The cat came back. . . only to eat

I think of myself as a cat person. Love the kitty. Not more or less than a dog, but I've always had a cat. Reflecting on all the beloved felines in my life, some were more endearing than others but none were the lap cat or cuddle cat.

The cat that I had the longest spent most of her life under the bed, rejecting petting and chin scratches and usually hacking up fur balls. She lived through many traumas, (being nearly eaten by my pit bull), and outlived all of the cats and kittens that we have had through the decades, dying at age 24.

There must be something about myself that my cats can't connect with so I have yet to find a cat that will be cuddled, and carried. . . not just looked at.

Currently, I think I am cat-less. I had a cat. He is very handsome, soft fur and looks like every cat in America, a little bob cat. Recently I went on vacation and left my pets in the capable care of a friend. My cat is an indoor cat, sleeps under the bed like his predecessor, but will occasionally tolerate a head scratch and accept compliments on his soft, shiney coat. My dog, Captain Morgan, despises this cat. He merely tolerates it as a daily inconvenience and interruption of my constant attention for him. Captain has attempted to let the cat outside on many occasions by opening the sliding glass door for it and then look away as if he hasn't a clue the feline has been released. I have to admit that the cat is not very bright. He has no idea what to do outside and less on how to get back in.

During my last vacation, Captain took advantage of my absence and let his cat bro outside. Didn't even blink as he walked casually away from the door and acted like our cat was still inside to distract the pet sitter from looking for it.

Well, the cat did indeed go out. If he attempted to come back, Captain barked viciously to warn him off and if necessary, chase the cat out of the yard then stand watch to ensure it didn't come back into it.

When we arrived home, the pet sitter was distraught and had been searching for the cat daily. We calmed her and let her know it is a dumb cat and he is close by.

Sure enough, there sat my cat under a bush and I told her he was alive and I would just bring him in. As I approached my beloved feline, it went ballistic and feral, hissing and jumping crazily against the fence until it broke free of the yard and was gone. I was shocked. Surely he would welcome the loving embrace and warmth of his people. We were unprepared for the hissing howling and violent antics. The cat must be in shock.

It is day 22 of the cat departure. We have thought him dead for days. It has rained, frozen, winded, and there have been numerous cat screeches beyond the 8 foot wall. Then, there he was, sitting on the top of the fence, barely out of reach, looking at me. Doors wide open into the warm house, cat food on the patio table, soothing clucks from his people, and my cat opted to throw himself over the fence again. How bad are we? The cat chooses certain death over warm comfy home. It was shocking to see him roll off the wall. . . like the kidnapped girl throwing herself off the cliff to avoid being enslaved by the Indians in the movie The Last of the Mohicans. I guess it was the cats movie moment.

I put food and water out for my cat daily . Occasionally we see him snacking on it. His balance and wall skills are improved but I don't think he's any smarter. He has reverted to his feral roots . He looks a little thin and his coat dull but he is alive. . if in fact that is my cat. Like I said, he looks like every other cat in the neighborhood. I built him a waterproof cat haven lined with his favorite blankets and cat nip toy- to which he passes it by with disdain opting for some muddy patch under a grape vine behind the fence.

Do I want a cat who runs away at the sound of my voice or catching a glimpse of me inside the house? If I did capture him, I would only give him a dose of flea repellent, a shot for rabies and then release.

We wish him luck. I'll continue to feed him and the oppossums and squirrels. . . but we're switching to cheap cat kibble. . . and I'm rethinking my status on being a cat person. 

A hiking we will go

I have been vacationing in the beautiful city of Sedona, Arizona . Amongst a back drop of clay and sandstone rock formations, we found many adventures and met many interesting people . There is such a variety of hiking destinations, it was hard to choose the best one for us.

Our first walk was a 2 mile hike along a creek bed, dead ending at the base of an enormous rock. The rock provided  a view of the valley for those fostering mountain goat within them and a good sense of balance.  Mountain goat Mr. Man clambered up but left the camera behind so he only has a mental image of the grand view. I handed the camera to him as he edged his way downward but he refused to attempt the climb again for the photo op.

For this week of hiking and exploring, Mr. Man bought me some walking sticks. I felt foolish using them at first because they seemed to be only used by senior citizens and grey haired men. . . I was rudely reminded that my prejudiced is unfounded because that is a description of us! I refused to use the sticks until we prepped for the big hike up a canyon which was a 6 1/2 mile hike. Doubting my jacked up knee would last that far, Mr. Man assured me that we could turn around at any time and head back. Game on. 

So we hiked and I used my hiking poles, pretending I was the Black Diamond mogul skier of decades ago. The trail was beautiful and crossed a wide stream many times. After mile 3, I was getting tired and the weather was getting cold with snow on the ground. Definitely tired of being passed by dozens of REAL senior citizens in their 70's and 80's like I was standing still. One of the seniors, "Dottie", got separated from her group during a treacherous stream crossing and hiked full speed ahead looking for the group. She stopped to catch her breath and recounted how her soon to be dead husband and former best friend would rue the day she caught up to them. I suggested gently than she may be ahead of them as they had not passed us on the narrow trail and we crossed the stream before her group.

Swearing and throwing rocks, Dottie provided us with a few cussing remarks concerning her group and vowed to divorce her husband the second they were reunited.

  

I stopped at mile 3.5, knowing I had to go back the same route. Mr. Man said he wanted to finish the hike and it was only another 1/2 mile. I wished him luck, picked a comfy rock and sat there for 1 1/2 hours waiting to freeze and muscles seized up. Dotties lost spouse, BFF and others came along and sat with me as they waited for lost Dottie to get to the end and double back. They were a happy bunch and remarked how lovely the day was without Dottie. Finally, Mr. Man returned, Dottie in front of him and he stopped to rest with me before we headed back. Dottie passed her group rapidly but told them she had new friends to hike with, a lovely lady couple who wanted to be with her and walked on.

After resting, Mr. Man and I headed back. He had hiked another 2 miles before realizing the end was a lot further then the designated trail head stated, and with the sun setting below the canyon walls, the air temperature was dropping fast. We double timed it out of there. My sticks became crutches as I moved along and I used them as Pole vault poles for the stream crossings. Mr. Man was on a mission. We had to get to the parking lot to see the end of Dotties adventure and cat fight with her "former" BFF. Using the last surge of energy and muscle power, I made it back. Much faster returning down the canyon than up it. My hip and thigh muscles were screaming about the abuse but held together.

Sadly  Dottie and her senior group were much faster than I was and we missed the grand finale and face off but there weren't any blood stains or broken glass in the parking lot.

Remarkably, my legs didn't fall off in the night and I wasn't even sore. In fact, my knee can still bend and probably hike again, but maybe not so rough and far next time. It was definitely worth it though. You cannot deny there is a creator who has made such a beautiful place to experience and explore in.

I'll be going again next year.... with my sticks.

Meno peli e' piu salsa

Friday nights are date nights with Mr. Man. We started this tradition to not only end our week with a little fun and to catch up on what our big plans for the up coming weekend were, but also to remind us that we are still a couple. A team. You've got my back I've got yours. We can still have fun together. We still think alike and finish each others sentences.

Some Friday nights are exciting and creative and go on and on. There are also the duds. Dinner is down the street and not so good, we are tired, one of us is crabby and / or bitchy (it ain't me), or the date starts at 5:00pm and we're home by 7:00. Ugh! That's the worst. Date fail. Home before dark!

Occasionally a date can start boring and end up awesome or amusing. This was the case on our last date night.

We were at an Italian restaurant, enjoying the ambience, the patrons talking loudly and excitedly after getting their first drink and meal. I am also enjoying the evening. My food is awesome but needed a bit of salt. (you had to have permission to utilize it by Mr. Picky Chef who assumes all our palates are refined like his. I'm paying a bundle for this food and I'll put anything on it I want! Even ketchup if called for!)

So here we are, slurping up our pasta and enjoying the meal. A large party is seated by us. They all are having the same meals we are. The fettuccini alfredo is popular as is the steak primavera with marinara sauce. I'm surprised that the young lady in my line of site doesn't like her choices and has removed the meat from her meal. She was loving the sauce and slurping up the noodles efficiently....except her long hair was mopping up the sauce out of her bowl every time she took a bite. Surely she would notice by the second....third.....fourth.....ninth bite!

Her hair was covered in pasta and LOTS of sauce.  Wouldn't you think her tablemates would have mentioned that her hair was turning into the late night special? I mentioned to Mr. Man to take a look at the sauce sucker upper seated across from us.

In typical male oblivion, he says loudly, "Who's dunking their head in their plate?". "Where is she?"

At least he alerted the tables around us to check and see if they were drowning themselves in their sauce. The young lady seemed to finally notice, or heard, and started wiping her hair down. Far too late, she tucks her locks behind her ears and pushes her plate away. There's still plenty of marinara in the hair behind her ear for a snack later.

So you see? This is a cautionary tale.

Tie back, slurp up, and wear a bib.  Less hair is more sauce.

Gustare il pasto!

NOT Mr. Man.

I needed to buy a couple of things in our local craft store. It was the last stop on our list of errands and Mr. Man was done in. He refused to come into the store with me and offer any opinion on the color hue of the cupcake cups I sought, and opted for a nap in the car. I explained that I would only be a couple of minutes and would like his input but received a shrug and a purposeful recline of his car seat, then a tug at his ball cap over his eyes.

My initial reaction was "Hmph!" at his casual disregard of my important quest, but thought to myself if he is peacefully asleep I can take my time and stroll up and down the aisles looking at things I don't need. Leaving him the car keys so he wouldn't suffocate or if he wanted soothing lullaby music, I headed in.

Admittedly it wasn't 5 minutes or even 10. Just a few longer. Afterall, I had to complete my mission. It was a disappointing venture, the store out of every item I was seeking, but I made one purchase just to show I really needed to be there. It was nearly dark when I left the store and headed for my car. Mr. Man was so sound asleep. He must have been very tired.

The electronic lock on the door wasn't responding to my code. So annoying! I knocked on the window to wake up Mr. Man to let me in. He slept on. I rapt harder and harder and told him to wake up and let me in for gosh sake! (Perhaps my verbage sounded a little harsh).

The Mr. Man figure rolled toward me and blinked at me bewildered. . . and I blinked at him because he was NOT Mr. Man. I am confused until I look at the running board and see no mud or weeds caked to it and the wheel rims seem way too shiney to be mine. The door scratch seems to have disappeared. Wait! This is NOT my vehicle. My SUV is parked exactly over one row which I made a buzz line to, rapping on the windows as I approach so I can escape the glares of the other Mr. Someone who thought I was trying to car jack him .

Mr. Man opens his eyes, unlocks the door and asks me what the problem is that I am banging on the windows? I explain the mistaken identity of the other SUV- same make, color, stickers and had 2 letters on the license plate that I remember mine has. Ditched out of the parking lot and drive to the safety of home before my humiliation fully took hold.

It's not the first time I've tried to get into a car that's not mine, but its the first time I was forcing my way into an occupied one.

Sorry Mr. Someone. Hope you got back to sleep and remember it all as just a dream. May we never meet again!

Retro 1960's Ranch style home and garden show......next door

I have new neighbors. They seem nice and are polite . Their children are kept indoors and allowed outside  occasionally with adult supervision and kept reigned in to the length of the property line. (32 yards).

Our introduction to each other was sudden and brought about by criminal activity on my block by the tweeker turned drug dealer across the street. The neighbors moved in the day the DEA and entire police force sealed off our block for 4 hours until it was decided Tweeker should go to jail. We introduced each other for safety in numbers and reassurance that we were a tight nit group of neighborhood watchers. . . something my new neighbor takes very seriously as he now has cameras mounted and alarm system installed to thwart any malicious or criminal activity against his property.

I was told by the family patriarch that he is gainfully employed, has been wealthy and settled on this neighborhood to appease his wife's passion for "RETRO 1960's Ranch style home and garden" and he intends to outfit his home to reflect an old calendar he has for reference. Good for him. Pour your money into the place. It can only help my houses market value increase.

I have yet to see the man go to work. Maybe he's made his money and retired at age 40. He tells me he used to live in a 4,000 + sq. ft. home in an exclusive gated community and traded it all for this 1700 sq ft. of paradise here in the hood .

He is home all day looking out the slits of his new shutters and he pokes his head out the front door if he sees Captain Morgan run down his bit of front sidewalk . ( IM wondering if he is the new drug kingpin. . . he did show up the day tweeker was arrested and black Mercedes parking in front often.)

I give him my,  "HELLO!. Yes I know my dog is out running but he doesn't care about your lawn so go back inside" wave. Also accompanied by well practiced smiles of tolerance and head bobbing. (I note he has also studied this form in front of the mirror. He also has the head nod-bob-clenched toothed-smile with sinister look perfected. I know it well. I have refined this also.)

We've been away from home for a couple of weeks. We returned to find part of the new retro outfitted yard plan completed next door. The promised "awesome and streamlined" landscaping and what I think the neighbor hopes is a pair of money trees, but seem more likely to be the start of a front yard avocado grove, are firmly planted in ground.

Applauding his eagerness to be the first on the block to have sustainable guacamole providers but he may be disappointed that these 10 foot trees will not be producing fruit for a few more years and are going to make a huge mess all over his manicured retro front lawn if they live that long. And lets face it- they aren't very pretty trees. As long as they stay on his side of the fence and away from my sewage lines, I'm okay with it.

 

We noted that he has the trees planted directly next to his sewage line so we wish him luck with those 55 year old pipes and future roots. Do I dare tell him the homes original owners removed all of the front lawn and side walk trees 30 years ago because they could no longer keep the tree roots from growing up out of the toilet and taking over their home? The deed is done and my opinion not solicited so we wish him a bountiful crop of avocados and clear sewer lines.

It's nice to have friendly new people. You never know who will move in and if they may be your newest nightmare. Fingers crossed and hopes for kind gestures and daily exchanges of pleasantry even if no friendship abounds.

Crossing my fingers those are Haas Avocados and a few fly over this way! My chips are ready!

"Who are the People in your neighborhood, in your neighborhood, in your neigh-bor-hood, oh
who are the people in your neighborhood.? The people that you greet each day."
                                                                                                           -   Sesame streets Big Bird

The wall

The wall in my family room is covered in various tools and implements.

I like the old school look and the fact that if all electricity fails forever, I can go to the wall and pick out the right tool to build a shelter, turn the soil and even defend my territory with something spikey.

 The wall is a reminder of a simpler time. Each piece on it was handed down from father to son or daughter for 3-4 generations. Some of the pieces have been restored and polished and others left with the rusted bits to enhance their ruggedness. I can remember my father and grandfather using the saws to make the porch steps and cut the stump end off of the Christmas tree.

It might sound strange to have this kind of wall display in an urban setting, especially when most of the house has a contemporary décor; but the wall is a physical reminder that I come from generations of the common hard working laborer, farmer, craftsman who worked with their hands and made do with materials available and for the most part were a humble people.

I'm proud to be a product of hard work and grit. It helped me to work harder to provide for my own family and instill in the children a  work ethic that they carry on .

My father-in-law recently passed away. He liked my wall and brought me his favorite "oldie but goodie" tool each time he came for a visit. He enjoyed looking at his old tools being displayed like fine art- even though it baffled him why I would allow it in the house when it obviously belonged in the barn. Even better, he would give a brief history about  the tool and a project he remembered it was used for or who it belonged to.

Dad had the mother lode of all tools and rusty farm equipment. The family went through his workshop and garage, finding a plethora of old tools and I was brought many "treasures" to put on my wall. I can say with assurance that the wall is full. I'm not sure about the 8 foot scythe. It looks  sinister but I'm pretty sure if I was armed with it against an assailant they might back off and rethink their strategy; or, if I need to mow the lawn, and the mower is out of gas, I could resort to using it for that!

I hope you have something in your home displayed to honor your past and what was instrumental in making you the person you are today.  The old saw with engraved leaves on the handle and etched initials of my great-grandfather is my favorite. It's tough, gritty and gets the job done with the right amount of effort and motivation. It's still functional , a little rusted with age, has a sturdy handle on its large frame and a couple of crooked teeth.. . . just like me.

"Not with my Frisbee you don't"

HRecently, my husband and I were in Northern California and staying at the family's mountain home.
It's a long drive from our hometown....about 12 hours door to door , and we don't make the trip very often.

This time, we weren't sure how long we would be staying, so we opted to take Captain Morgan with us and expose him to mountain and rustic living.

Being cooped up in a bumpy car for so long is tough on the most seasoned of travelers and by the time we hit the dirt road curving up the mountain toward the homestead, we were done in and the dog ready to run free.

Captain was exhilarated to be released into the wild and smell all of the new smells only available in this area. He dashed from tree to tree to rock and back. He marked his new territory diligently and discovered it was going to take a few more gallons of water and days to encircle  his claim on the entire mountain.

We went for a Frisbee outing on his second day where he could run for it with no boundaries and the smile on his face was constant. On a particularly long toss, Captain caught the Frisbee and kept running up the hill into the forest. In about 10 seconds, he came running back, looking over his shoulder and clenching the beloved Frisbee tight as he ran for the safety of the gated compound. Captain Morgan had just encountered his first deer. Not only that, it was a deer herd turning into stampede mode chasing after him. He was bewildered at the creatures. . . "What long legged and odd looking monster is this and why is it chasing me?". I've never seen the dog run so fast for cover and Frisbee play ended abruptly. He safe guarded it until the next day.

We went out to play again, this time with caution, checking for monster deer presence, but our play was interrupted with the appearance of "Dingo", a cattle dog belonging to one of the local ranchers, who had adopted us during our stay.

Dingo had never seen a Frisbee before but picked up on the general idea immediately. He is lightening fast and catching the Frisbee mid air not his forte, but if Captain missed, Dingo would jump on the Frisbee, pick it up and shake the crap out of it like he does to the squirrels that he catches for dinner!

Captain didn't hide his contempt for Dingo but  that didn't faze this tough dog. He killed that Frisbee in about 1 minute ripping the "indestructible" saucer to pieces and depositing it at my feet-Obviously not schooled in appropriate Frisbee etiquette. Living out in the middle of no where, there aren't a whole lot of Frisbee stores so we had the squeaking dumbbell and a tennis ball left. Again , Dingo snatched the "squeaker" and ran off into the woods with it. Dingo came back but squeaker was buried somewhere on another farm never to be seen again. He was all smiles so it was hard to yell at him. Country dog through and through.

Captain Morgan became tolerant of Dingo, even acting civilized, but I don't think he forgave him for destroying his beloved play things. When it was time, he was glad to get into the car and head home, safely away from the stampeding beasts and wild dog. We left the barrel of apples for the deer, the remaining tennis ball for Dingo and waved good bye. Captain is happy. He got a brand new Frisbee and Chuck-it set for his troubles, along with a brand new can of tennis balls. . . He still runs from pictures of deer though and looks away when he sees one on TV's Animal Planet.