Friday, March 31, 2006

And the song of the moment is...

"Oh, I just lost my underwear, I don't care, I'll go bare, 'Bye, 'Bye Longjohns! They weren't very good to me, Tickled me, Hee Hee Hee, 'Bye, 'Bye Longjohns!
The song goes on for a couple more verses in the same vein... To be sung with gleeful gusto.
When I learned it as a small child, in the Brownies of all places, It was ever so vaguely risque. Now my subconscious trots it out whenever its making a point about some personal milestone I've reached. Giving myself permission to forgive and ultimately file, in those copious mental archives, certain Life Experiences.
Blessings to those who need Everyone Says as their guidebook to life. While I would regret offending Everyone, I've not personally made their acquaintance. MY world is filled with fascinating, enlightening, sometimes infuriating, individuals.

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Wednesday Morning wake-up

This morning the water heater died. While I was standing in the shower. Washing my hair. Contrary to those old courtship myths, the poor guy who gets turned down for a date in favor of "washing my hair", isn't always being told he's an activity of last resort, after the truly mundane chores of personal hygeine. Washing one's hair, at least for those of us with a yard or so of it to deal with, can be a relaxing ritual. Its a zen moment, where one can luxuriate in the feel of warm water streaming over one's scalp, and flowing down one's back, wetting the hair down, and feeling the texture change from slippery silk, to heavy, weighted with water. The tactile feel of shampoo, sticky at first, then lathering into great foamy suds. And the scent... If you read the ingredient list on most shampoos, from the "store brand" to those sold by the salons, they're remarkably similar--except for the scent. Hair products come in as many exotic scents as one could wish, and for as vaired prices. Thanks to a traumatic childhood encounter, I avoid strawberry, but quite like sandalwood. Mostly I prefer something neutral, that won't compete with my perfume, or offend the various felines I encounter. So there I was, enjoying a moment of sheer hedonism, not thinking of much at all, other than letting the stress of the last week flow down the drain with the soapsuds, and laughing to myself as I remembered an email from a friend. I cherish my time in the shower. After spending nearly a month in cosy quarters, where a truly hot shower is a wistful fantasy, and "water pressure" is euphemistic at best, I treasure shower time. It is the one pleasure which occasionally makes me question my passion for certain remote locations. I was feeling quite pleasantly grounded, and almost ready to start rinsing off the suds, when I noticed the water was becoming suspiciously cool. I'd heard my housemate get up and start moving round, so I thought for a moment she'd turned on the water. Old houses have some peculiar plumbing arrangements. But no. The water rapidly went from pleasantly warm, to frigid. All attempts at adjusting water temperature were unsuccessful. The sybaritic experience degenerated into a rush to rinse the suds from a yard of heavy, chilled hair while frantically trying to keep it away from my shrinking skin. I leaped from the shower, and swathed in towels, went stumbling down the stairs. Its hard to be graceful when stiff with cold and shivering... Calvin The Paw greeted me as I entered the kitchen (I swear the blasted cat was laughing). "Ummm, did you have the water on?" I asked Judy ---"otherwise, I think the water heater has croaked." After further discussion, we all trooped down to the basement, where indeed, the water heater was giving off strange sizzling noises. The cat was definitely laughing. Just wait Calvin, the new water heater will be installed tomorrow, and then...!!!

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Hail and Farewell

Today I buried my buddy. Sinbad. "O Fearsome and Dreadful", "Dreadful and Incorrigible", "Mighty Hunter", "You Jerk!!!", "My Buddy", the list goes on... Calvin THE PAW, of "bathing cats" fame is being supportive in his own inimitable way; breathing heavily(his version of a purr), and eeling his way into my lap. 16 years together. This small black kitten with a stentorian sporano yowl("where have you been all my life!!!") burst out of the bushes and followed us home... "Look, he's got a growth on his stomach." "That's a herniated umbilical". He was an abandoned kitten who refused to take no for an answer, and has been insisting on his vote ever since. He grew, practically overnight, from a scruffy, opinionated black kitten, into a sleek, opinionated black predator, and finally into an opinionated little old guy. The vet who repaired his hernia said he'd probably never be into jumping, as cats use their abdominal muscles, and his were compromised. Someone forgot to tell him that. At 16 he could still make it to the top of a 6 foot fence, and I was convinced he was going to drop over while chasing one of the neighborhood cats. He was a miracle kitty. The herniated umbilical was accompanied by two holes in his heart, and according to the vet, he never should have lived this long. Bless their hearts, vets see lots of miracles. In his heyday, Sinbad tried to teach me to hunt. He was very, very good at it, and would demonstrate at length just how he'd killed whoever it was he'd brought home. Then he'd bring someone home, and drop them at my feet. Usually field mice. Completely unharmed. The mouse would gaze up at me, and freeze. I'd have about two seconds to pounce on it and take it outside. (I might catch them, but I refuse to eat mice.) One night, I heard the usual muffled cat comments by my bed, "he's brought someone home". Groggy with sleep, I turned on the light, and gazed down at the floor, where Sinbad was standing next to his latest guest. "Oh, a female cardinal", "OK." She was PISSED! I reached down, and grabbed the bird, who decided this was simply the last straw. She closed her beak over the web between my thumb and forefinger, and ground it, while making these disgruntled little squawks. Searing, eye-watering pain, and a jolt of adrenaline banished the last of my sleepiness, and I made for the door at a run. I controlled the impulse to fling her, and instead placed her on the porch roof. She, grudgingly, released my hand with one last grinding pinch. 3:30 AM. Hello world, Thank You Sinbad! 16 years with the autocratic little beast, with the piercing sporano yowl(one of his parents must have been a Siamese). He was very vocal, and didn't believe in leaving you in the dark about anything.--and demanding. He was a cat. It was always interesting to watch how the various people in my life got on with Sinbad. The ones who were secure in themselves got on well with him and his quirks, the others? He could make life interesting, and did. I wouln't have traded him for the world. He had a purr that would rattle your eyeballs when he was happy, or I was unhappy, and he liked things his way. Typical cat. Somewhere, even now, I hope a door is swinging wide, and Sinbad, he of the thousand and one titles, is marching through(Cats always make an entrance). The night he died, I dreamed he became a white tiger. How fitting. I, however, will miss my buddy.

Sunday, March 19, 2006

On Bathing Cats...

There are few compelling reasons to bathe a cat, but it does come up periodically. Pick a sunny day, Start early. Begin by roasting a chicken. Dress appropriately: thick fleece vest, ratty clothes. You will get wet, and claws are sharp. The vest will allow the cat to grab you without inflicting damage. Clear the area of all breakable items. Pick a neutral scented shampoo and conditioner. If possible, pre-dilute these for ease of application. You won't have any extra hands to deal with caps, etc., and the longer it takes to work up a lather, the more of the cat's limited patience you will expend. If possible, pre-set the water temperature. If it feels good to you, it will feel good to the cat--unless you're into frigid showers... Catch the cat off-guard, preferrably just after it wakes up from a nap. Head for the kitchen. Its been smelling the chicken for an hour or more, and will assume you're about to feed it interesting things... Place the cat in the sink. Work quickly now... Wet the cat. Those new kitchen faucets with the built-in sprayers are ideal! Apply shampoo and lather. Be thorough; you get one chance to do it right. Rinse the cat, ditto. Apply conditioner, re-rinse, and squeeze off the excess water. This really is easier after the conditioner. Wrap the cat in the largest, thickest towel you own and start blotting. Once you're sure you won't be leaving tidal pools behind, transport the cat to the drying area. If you've never blow-dried the cat before, start gently, somewhere like its back, with the dryer on low heat and speed settings. This is a good time to remember that at least temporarily, the cat is NOT YOUR FRIEND. Don't take it personally. So far he's been snookered and you've taken liberties. Cats are smart. Once their fur starts to dry, they figure out it feels good. They'll stop trying to escape, and concentrate on thinking up ways to get even later. You can turn up the heat and speed on the dryer now..., and move faster. This is essential. It takes at least five times as long to blow dry a cat as it does a cooperative human, and you've already thoroughly tried the cats patience. If you can, this is a good time to let the cat escape briefly. Make sure the door is closed, allow the cat to leave, and give your arms and ears a rest. Having checked out the lack of exits, the cat will review your antecedents in some detail, and settle down to groom itself dry. It will figure out you were doing a better job, and there's a long way to go. D.C. al fine. Once you're satisfied the cat is (mostly) dry, allow it to exit with dignity, and start the cleanup. By the time the loose drifts of cat fur are subdubed and order is restored, the cat has had time to regroup, and realise it feels much better. This still doesn't mean the cat is your friend. Time for the bribes. Sneak past the cat into the kitchen, and chop up a plate of the roast chicken. As it shows up, primed for retaliation, slide the chicken under its nose. Leave immediately. This isn't the time for dignified conversation. Make sure your bedroom door is closed, and head for the shower. You don't look good covered in cat fur... Sometime later, bathed, groomed, and perfumed, you proceed to the office, where you discover the cat, steaming gently in a pool of sunlight. It looks cute, and content, and its purring at you. Don't be fooled. Cats are extremely successful predators. For the rest of the day, you follow the cat round, making sure it has every creature comfort, and is resting peacefully. Finally, the cat is curled up in a carefully arranged sleeping bag in the armchair, snoring. It looks happy and harmless. Nap time; the bath was exhausting for everyone. Be very, very sure your bedroom door is closed...

Welcome to my world...

Why a blog? I've recently been introduced to the pleasure of keeping up with some of my more colorful friends via their blogs, and I think they're a great idea. This will be an exercise in communication--my style. I imagine the initial start-up will be slow; the learning curve and all that, but I hope if you've found this, either by invitation or accident, you enjoy your visit.