#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

#24-PUSSY CAT PERILS

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 was 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


PS.
Since this was posted one more peril has been added to Kit's life, and it goes by the name of TOBY!

Look at THAT fool in the background.
He's tried to climb this tree three times.
This is ME ignoring HIM!

Guess what happened to the ladder I was standing on to take this picture.  Yep, one leg went into a mole hole and dumped me on the ground.  Kit looked on (and I think she was smiling) and Toby smothered me with doggy kisses.

kt  3/2011

#23 "A STICKY SITUATION"

     I just completed another home project.  I am glad to say that it went smoothly (and my cat was unharmed).  This time I had to cut, trim and fit a back splash above and beside the sink in my bathroom.  There is always the potential for mishaps since I was using sharp tools.  But nothing was pierced, slashed, or severed.

     Working with quick drying adhesive was daunting but everything went off without a hitch UNTIL I STEPPED INTO A 
                                                     GLOB OF GLUE!

     Since I was wearing sox (and no shoes) I didn’t notice my impending dilemma.   I stood there for a few minutes holding up a panel with each arm, until the adhesive set (key word).   It didn’t take long.  When I started to move my foot I noticed a slight (ok, big) problem.  My left foot was glued into place.

     The adhesive had leached through my sock and glued my sock and (more importantly) my left foot to the floor. 

     I hadn’t put newspapers down because the floor was bare, since I removed the linoleum to put down new floor covering (ahhh, another project in my future).  Hence, I wasn’t going  anywhere, soon.

     The phone was setting on the tank of the toilet and I could have called 911, but I could imagine their response:

          Dispatch:          “Dispatch to EMT 1”

              EMT 1:          “Hey, Flo, whatcha got?”
          Dispatch:          “It’s Ms. T, again!”

              EMT 1:          “What'd she do this time?”

          Dispatch:         “Glued her foot to the floor!”

             EMT 1:                  (a chorus of laughter)

         Dispatch:          “Otis, your mike is open.”

             EMT 1:          “Sorry, (chuckle) we’ll get right over there (chuckle)”.

      No, way was I calling 911!     

     I took some contortions to reach the finger polish remover in the cupboard over the toilet, and a whole bottle of remover to extricate the sock from the floor (and my foot).  Now there’s nice clean shiny place on the ball of my foot.  I guess I sucked all the poison out of it like that stuff advertised on TV.  Maybe I should do the whole foot (or both feet).  Better yet, maybe I should market it.

kt 2010

#23-A STICKY SITUATION

 I just completed another home project.  I am glad to say that it went smoothly (and, this time, my cat was unharmed).  On this project I had to cut, trim and fit a back splash above and beside the sink in my bathroom.  There is always the potential for mishaps since I was using sharp tools.  But nothing was pierced, slashed, or severed.

     Working with quick drying adhesive was daunting but everything went off without a hitch UNTIL I STEPPED INTO A GLOB OF GLUE that had dropped from my carelessly placed adhesive gun.

     Since I was wearing sox (and no shoes) I didn’t notice my impending dilemma.   I stood there for a few minutes holding up a panel with each arm, until the adhesive set (key word).   It didn’t take long.  When I started to move my foot I noticed a slight (ok, big) problem.  My left foot was glued into place.

     The adhesive had leached through my sock and glued my sock and (more importantly) my left foot to the floor. 

     I hadn’t put newspapers down because the floor was bare, since I removed the linoleum to put down new floor covering (ahhh, another project in my future).  Hence, I wasn’t going  anywhere, soon.

     My cell phone was setting on the tank of the toilet and I could have called 911, but I could imagine their response:

           Dispatch:          “Dispatch to EMT 1”

              EMT 1:          “Hey, Flo, whatcha got?”

          Dispatch:          “It’s Ms. T, again!”

              EMT 1:          “What'd she do this time?”

          Dispatch:         “Glued her foot to the floor!”

             EMT 1:                  (a chorus of laughter)

         Dispatch:          “Otis, your mike is still open.”

             EMT 1:          “Sorry, (chuckle) we’ll get right over there (chuckle)”.

      No, way was I calling 911!     

     It took some contortions to reach the finger polish remover in the cupboard over the toilet, (fortunately I have practiced contortions in my bathroom before see #47) and a whole bottle of remover to extricate the sock from the floor (and my foot).  Now there’s nice clean shiny place on the ball of my foot.  I guess I sucked all the poison out of it like that stuff advertised on TV.  Maybe I should do the whole foot (or both feet).  Better yet, maybe I should market it.

kt 2010 

#22 THINGS I HAVE LEARNED (THE HARD WAY )

Originally I started out hoping I could of think of ten STUPID things I have done during my lifetime.  Unfortunately, these twenty are just the tip of the iceberg!

  1.   Don’t step up on a tall step when you have to pee. 

  2.   Check out which way the staples come out of a staple gun before

        you use it (or you can staple your work glove to your palm = 

        future blog).

  3.   Don’t carry a ladder through a room with a ceiling fan (at least not upright).

  4.   Don’t try to fry eggs on your glass stove top.

  5.   Speaking of eggs.  Don’t boil eggs in the microwave, either.

  6.   Don’t touch the drill bit right after you use it (unless you like pain).

  7.   Circular saws can cut through sawhorses (and lots of other GOOD stuff). 

  8.   Lawnmowers can throw a rock against a tree so hard that the rock can ricochet off

        (and hit you in the head). 

  9.   But, even more important, lawnmower blades can chop up grass shears 

        (and shoot them out the side as lethal projectiles - just ask my cat).

10.  A tarantula bite feels like a bee sting (and visa versa).

11.  Metal canoes can be bent in half (try not to be in them when they do).

12.  Don’t make a swimsuit out of terry cloth (think about it).

13.  Gasoline vapor ignites, (in a big flash) not the liquid gas.

14.  Eyebrows can be burned off by ignited gasoline vapor.

15.  You can’t paper train a male dog, (unless you, also, hang a paper on the wall).

16.  And while I am on the subject of pets, no matter how hard you try you can't get a cat to
       blow its nose.
17.  Copper bottom pans can melt off onto the burner (if you get them hot enough).

18.  Also, skillets are no good after they catch on fire (at least they stick like crazy).

19.  Paper plates don’t fare well in the dishwasher (they kind of clog up the works).

20.  Don’t stand on the front porch and watch electricity, from lightening, travel up 

        the wet sidewalk toward you (unless you want an electrifying experience).

Yes!  I have first hand experience with EVERY one.

kt 2010

#21-CUTE KID'S PROUD MOMENT (repost)

My son, Gene, was a cute little kid that shared EVERYTHING.  He is in his 40’s now, but when he was in his 2s he had to have major surgery (because of a inguinal hernia).  As you would expect this was a HUGH deal to him as it was to all of us.  The operation went fine and Gene recovered nicely.  However, it did direct his attention to the incision area between his legs. 

One day we were in the local department store in downtown Indio, California.  His incision was completely healed but his interest wasn’t.

An older lady approached us down the main isle.  She saw my son (who seemed to always draw the attention of older women).  She immediately smiled at him.  She bent down to his level and started talking to him. 

My, son, a very friendly open and sunny kid, smiled back at the lady and said, “Ewe wan-a see my op-ra-tion?”

Before I could react, the older lady said, “Yes.”  Then my son immediately yanked his pants to the floor and proudly thrust his pelvis forward. He, also, had the presence of mind to adjust his small package to the side so the lady could have a clear view.

The poor woman instantly turned scarlet, her hand flew to her chest, and she got up so fast that I thought she would feint.  She quickly bustled away (never looking back once).

My unfazed son pulled up his pants and we went on our way.  I may be warped but I got the giggles, which shortly thereafter, broke out in unrestrained laughter (particularly when I remembered the look of pride on his face as he shared his op-ra-tion).

kt 2010

#21 CUTE KID'S PROUD MOMENT

Cute Kid

My son, Gene, was a cute little kid that shared EVERYTHING.  He is in his 40’s now, but when he was in his 2s he had to have major surgery (because of a inguinal hernia).  As you would expect this was a HUGH deal to him as it was to all of us.  The operation went fine and Gene recovered nicely.  However, it did direct his attention to the incision area between his legs. 

One day we were in the local department store in downtown Indio, California.  His incision was completely healed but his interest wasn’t.

An older lady approached us down the main isle.  She saw my son (who seemed to always draw the attention of older women).  She immediately smiled at him.  She bent down to his level and started
talking to him. 

My, son, a very friendly open and sunny kid, smiled back at the lady and said, “Ewe wan-a see my op-ra-tion?”

Before I could react, the older lady said, “Yes.”  Then my son immediately yanked his pants to the floor and proudly thrust his pelvis forward. He, also, had the presence of mind to adjust his small package to the side so the lady could have a clear view.

The poor woman instantly turned scarlet, her hand flew to her chest, and she got up so fast that I thought she would feint.  She quickly bustled away (never looking back once).

My unfazed son pulled up his pants and we went on our way.  I may be warped but I got the giggles, which shortly thereafter, broke out in unrestrained laughter (particularly when I rememberd the look of pride on his face as he shared his op-ra-tion).

kt 2010

#20 "RECIPE FOR DISASTER"

Mannnn, what a TWIT!

INGREDIENTS:

1 accident-prone disaster designer

1 nightgown on disaster designer

1 - 3 matches

1 small (tattered) American Flag in need of disposal




TIME:  approximately 60 seconds

PROCEDURE:

1.  Take all ingredients out the back door because it is early and you are still in your nightgown.

2.  Strike the match, let wind blow it out.  Strike another 2 matches at the same time.

3.  Hold the matches to lowest corner of the flag (that is dangling from your fingertips).

4.  Hold the burning flag out in front of you.

5.  Realize that eventually the fire will burn your hand.

6.  Look around for options (as to where you can lay the flag).

7.  Drop your right arm (the one extending the burning flag) a little bit as you look around.

8.  Feel heat on your leg.

9.  Look down to see your nightgown on fire (just below the knee).

10.  Drop the burning flag.

11.  Brush the flames (on the gown) out with your hand.

12.  Discover the burned flag remnants are made of something that sticks to your fingers (and leg).

13.  Scrape the goop off your burning fingers with a fingernail on your left hand.

14.  Transfer molten flag remnant to fingernail of left hand.

15.  Watch fingernail melt as goop cools.

16.  Shake you head at your stupidity as you enter the house.

17.  Put burn salve on the small round burn in your leg and on two burned fingers of your right hand.

19.  Watch the white blister forming on the end of your ring finger.

20.  Cut the end of the melted fingernail on your left hand.

21.  Sit down in your recliner and ponder the burned hole in your favorite nightgown.
22.  Give thanks to God that your nightgown was flame RESISTANT.
23.  Smile to yourself as you realize that this fiasco is perfect fodder for your next blog.


(100% TRUE)


kt 2010 (shortly after the 4th of July)

#20-FRIDAY FLASH BACKS (Recipe for Disaster)

                                                              INGREDIENTS

                                           1 accident-prone Master Disaster Designer

                                               1 nightgown on disaster designer

                                               1 - 3 matches

                                               1 small (tattered) American Flag in need of disposal

 TIME  

                                                              approximately 60 seconds

 PROCEDURE

1.  Take all ingredients out the back door (because it is early and you are still in your nightgown).

2.  Strike the match, let wind blow it out.  Strike another 2 matches at the same time.

3.  Hold the matches to lowest corner of the flag (that is dangling from your fingertips).

4.  Hold the burning flag out in front of you.

5.  Realize that eventually the flames will burn your hand.

6.  Quickly look around for options (as to where you can lay the flag).

7.  Drop your right arm (the one extending the burning flag) a little bit as you look around.

8.  Feel heat on your leg.

9.  Look down to see your nightgown on fire (just below the knee).

10.  Drop the burning flag.

11.  Brush the flames (on the gown) out with your hand.

12.  Discover the burned flag remnants are made of something that sticks to your fingers (and leg).

13.  Scrape the goop off your burning fingers with a fingernail on your left hand.

14.  Transfer molten flag remnant to fingernail of left hand.

15.  Watch fingernail melt as goop cools.

16.  Shake you head at your stupidity as you enter the house.

17.  Put burn salve on the small round burn in your leg and on two burned fingers of your right hand.

19.  Watch the white blister forming on the end of your ring finger.

20.  Cut the end of the melted fingernail on your left hand.

21.  Sit down in your recliner and ponder the burned hole in your favorite nightgown.

22.  Give thanks to God that your nightgown was flame RESISTANT.

23.  Smile to yourself as you realize that this fiasco is perfect fodder for your next blog.

kt 2010 

#19 FOR ONCE, I HAD A COMEBACK

   

I was before HER!

On August 4^th I was returning from a visit to see my daughter in Connecticut.  It so happens that there were several storms
in the Midwest and flights were being delayed all over the place.  The Plane I was on left one hour late.

I arrived in Chicago, (my first stop) to change planes.  However, after a mad dash to the end of a different concourse I find that the plane I was supposed to catch had just pushed off.

The ticket agent informed that there was another plane going to Kansas City TWO concourses over, and, I had to hurry.   

So, I raced back past the concourse where I disembarked and headed for the next one.  Of course each gate was 
                                                       located at the end of each of these concourses.

Winded, and already suffering from shin splints, I limped up to the counter.  The agent finished with the person he was helping and asked me if I needed to be ticked for this plane (which was already boarding). 

I plopped my old ticket down and struggled to utter, "Uh Huh."  Suddenly, the lady standing a couple of feet to my left  exploded and went into a loud verbal assault that got the attention of everyone within 100 yards.

“I was before HER!” she screamed, and pushed in beside me.   She railed on (and on) about how she had been waiting for FOUR HOURS for her flight., was going to report him, etc. 

I asked her to calm down (and made a few outer mild comments aimed at disarming her) and she directed her ire at me.  You see SHE was from the “STATE DEPARTMENT” and required immediate attention (which ended up being an inane question).

I stepped back, gestured toward the counter and said, “Please, go ahead.  I am a Lieutenant on the Kansas City Police Department and I can use the time to contact my watch commander to inform him that YOU are on the way to our FAIR city.”

She froze there for a minute.  

The agent kept his head down but I could see there was a slight up turn at the corners of his mouth.   After she left he looked up at me and asked, “Are you really a police officer?”

I answered, “Not even close.  But, wasn’t that fun!”  He laughed and finished my ticket.


Come back next week for "RECIPE FOR DISASTER!"

kt 8/4/2010

#18 Poor Kid Wasn’t Even A Little Bit Country (part 3 of 3)

                                                                        

(This is the last in a series of 3 about my daughter adjusting to life in a small rural town)


Our first Easter in Lamar, I bought 6 bantam chickens for Patty and her brother.  There were four females and two roosters.  Both kids delighted with the chicks and helped raise them.  That first winter was a cold one and we did not have a heater in the chicken pen so we moved them into the kitchen.  I found a large box at the furniture store and set up a home 
                                                      away from home for our charges. 

The young chickens had all the comforts of home.  We stuck rods through the cardboard sides for them to roost upon.  Water and plenty of food was deposited in jar lids.  We even cut out little doors so we could peek in on them.                       

One day I heard a big ruckus coming from the box.  I peeked in to see what they were all frazzled about.  They seemed to be attending to one particular chick, named Henrietta.  I watched intently as she finally deposited one tiny egg in the straw.  When I called Patty and showed her the egg she was enthralled.

The next afternoon they started up another hullabaloo so I ran and got Patty so she could watch.  This time it was Peepers, Patty’s favorite, which was doing her dance.  We watched and then there it was lying in the straw.

Patty, gasped, stomped out of the kitchen and slammed the door to her room.

I knocked on her door, went into her room, and asked her what was wrong.

Patty, replied in a disgusted voice, “Did you see where that egg came from?  I’m NEVER eating eggs again!”  To myself I thought, “Wonder what she will refuse to eat when I let the eggs hatch?”

I also wondered how long it would take a 10 year old child to starve to death?

kt 2010

           

#17 Poor Kid Wasn't Even a Little Bit Country (part 2 of 3)

                                                  

(this is a series of 3....scroll down and start with #1)

One afternoon, my daughter, Patty, came racing into the kitchen and exclaimed, “Someone is throwing things at me!”

Of course I was skeptical, but my daughter seemed to be very sure so I followed her into the yard.

She showed me where she was standing when an object had struck her on the back.  We walked around the yard and surrounding area.  Not even one hidden prankster could be found.  Satisfied, I went back into the house.

Minutes later she came flying back into the house.    

She was REALLY angry this time.  Patty was sputtering, pointing toward the back yard, and stomping her feet shouting,  “Someone IS out there!”.

So, we took off again for the back yard (which was about 3 acres of bushes, oak trees and brush).  Another complete search revealed no lurking ambushers.  As we were heading back to the house I heard a whizzing sound; like something flying through the air.  Then I heard an object hit the side of the garage.

Patty, (with hands on hips) glared at me and growled, “SEE!”

Then another object hit me on the head.  That was when I realized that the flying objects were acorns from this GIANT, 200 year old, oak tree which stood in the middle of our back yard.  Acorns would drop from a great height, careen off a branch and take off like a missile.

When the culprit was revealed, I laughed.  Patty just stomped into the house muttering something like, “I really hate it here!”



kt 2010

                

#16 Poor Kid Wasn’t Even A Little Bit Country (part 1 of 3)

                               

Patty          

The next 3 stores are TRUE stories about my 10-year-old daughter, Patty, and her problems adjusting from life in Los Angeles to living in the small rural town of Lamar, MO.

It was 1976 and Patty was invited to spend the night with a new friend.  Now, Patty had been over to this girl’s house numerous times.  One of their favorite things to do, while there,  was to play with a calf the family kept in the side yard.  His name was  (key word) Billy.

Somewhere around 6:30 PM I got a frantic call from my daughter.            

She was sobbing hysterically and begging me to come and get her.  I was alarmed by her plaintiff cries and tried to get her to tell me the problem.  She finally blurted out, “Mom, please come and get me.  NOW!  These people EAT THEIR PETS!”

I later found out that as she was forking a piece of beef into her mouth someone said, “Isn’t BILLY good!  I guess the realization hit her the moment she started to chew.  I’ll bet you can guess what happened next!

kt 2010