Cats and Home Depot

A two-part blog today

Dogs come when called. Cats take a message and get back to you:

MEMO TO MY CAT

Dear Casanova: You have lived in this house for several years now and I have tolerated your little idiosyncrasies. I admit I’ve been a little lax on rules enforcement, but now it is time to review the HOUSE RULES:

1. Nighttime is when big people sleep. It is most difficult to sleep when a cat is curled up on your head with his tail brushing across your nose.

2. The bed is a King size. That is the largest one they make. It should easily sleep two adults and a cat. You weigh about 15 pounds, a fraction of what either of your two human bedmates weigh, so there should not be a problem here. I could not buy a bigger bed even if I wanted to and I refuse to move to the couch again to accommodate you.

3. The bowl that says “Cat Man” is yours. The food in that bowl is cat food. The food on the counter is human food. Placing your paw in the middle of the human food or poking around it with your nose does not make it cat food. Dining on cat hair is not my idea of an epicurean delight. Stay away from my food.

4. The hallway from the living room to the bedroom was not designed by NASCAR. I know that some of your cat relatives can reach a top speed of 60 mph. Racing me to the bedroom, even with a head start, is not a fair game. Tripping me offers you no advantage because you can already beat me fair and square.

5. Let’s revisit the bedroom for a moment. I have lived up to my end of the bargain by not taking you to a groomer to have you washed and trimmed, and you’ve kept your end by grooming yourself daily. But MUST you groom yourself just as I’m drifting off to sleep? And the occasional hairball… must you cough it where I step when I get up from bed? I think not.

6. You have an entire room with a fine potty box filled with kitty litter. I do not bother you when you go in to do your business. So why, when I enter my human bathroom, do you feel compelled to claw, cry, meow, and otherwise try to turn the door knob and even to crawl under the door? Just as you prefer privacy in your potty box, so do I in mine.

7. Then there is the kissing thing. Even though your tongue is a bit like steel wool, I appreciate your affectionateness and desire to kiss me. Given my preference, however, I would prefer you kiss me BEFORE you clean yourself.

8. I know you have several uncanny abilities. When we have visitors you have the ability to identify the one who likes cats least and rub against that person’s leg, climb on their lap, and muss their hair. It would be better if you did not do that.

9. Many people do not understand that you are just a pet to them but to us, you are our kids. We adopted you and you’re welcome here as long as you choose to stay.

10. Finally, don’t get all uppity when you read this one, but having a cat is better than having a kid around the house for the following reasons: you eat less, you don’t ask for money, you won’t wreck my car, you don’t smoke, I won’t have to pay for your college, and you will not come home pregnant, and even if you do we can sell your offspring.

PART II: A LUNCH CRUNCH

Ok, so I sneak off for a quickie lunch with Mrs. Dr. Forgot. It was at one of our usual Mexican Cantina lunches with food you can’t pronounce and shouldn’t trust. Pedro (real name Skippy) took our order and disappeared. The food was good - a little spicy, not AIEEEE CARRUMBA!!

On the way back my date said, “Let’s stop at Home Depot. I have to pick up some plant food.” How innocent is that? Ok, no problem

Once we got there she reminded me that the grates on the BBQ were getting awfully greasy and maybe it is time to replace them. In fact the entire BBQ is about 10 years old and getting pretty grungy. Hey! Guess what! Home Depot is having a sale. Half off on selected BBQ grilles! What a deal! The conversation was as follows:

HOME DEPOT ASSOCIATE: “Can I help you, sir?”
She: “Can we see the BBQs that are on sale?”
ME: Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

HDA: “Right over here.”
SHE: “Look, Honey, by the time we buy new grilles, for just a little more we can have a whole new BBQ.”
ME: I am NOT putting another (Joe Biden word)ing BBQ together.

HDA: Sir, we can assemble one for you. In fact we have three already assembled on display outside.:
SHE: “Be still my heart!”
ME: “Right. How much extra for assembly?”

HDA: Nothing, Sir, they come either assembled or unassembled, same low price.”
SHE: “Be still my heart.”
ME: Ok, help me load the 5 bags of caca (she calls it plant food), and the 50 lb. bag of sand she bought (don’t ask me why – we have lots of sand in the desert for free), and the three other items and the BBQ into the car.

(Pay for caca, sand, BBQ, and misc.)

HDA: “Car, sir? Is that your PT Cruiser?” (begins to snigger)
SHE: Oh, I’m sure it will all fit. We don’t live far.” (Not sure what not living far has to do with whether or not it will fit)
ME: “Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

HDA: (Sniggering as he measures the car then the assembled BBQ) “No way, sir, the BBQ is 60” and your rear door is 43” Yes, sir, that is WITH the seats down. We do have a truck you can rent.”
ME: Let’s get the (Joe Biden word)ing truck.”

Fast forward to loading the BBQ onto the truck. The HDA is not permitted to help much lest HD be liable so I had to climb up into the truck bed. When was the last time you saw an overweight man who was never that well coordinated and now well on the other side of a half century in age, try to climb up into a truck bed? Not a pretty sight. HDA giggled but did not help. Neither did it help when I finally got into the truck bed and stood up, cracking my head on the corner of the BBQ.

For those of you who have never been Moms, or who flunked First Aid 101, a head or scalp wound bleeds “like a studded pig.” Not only did I not get sympathy because by this time both SHE and the HDA were laughing raucously, but blood was streaming down my forehead and I was demonstrating language skills usually possessed only by the saltiest of sailors.

I finally got the BBQ secured and drove the 6 blocks or so to my house. We got the BBQ unloaded and applied a band aid to my wound. The HDA said he was putting me in for a Purple Heart.

Next to unload were the five 40lb. bags of sweet smelling stuff that is there after the cow has gone, along with the sand and other odds and ends. I went to my tool shed and pulled out my dolly (Hello, Dolly!) so I did not have to lug all that stuff around to the back yard. But the weight of the bags popped one of the tires on the dolly rendering her useless. That was my noon run.

So that is my story and I’m sticking to it. Next time she coos, “Honey, I’ll buy lunch,” I plan to make myself a sandwich and write Thoughts blogs

A little blogging music Maestro… Johnny Cash, “Home of the Blues.”

Dr. Forgot