Making It Up As I Go Along #284

MONDAY...
— Laundry day for the holiday. After that I have supper with Sheila and her friend. Hour plus walk goes a slightly different route to change things up.

TUESDAY...
— Scrubs in the morning... the DVD of the show that is.
— Work is okay... I walk twice at work, once alone at supper and the second time at break with Lisa and Josee.
— My stomach feels a little off by the tail end of work. I get some groceries on the way home and don’t go for a night walk. I decide to rest up and go to bed a bit earlier. It’s cool out tonight anyway, so if I’m a touch under the weather, I shouldn’t go out breaking a sweat.

WEDNESDAY...
— Not feeling super today but go to work all the same and get through alright. I work in TC AFIS for a change. The big transformer in AFIS buzzes too much... I needed to get away for a day, it’s like working under power lines!
— Due to the way I feel, I skip the walk again tonight. Like last night, it’s cool out and I think a cool night sweat would be playing with trouble.

THURSDAY...
— Movie in the morning and a few e-mails. I’m up a bit early to try to get on track for a very early rise Friday. It’s day shift tomorrow because of the staff golf tournament.
— Work is okay... we take off a bit early to get home for the early morning thing. Blah.

FRIDAY...
— Long day due to two hours sleep and an early wake to go to work on dayshift. Lucky it’s not for long. In for about three hours and then it’s off to the golf tournament. It’s hot today too... 38 with the humidity. We play okay but the heat wears us down as a team. Linda, Michelle and Carole are the team mates. I talk with several others (including Sheila and Laura and Jonathan and Derek) after and during the meal. Then it’s home for a very tired night.

SATURDAY...
— Quiet day. I actually get up early (around 4:30 or 5:00). I snooze a bit in front of the TV until 6:30 and then get back to bed for another three hours. Not ideal. Six episodes of The Office on DVD and some UFC fighting from London on TV.


Cats (Not the Musical)
The cat! Is there any more evil domesticated animal on the planet? I think not. Although cats can be so evil and moody that they’re entertaining. I suppose that’s what make them pets that we tend to rather than meals that we cook up on holidays.

I’ve personally had extending relationships with only two cats. There’s Baby... the darling of my aunt Sylvia. I’ve house sat for Wayne and Sylvia several times, having to feed their ‘baby’, Baby for days or even a few weeks at a time.

Baby is the typical cat. When she wants attention, she comes to you and craves it. Little “rrra” style meows beg for a rub of the ears. And she would always want you around at night, either so she could share the bed or jump up on a window perch, where she can overlook her domain... with you, a loyal subject... beneath her.

But then Baby would also become psycho cat. Not thirty seconds after she comes to you purring and looking for love, she’ll swat your hand and leave a little trickle of red welling up from your wounds. Expletives often follow such an encounter. Leave it to Baby... she’ll turn on you with the blink of an eye.

Friends have often told me their cat stories. Josee, a co-worker, recently tried to get me to take her cat. A 19 year old that’s “looking for love”. Sounds nice enough except for the fact that this animal sleeps most of the day and then meows loudly through the night. Josee’s family can’t sleep because this cat is basically screaming it’s, as Josee puts it, “Death Meows.” What a delightful pet.

Laura has also told a cat tale or two. Her cat is up around 20 years old too and you can tell, through the passion in the way she tells the tales, that Laura truly hates her cat. Although I should qualify the hate as being that of an entertaining hatred.

Laura has often told us how she plans to stop feeding the cat on one of those occasions when the rest of her family are away for a few weeks. The best stories of her epic cat battles again, deal with a meow that is unleashed from the depths of hell. In Laura’s case, it’s when the cat is hungry and looking to be fed. This seems to most often happen when Laura is trying to sleep in the wee morning hours. The cat will stand outside her door and let out a blood curdling “meeeerroooowwww”. Witnessing Laura’s own personal version of the meow is worth the price of admission in itself. She’ll then go on to tell us how she stomps out of the bed, swings the door open, and proceeds to kick the cat down over the stairs. All told with a smile on her face... and since the cat remains alive at such a ripe old age, I’m sure also told with a degree of exaggeration. But it is a fine example of how much cats can mess with our heads.

The main cat of my dealings has been Ebby. Aunt Ruby and Uncle Lee’s mammoth feline who ruled her world with loving disdain for all. Word has it that Ebby started out a normal size. She ventured into Ruby and Lee’s life and took over from the other cat, Oreo. That is to say, when the food was placed in the bowls, Ebby would become the bully and proceed to eat both her share and that of the older Oreo. By the time I first met her, Ebby was a 25 pound mass of fur. I, like most others who first happen upon her, thought she was a stuffed toy. Perched upon a sofa, perfectly still, you’d spot Ebby and venture over to rub her soft fur. Then a great swat of a paw would shoot out from under her form, harmlessly batting you away. The fact she was declawed made such encounters laughable.

Ebby would do everything possible to show it was her way or no way. Sitting in a chair on the phone meant you were to play with her. She’d plop down at your feet wanting to be gently pushed and stepped on. Occasional bites would remind you who’s the boss.

Bedtime, you remained at her service. Too big to jump straight up to the bed, she’d swat at the mattress and wait for you to lift her up. At Ruby’s house, I shifted over a chair... giving her the step she needed to make it to the bed on her own. But, months later and with Ruby and Lee out of town, Ebby took over my home. The bed situation become more and more a battle of wills for power. It began as Ebby hitting the mattress and then standing up against the side of the bed to be lifted up. Near the end of her stay, though, she’d hit the bed and then back away just far enough so that I couldn’t reach over the side and get her. It got to a point where I eventually had to shut my door to her entirely. This would leave her batting at the obstruction... and shoving her paw underneath, feeling the air inside my room in horror movie fashion. It left you feeling like a trapped mouse only millimeters from capture as you plaster yourself up against the wall in fear.

Ebby would also go where she wasn’t allowed. Always with the look of complete understanding of the situation but the desire to show you that she’s the one calling the shots. The most blatant of such situations being when she stood next to my coffee table, glowered over at me in a “watch this” manner. Waiting for me to tell her “don’t you dare!” And then she proceeded to leap up onto the coffee table and settle down for a nap within the forbidden zone. When I rushed over and grabbed her down, she walked away, not so much irritated but pleased with a mission successfully accomplished.

Ebby has since died. But only a few weeks ago, during one of my late night neighbourhood walks, I happened upon this massive cat. It just sat there in the middle of a road and stared at me as I passed by. It’s colourings were identical to Ebby’s... and how many 25 pound cats are out there anyway?

I walked by, almost tempted to stop and call her name. Cats, they can control your lives even from beyond the grave.