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

Reading Today's Blog Puts You in the Catbird Seat

Look What the Cat Dragged In

The Cat’s Pajamas: Today’s blog is all about cats, and is dedicated to the good folks at Cats Rule. Let me first tell you that for many, many years I had no real opinion about cats. As a youngster I had a dog like so many other boys. I remember Old Yeller and “Lassie Come Home.” Don’t recall many movies about cats. I grew up in the city and didn’t have gerbils or ferrets or fish or fowl as pets. There were cats in the neighborhood, I guess, but I never gave them much thought. As an adult there was always a dog in or around my house. Most of them just happened into my life. So I totally missed the dawning of the cat generation. It sneaked up on me one cold winter morning in the desert. A black cat approached Mrs. Dr. Forgot and I as we strung Christmas lights. It meowed, she picked it up and we brought it into the house “just until we could take it to the vet” the following morning. That was about a decade ago. We have since joined the 21% of American households that include a cat.

Look what dragged the cat in: The vet’s announcement was, “Congratulations, it’s a boy! He’s not chipped but he’s neutered and about 18 months old.” Then the vet asked where his cage was and I said, “Huh?” I just slung him over my shoulder and drove him to the vet. He was fine with it. First rule of cat safety: Whenever you travel with a cat it must be placed in a cage. Safety rules for cats in the house are pretty much the same as for other pets. Keep lilies, azaleas, philodendron, and potted plants in general out of reach. They can be toxic. Cats are very sensitive. They can feel the electricity running through wires and might like to chew them, so decoy live wires in tubes and unplug electronics when not in use.

Felix the cat by any other name doth act as sweet: Because his coat was shiny and jet black I named him “Licorice.” But it was soon evident that this cat book was not to be judged by its cover. He was such a lover; cooing, being cute, and generally capturing our hearts that his name was changed to Casanova. But in case you are not a cat person I must warn you that spending too much time with a cat can cause ailurophilia in humans. It is a medical condition defined as “the love of cats.” Symptoms include adults making fools of themselves over felines of any sort. Should your cat be charged with a crime, simply have the local CSI detectives take nose prints at the scene and compare them with the pattern of nose ridges on your kitty because each pattern is as unique as a human fingerprint.

Let the cat out of the bag: Upon adopting my first cat, or it adopting me, I learned many truths about the species. The first clash came when I remembered a short verse by one of my favorite poets, Ogden Nash. “The trouble with a kitten is that… It eventually becomes a cat.” That verse demonstrated that even great poets can err. The domestic world cat population is estimated to exceed five hundred million and 33 different breeds. America’s cat population is estimated to be more than 75 million, which translates into a half billion catnaps per day. When holding the furball against your chest, do not think it is anxious because of a fast heartbeat. Cat’s hearts beat about 120 beats per minute, about twice as fast as their masters (or more precisely, their staff members). And to answer the next question, the largest breed is the Ragdoll. Males often exceed 20 lbs. The tiniest is the Singapura. Females weigh about four pounds. Calicos? They are almost always female. If you’re used to getting a rush because your dog wags its tail at you, then be equally happy when your cat’s tail is quivering, as that is their greatest expression of love. However, if the tail is thrashing, it is time to step away. If the tail just wags, they are in a state of conflict, and of course, when the tail stands tall, the cat is boasting. Cats knead their paws when they are happy.

Be sure to be a responsible cat owner and spay. A cat couple and their offspring can produce up to 420,000 kittens in seven years. If you choose to let your cat roam outdoors through a cat door, thank Sir Isaac Newton who invented it. But be aware that the average life span of an indoor cat is 15 years, while the average life expectancy of an outdoor cat is 3-5 years. Your cat will not only give you years of pleasure but will add years to your life. The average pet owner lives longer, has less stress, and fewer heart attacks than those without.

Separating fact from fiction is like herding cats: The information above is thought to be accurate. There are also many myths about cats that include “Cats always land on their feet.” Cats instinctively fall feet first but broken bones can result. Balconies should be screened. “Cats need milk every day.” Too much milk can cause diarrhea in cats. Milk should be given infrequently if at all. “A cat’s sense of balance is in its whiskers.” Cats use their whiskers as feelers but not for balance. “A cat should have one litter before being spayed.” There is no benefit to a cat having a litter before spaying. Indeed, that one litter can result in unwanted kittens. “A purring cat is a happy cat.” While this one is partly true, cats may also purr when they are injured, ill, frightened, or stressed. “Cats steal the breath from babies.” There is no truth to this myth. Finally, personal experience has shown the myth “Black cats are bad luck,” is absurd. Since Casanova entered our household, we have considered ourselves most fortunate.

A little blogging music Maestro... Since we are writing on a kid-loving topic, let’s do “The Cat Came Back” by The Muppets.

Dr. Forgot
http://drforgot.com

Tit for Tat Tuxedo Cat

A Tale of Two Kitties

A little background: Today’s blog post is more therapeutic for the writer than anything else, so if you are looking for some Clairton history, clever witticism, or other raconteur chatter, this might not be the column for you. However if you are a cat person, a pet junkie, or have a soft heart when it comes to not-so-dumb animals, this might be one you’ll want to read.

Not exactly a dark and stormy night: It was a cold Sunday winter morning in the desert. Christmas was just around the corner and Mrs. Dr. Forgot and I were hanging lights on the outside of our shanty. People who have been to Las Vegas in the summer and lived through triple-digit temperatures 24/7 for weeks often imagine it is warm here year round. But it does get cold in the winter relatively speaking. It can dip below freezing overnight and occasionally we’ll awaken to a dusting of snow, but not very often and it doesn’t last very long. So it was this winter morning. Temperatures were probably in the high thirties and as we hung our lights there was a “meooooow.” From the corner of my eye I saw a large black cat. I’d seen one like it in the neighborhood but whenever I approached it, the cat darted away, so I told Mrs. Dr. Forgot not to waste her breath by calling it, but when the mini panther meowed a second time she said, “Come here sweetheart,” and it did!

No room at the inn: I explained to my bride that it was absurd to take the cat into the house. We’d always had dogs and our little poodle (who was smaller than the cat) was in the autumn of her life. Zindi the poodle was ill, blind, and did not have much time left. Add to that my Mother was ill and I was to fly out to Pittsburgh the following morning to see her. So I made it clear that in the spirit of the Christmas holidays we would do the humanitarian thing and take this cat into the house so it would not freeze, but it would go directly to the veterinarian in the morning. They are professionals and would be able to tell the gender, whether it is chipped, if it is healthy, etc. They could also place the cat in a good home. Besides, I was not too crazy about cats and I’m allergic.

Not an overnight sensation: We bought a single-use $2.00 kitty litter, got some food from a neighbor who had a cat, filled a bowl with water and put the wayward wanderer in the garage until morning. At about 10 that night I peeked into the garage to check on the cat and it was standing in the litter box shivering. The concrete floor was too cold on its tender feet. I took control of matters and said, “Ok, you can stay in my (carpeted) office overnight,” and I let it into the office then continued, “Let’s set some ground rules; I don’t like cats, I don’t like you, and I’m allergic. Understand?” With that the stupid cat jumped into my lap, rolled onto its back, and began to purr. What a dumb cat! He didn’t even understand English. We named him Licorice since he was all black, but soon changed his name to Casanova as it became clear he’s really a lover. That was six years ago and Casanova still runs the house. It was the best of times.

Do I have a sign on me that says “Sucker?” After hearing a suspicious noise in the back yard the other night I took my 1,000 watt fishing lantern (I don’t fish) and went out to investigate. Sitting atop the 6 foot fence was a black and white tuxedo kitten, crying its eyes out and afraid to jump down. I lifted the kitten off the fence and brought it in the house. It was so traumatized that Mrs. Dr. Forgot stayed up with it all night as it would cry until exhausted, then sleep a while, awaken, cry, eat, sleep, and so on throughout the night. The next day we took it to the vet (I’m sure we’ve paid for that vet’s kids braces over the years). It was a she, healthy, but neither neutered nor computer chipped. We paid for her shots, spay, and exam, and said we’d drop her off at the shelter. WRONG! The vet posited that this was probably a “Foreclosure kitten” who had been left after a neighborhood house had foreclosed upon. She had been somebody’s pet and did not know how to fend for herself. The shelters are so overloaded with such pets that to take her there would have been a death sentence. So we decided to keep her and named her Belladonna as she would become Casanova’s little sister.

Sad ironies abound: We’ve become attached to the little Jellicle kitten but Casanova was shattered. After being the “only child cat” for six years (and believe me, he hit the lottery in this house) he had competition. He either ignored Belladonna or hissed at her. Bella wanted so bad to have a big brother but he’d have none of it. “Oh well,” we figured, “He’ll get used to it.” He sulked.

It was the worst of times: Yesterday I took Bella to have her hysterectomy stitches removed. On the way home, we pulled up to the mailbox and saw the “Lost Kitten” poster with Belladonna’s picture (her name had been “Tootsie”). I faced a major moral dilemma. Do I call and perhaps give away this precious little fur ball, or not? It had been nearly two weeks and we (except for Casanova) had bonded with Belladonna, nee Tootsie. The song from Les Miserables rang in my ears, “If I speak, I am condemned. If I stay silent, I am damned.” So I made the decision Jean Valjean had... I made the call.

All’s well except for a broken heart: The owner lives one street away. She’d had company and when a friend opened the door the kitten darted out. The owner had been walking the neighborhood and checking the shelters daily and in a last-ditch effort, made the posters and hung them throughout. Bella’s (Tootsie’s) reaction removed any doubt that this young lady was her chief of staff (Dogs have owners. Cats have staffs). The owner had moved in with her father a couple of years ago while attending college. He was recently killed in an auto accident. The kitten was very important to her. Yes, it was important to me as well, but it was REALLY important to her. With glassy eyes we said “Goodnight Belladonna. Consider your time with us a vacation. We’ll visit you and bring you toys.” Casanova smiled. And that, my readers, is A Tale of Two Kitties.

A little blogging music Maestro... “Only Love Can Break Your Heart” by Neil Young.

Dr. Forgot
http://drforgot.com

Love Me, Love My Pet

Reigning Cats and Dogs

Remember back in the late 1800s when we were all growing up? Most households had two parents (What a concept!), a stay-at-home Mom, one car, two and a half kids, a house with a picket fence – never heard of a condo and did not know anybody who lived in an apartment – although some families of limited means rented houses or portions thereof. Most every house had a dog as a family pet. They had names like Pinkie, Poochie, Pippi, Peppy. Or for those of us who weren’t into alliteration, and less were creative, they might be named Blackie, Brownie, Spot, Lassie, or Laddie.

Even our first Readers had a dog named Spot who belonged to Dick and Jane. See Spot run. Run Spot, run. Dogs seemed to follow boys on their adventures more than girls. Girls played with dogs in the house but did not take them to cheerleader or majorette practice. Norman Rockwell painted scenes of “Americana” that included boys and dogs. T.V. shows included dogs who could literally understand their young boy master. “Run home Lassie. Tell Mom I fell in the well.” And the dog did! Oh, not to burst your bubble, but I once did research on Lassie and discovered that “she” was actually a “he.” And that was before we knew the term transgender.

I had a dog while growing up. Actually Pinky did not live with me because my mother would not allow it, so he lived with my grandparents but I considered him my dog. He was a “city dog,” which means he ran in, around, and through traffic and was never run over. He did love to chase cars, though, nipping at their tires. I could never understand what he planned to do if he ever caught one.

All our dogs were mutts. We as a society had not yet been sold the bill of goods about breeding and traits of specific breeds. The dog in the T.V. series “Little Rascals” was mostly a pit bull terrier but never was vicious or bit anybody.

After I married I had a series of dogs – a beagle mix, a poodle/sheepdog mix (I’m sure it was an interesting courtship), a mixed terrier finally a purebred poodle, then the only one that was ever purchased – a something-poo that was supposedly a new mixed breed. But Lacy, although she cost $ 1,000, was certifiably insane and we had to give her away.

During my entire life I had never owned a cat, if a cat can indeed be “owned.” One cold winter morning about 5 years ago while putting up holiday lights we heard a faint “meow” and saw a pure black cat shivering behind a bush. We took it in “until we could find its owner,” and still have it. Cats don’t fetch, don’t come when called, don’t chase cars, don’t do tricks, and if you fall in the well, will not go home to fetch Mom. There is an adage, only too true, “A dog has a master. A cat has a staff.” How true.


A little blogging music Maestro... Today, please play two, Elvis Presley doing “Hound Dog,” and “Year of the Cat” by Al Stewart.

Dr. Forgot

Love Me Love My Dog

You da MAN!

Growing up in my house the 1950s in Clairton, PA was different that growing up elsewhere. We had rules that we did not challenge. One had to do with television sets and the dangers they posed. Of course we were not the first on the block to get a TV or even the second. But when we finally did get the brand new Sylvania TV with Halolight (a muted light that surrounded the TV screen) the rule went into effect - Do not sit closer than six feet from the screen or it will ruin your eyes.

Another rule had to do with Coca Cola. We were forbidden to drink any pop (that is Pittsburgh for soda or soft drink) especially Coke. The reason? Clair Benedetto up the street drank coke and she had stomach problems. It did not matter what other issues were involved or what the nature of the stomach problems might have been. If Clair had stomach problems and she drank Coke, that was enough to ban all soft drinks from our environment. Of course, whenever we went to our grandparent's home, the pop flowed freely.

A third rule was no dogs allowed. I'm not sure why this rule was in place. We did not know in the 1950s that children were allowed to ask questions. They were given rules and had to obey them. End of story. So we did not have the luxury of having a dog in the house, but the Benedettos up the street had several over the years. I remember Pippi especially, a small brown dog.

It was from that frame of reference that once on my own I was almost never without a dog, and more recently a cat. When I married Mrs. Forgot a half sheep dog, half fence-jumping poodle named Lassie came with the deal. Lassie was smart and obedient. She rarely barked except when the water heater began to make noises. We were protected from any wayward water heater that might plan to break into the house and cause us harm, Lassie saw to that. She also loved to play soccer, nosing a ball around the outside perimeter of the pool.

But at age 15 she began to slow down. It was clear her life was in its twilight when she no longer barked at the water hearer heater. One evening after dinner, as was the custom, I let her into the back yard to do the things that are done after dinner. When she did not return after her usual 15 minute break I went out and found her unable to stand. She had apparently had a stroke of some sort and one side of her body would not respond. Try as she might, her left two legs would stand but her right two would not listen to the commands of her brain. I took her to the vet and tearfully said my goodbyes. It was the most difficult thing I ever had to do.

Since then we've gone through the life cycle of two other pets and era always causes reflection. When they are puppies or kittens they are so full of energy and mischief. As they grow they become loyal, fun, and unconditionally loving. It matters not how difficult your day has been, whether you're upset do to road rage on the way home, or whether the holiday bills have put you in a foul mood. When you walk into the house, regardless of the day's traumas, you are met by one who treats you as though you are the most important person in the world - the only one who matters.

It is no wonder that our pets are now treated so well that they are living longer than ever. In fact, over the past 50 years or so the life expectancy of domesticated animals has nearly doubled. Pets now get better nutrition, better care, and have a better health plan than most of their masters. Vets today are like lawyers. You hate to go to them but they are necessary in keeping your life in order. Vets have a much better deal than other doctors. It is true that most doctors, with the possible exception of pediatricians, get bitten by their patients, but pets rarely complain, rarely cry, and hardly ever sue for malpractice.

Even hotels are getting into the pet act. More and more accept pets and many upscale hotels offer spa treatment for the pets as well. What a life! A little blogging music to go with our animal post maestro... do you know "How Much is That Doggie in the Window?"

Dr. Forgot