well, maybe).  


I remember being there before and, as I recall, I was poked and prodded and then felt a sharp pain in my neck.  Mom just stood in the corner and kept saying, "You're ok, you're ok."  Well, if having something shoved up your you know what is ok then I'd hate to see what she thinks is NOT ok.


Back to the other day.  We rode in the "ride" until we got to the place of smells.
Mom handed me over to a complete stranger (along with my blanky) and walked away...are you reading this SHE WALKED AWAY!  A COMPLETE STRANGER!  I set up such a howl that it made her stop for a second, then she went on out the door.  I screamed and accidentally went potty on the lady.


My blanky and I were put into this kennel (without a treat, Mom always give me a treat when she puts me in one at home...THAT DOES IT!  NO FOOD!  NO TREAT!  I'M IN HELL!) and there I sat along with a few other unfortunates.  Each one of them was as confused as I was.  I tried to talk to them but they weren't interested.  This one "baby" looked really sad.  He said he thought he was in here because he pottied on his mom's best rug.  (OMG it that why I'm here?  It's all your fault Heathcliff!  You're the one who told me I could do it!  Growl!)

I didn't mean to...honest!

The lady came back in and took me to a room of even more awful smells and that is the last I remember until I woke up.   My head felt strange and so did my lower body.  They had a thing around my neck to keep me from checking out why I felt funny down there.  In fact it took me a while to figure out why I couldn't see if my feet and tail were still there (Could I survive with just a head?  Sure, as long as I could eat...eat?...suddenly I didn't care about food...weird, huh?).

Mom finally came to pick me up (PHEW!) and I pottied all over the lady again as she handed me off (on purpose, take that, lady!).   Mom wrapped me in my blanky and took me to the "ride."  That is when I got more of the  gushy, gooey, lovey, dovey, stuff.   And, boy did I want it this time.  When we got back to my home Mom and I cuddled and slept the rest of the afternoon.  For some reason I suddenly liked the gushy, gooey, lovey, dovey, stuff.

I still don't know what happened, but I think my bark is higher that it used to be and there is less to lick than before.  Heathcliff seemed to know where I was going.  Mom told HIM, but not me!  By the way, Heathcliff, thanks for the note.  I AM milking it for all it's worth.

Toby

kt 2011

#72-SURPRISED KITTY

I ABSOLUTELY   L  O  V  E   CATS!



THIS IS MY VERY FAVORITE YOU TUBE VIDEO!  There are other ones on this site so be sure you go to the Panda.  It is my #2 favorite.  However, you go to the others at your own risk.  There is one on there called "I'm a kitty cat," that is very annoying.


BE SURE TO READ #75 (12/21) AND #80 (12/26).  They are my only Christmas stories.


kt2010

#24 PUSSY CAT PERILS

(My Cat will be featured in several of my blogs so I may as well introduce you to her).

 I have a Cat named “Kit.”  No, not “Kit-Kat", but just KIT.  The name works for her.  I found her under my truck one day when I was visiting my son and his family.  This small tortoise shell kitten was apparently waiting there for me to find her and take her home.  We were a match from day one.

She is a smart cat and learned how to let herself in and out of my back door.  When she first comes in she yowels at me and tells me about her day, outside.  Occasionally, she brings me trophies.  One time she brought in a half eaten bird.  Yes, I have talked to her about that. She put the darned thing in her food dish.  That was just plain gross!  But, at least she knew where it went.

Several times she brought live birds into the house.  I should be happy because she apparently listened to my lecture about not killing birds.  However, the release of a flying creatures in the house causes a big hullabaloo.  It is usually a race to see who can catch the bird first.  So far I am winning! (5 to 1)  She also released one small bunny rabbit which took US thirty minutes to catch.  I released him (the bunny) outside, and even though winded (both of us, actually) he streaked away.

Kit has been subjected to being on the edge of the fall-out from my many projects.  She has been spray painted, chased by a run away sander, struck by falling debris, startled by wayward ladders, and forgotten on top of my roof (NOT MY FAULT, she followed me up there).  Yet she still comes home.  However, she now watches my projects from a vast distance (like I said, she is very smart cat).  She is like a best friend.


I have a best friend like that.  Her name is Carol.  Although I have never spray painted her or stranded her on my roof top, I know she will always be there for me, no matter what.

See blog # 13 for the sander episode. (She will also be featured in future blogs, I’m sure).


kt 2010