We Have Two Cats

We have two cats.  Smokey and Juanita.

Smokey, I know it’s a cliche name.  At least he’s the color of smoke.  Smokey came to us as a foundling.  She was found by our youngest daughter, at or near her work, about 12 or so years ago.  My youngest, Laurie, called me one night and asked if she could give her Mom a kitten for mother’s day.  So in the end, Smokey is here because I answered by saying yes.  I find it amazing that she asked about something so mundane as a kitten since she didn’t bother to tell me she was going to get a tattoo when she was 18 years and 2 days old… she told her mother… kids know who to go to for the yes.  I don’t think she was asking permission however, I think she wanted an ally to help soften the blow when she came home marked forever. 

 

But, then, Laurie had a precedent to follow, my oldest, Karen, did the same thing, 18 years and maybe a day old, told mom but not dad.  When I saw Karen’s tattoo, I offered to pay for having it removed, she declined.  Fine.  Move ahead 15 or 20 years and Karen asks if the removal offer was still valid… NO!

But, to the cat I said yes.  I felt sorry for Susan… you know Susan, the third woman in our household who got a tattoo while she was in Texas with a girlfriend.  She didn’t ask or even tell me she was going to do this.  I guess it’s easier to ask forgiveness than it is permission, but she was over 50 and really didn’t  need my permission.

All this makes me ask, “Just what kind of man am I?  How do my kids see me?  I must be the house ogre.”  So I have three tattooed females in my life and my son.  He is a father’s pride, no tats, no piercings, no Mohawks… he has grown into a fine adult who respects his father.

But, we digress.  Laurie did ask about the cat and I said yes, it’s my fault Smokey is in attendance and ignores me completely lately.

Then there is Juanita.  Juanita came to us via the back porch.  She is named Juanita because she came from a subsidized housing unit near our Massachusetts home.  It is primarily a Spanish community and our neighbor, the cat lady, brought her home as the cat was abandoned when someone moved away from the community.

One fateful day, a decision was made by Susan.  The decision… we need another cat.  Juanita shows up on our front porch.  At this point the cat could stay or the cat could move on, simple, but the cat was hungry and Susan is a pushover and the rest is history as they say.

Fast forward a bunch of years and a move to a new place a long way from home.  We now have two indoor cats.  Prior to our move to Florida these two cats were outdoor cats.  Now they are indoor cats and they made the transition quickly and efficiently and they will now live forever.  Prior to our move to paradise, they were outdoor cats… outdoor cats in our neighborhood don’t live very long thanks to the cars on the street we live on.  Prior to this move we had a new kitten every couple of years as the last one couldn’t out run a car on the North Sewall street.  We will now have these two cats for another 8 years, roughly, based on the life expectancy of an indoor cat.

Fiction:  

Two cats, playing with each other, sleeping with each other knotted up in some cute pile of fur that just sells cat food by the car full.  They come to your bed and on a cold night sleep very near you to keep you warm.  They play with thread, chase a ball, basically make themselves loved and adored. 

 

Truth:   

These two cats don’t even like one another.  Juanita is the alpha cat… Smokey puts the Pussy in Pussy Cat… a real wuss.  They like the one who is feeding them.  Smokey ignores me so perfectly that I am convinced he is deaf… but Susan shakes the Cat Treat box and no matter where he is, he shows up in an instant.  As to coming to bed and keeping us warm… they come to bed when they are hungry, they walk all over you, scratch at your pillow, nuzzle your nose, mostly just depositing cat hair all over the pillow you are trying to sleep on.

Now:  

Susan is visiting a friend in Kissimmee for a couple of days.  I have had to clean the litter box (another great reason for outdoor cats) and I have to feed the cats (I don’t know what smells worse, the canned cat food or the litter box.)  Guess who now thinks I am a little bit of alright.  Yup, Smokey has regained his hearing, he rubs around my ankles, comes when I call him.  The little faker or better yet the little fickle fur ball has, it seems, forgotten his mother already. 

Juanita on occasion gets it in her head to come up and visit me on my desk, always when I am in the middle of something important.  She paces back and forth until I quit whatever I am doing and pet her… then she lays down and allows, prime word, allows me to touch her.  She has one bad habit during these times, she gets rather nasty when she has had enough petting.  The only thing is she doesn’t bother to let me know she has had enough… no, her warning is hissing, making noises like something out of a Stephen King movie and tries to rearrange my fingers and skin.  All of these episodes end the same way.  I try to push her off the desk and she digs in and when she flies off the desk as she inevitably will she takes most of the papers off the desk with her, leaving me, of course, to pick them up.  In a couple of hours she has forgotten all about the last episode and is back for more.

However, there was a time when she actually did something unique and meaningful, it has never happened before or since and her timing was impeccable.  I was engaged in paying the county taxes when Juanita came to visit.  She immediately sat on the tax bill.  In time she left and I picked up the bill to finish the payment.  It was then I noticed that she had left a souvenir for the tax man.  This is tough for me to relate to gentle readers, but I’ll try.  It seems she had just left her litter box and if you can allow me an analogy, she hadn’t uses enough Charmin and left a nasty mark on the tax bill.  I tried to clean up the bill, but, all I ended up doing was making the stain larger.  So I sent it as it was.  Good cat.

It is now 4:25 p.m.  Normal feeding time is 5:00 – 5:30.  Very soon I will feel the truly heartfelt love of my two cats.  I will get the delightful opportunity to inhale canned cat food and since I am a good husband who listens to his wife I will clean the litter box.  Then after a really hot shower, a bath in Lysol and a dip in antibacterial hand sanitizer, I will make my dinner.  

Thus will end my cat duties for the day… I will eventually go to bed and when I get up tomorrow, it starts all over again.  God, I hate those smells.  Do I love the cats?  I have a saying that I am fond of using.  "It is a good thing that cats, dogs and teenagers start out being puppies, kittens and babies, or we would never love them."

Thanks for reading,

Dave

Eating Monsters Photos

Should you desire to gaze upon the Eating Monsters, click on the following link and see them in living color.

https://sites.google.com/site/fehsersplace/photo-gallery

Here is a teaser!

And this is just an appetizer, good thing we love 'em!

Cheers,

Dave

The Visit From The Eating Monsters

This past few days we were blessed by a visit from two amazing young men, boys really since they are 40+ years younger than us.  They were with us from Wednesday evening, February 1st to the morning Sunday, February 5th.

We had been anticipating this visit since January 1st when these two intrepid guys started off on what is planned to be a journey across the U.S. (the long way) on bicycles… yes, bicycles… no motor, just pedal power.  This journey is to take them somewhere between 6 and 7 thousand miles.  And if that isn’t enough along the way they will be competing in an Iron Man Triathlon… if you don’t know what that is it is as follows.  A two and a half mile swim, then a 100 mile bike ride and that is followed by the running of a full Marathon, 26 miles plus.

Their visit started on a bit of a down note.  I came home from my Volunteer job, more on that in another post, and their was a message on the machine from Taylor, my Grandson and his pedaling partner Steve that they were near Orlando, FL and would give us a call when they were about an hour out from our place.  Minutes later the call came and all was great… minutes later another call came and it turned out Steve couldn’t keep a tube inflated and they needed a bit of help.

I rode to their rescue, no, not on a bike, but, rather on my trusty Chrysler Town and Country.  I knew only generally where they were on Route 27, it was dark and the oncoming traffic made it impossible to see who was on the side of the road… the other side.  But, then a miracle happened.  The traffic opened up and I saw two shadows on the other side of the road with lights on their heads.  I flipped the mini-guzzler around and sure enough it was the boys.

We loaded the bikes and more gear than Susan and I took when we went to Europe in the car and came home.  A very short time later we discovered that not only were these two guys my Grandson and his friend, but the Boys Who Ate Lake Wales.

Now please don’t think eating was the only impression these two boys made, far from it.  I found two guys who were riding their dream, uninhibited by the grueling demands it would make on them… Unafraid of sleeping on the side of the road in a patch of woods… ready to face the trials of riding 7000 miles and the toll it would take on their equipment… and in the face of everything maintaining a friendship.  Their strength was in the two of them, together, facing what might come, their individual strengths making up something stronger than the sum of those attributes.

It was a pleasure and joy for Susan and I to have Steve and Taylor with us for a short time.  Knowing that they were going to have to leave to continue their adventure, I was frightened by the prospect, I didn’t want to see them go, not because we would miss them so much, but for what they were going to have to face in the next few months.  When they arrived at our place they had covered 1700 miles and they had so far to go.  In that 1700 miles they had but a taste of what was to come.  But, that taste might be just what prepares them for and takes them through the rest of the journey.

I ask that God bless these two and watch over them every mile.  Like Mackenzie, Taylor’s little sister said, “Remember, God has his hands on your handle bars far tighter than you do.”

For some photos of their visit, click on the Photo Gallery link in the right hand column.  For more words and photos, check out their blog at Trailingthesun.com.

Cheers,

Dave

In The Beginning Was the Blog

Hi Ya’ll

This is a new undertaking for me. I have never done a “Blog” site before and well, this might be the last entry if I end up getting writer’s block every time I sit down to update what is going on. This site might not always be about what is going on in our lives, but at times, infrequently I hope, it will be about things going on around us.

I suppose this site will be for family mostly and friends who care enough to take a look. Most of the friends will already know what is going on around this part of Central Florida and the site might be old news. But, then again, who knows.

We hope to include some photos in addition to the otherwise boring words, so look for them. Click on the Photo Gallery link to the right to see if any are posted yet.

I hope you find Our Place worth the effort to come over and take a look. I will try to keep it fresh, but no promises, as I said, I have never done this before and I don’t know what pressures will come to bear.

Cheers,

Dave