The Cat Issues His Demands

Attention, humans.  It's me, the cat.  Lately I haven't been as comfortable in your house as I would like to be.  Since you are responsible for my complete and total happiness, I am bringing this matter to your attention.  Additionally, I know that your life would be meaningless if I were to leave, and since you lack the superior intelligence of a feline, here is a list of things that will require immediate improvement before I can consider remaining in your house. 

First of all, I've grown tired of the meat-like substance that you are trying to pass off as food.  It does not suit my palate at all.

Every day, it's the same old Ocean Surprise or Turkey and Giblets.  Yawn.  If you weren't such a dog person, you'd know that I actually prefer the more refined tastes of, say, Field Mouse or House Sparrow.  Until this can matter can be rectified, I will refuse to eat the rations that you place in my dish.
Next, there's the matter of where I sleep.  I am beyond weary of you removing me from your office chair.  Can't you understand that I require eighteen hours of sleep each day and that your chair is where I prefer to have it?  There is nothing in your boring human world that is worthy of my disturbance.  Nothing. 

And can you please do something about the dog?  I do not enjoy being sniffed by that slobbery creature from head to tail every time I walk in a room.  I mean, have you seen the places she likes to smell?  It's rude and offensive, and I won't stand for it a minute longer.

 

 

 

The dog also insists on hogging all of the sunshine in the living room.  Since she is too obtuse to realize it, you must convey to her that I require maximum sunlight exposure for my optimal comfort.

In addition, I demand that you remove all doors in the house.  I need to be able to move freely between rooms in order to satisfy my curious feline impulses.  A closed door is an insult to one who is as dignified as I am.  Remember that.


One last thing:  if I happen to bestow upon you the honor of having me sleep on your neck, you shall not complain nor attempt to move me.  You must recognize my presence on you as the privilege that it is.  Again, let me remind you that nothing is more important than my comfort and happiness.  You should be grateful that I allow you near me at all.


I trust that I've made myself clear.  I look forward to your prompt resolution of these abominations. 


Sincerely,

 

The Cat whom you call "Mewcifer"

 

 

**all photos by Lisa Kern

Showering with Stinkbugs

After a winter that dragged on way longer than any of us wanted, today held conclusive evidence that spring is finally here. The trees are full of green, the sun is higher in the sky, and smells of lilac and freshly cut grass abound.

Unfortunately, there are also other less endearing signs that spring has arrived: an abundance of insects show up too. This morning alone, I saw three spiders, and my dog Bailey has been biting at flies all week. I even saw a wooly bear caterpillar in the driveway the other day.

While I understand that bugs have their purpose, I prefer that they experience that purpose somewhere that’s far away from me.

I work with a woman who will pick up and relocate the spiders that we find in our office. I can’t believe that she does this. I tease that she gives them tea and cookies and fluffs their little spider pillows. She even does this with those extra-macho wolf spiders that make me hyperventilate just thinking about them.

She is not at all like me. If I encounter a spider, I will scream like a little girl, and then try my best to convince someone else to kill it for me. If there’s no one around, I’ll do the deed myself just so I know that it won’t jump out later and surprise me, as spiders love to do. Of course, I then spend the rest of the day shuddering over my eight-legged encounter.

This morning, I was in the shower, shampooing, when I felt something hard and odd among the strands of my hair. Almost immediately, I smelled the tell-tale odor: it was a stinkbug. Even though I was minding my own business, I somehow had a nasty, awful stinkbug in my hair.

I grabbed the bug out of my soapy hair and flung it toward the floor of the shower, but because I can’t see anything without my glasses, I couldn’t actually see where it landed. I used the hand-held shower sprayer to hopefully flush the darn thing down the drain.

By this time, my hair, my body, and the entire bathroom reeked of stinkbug. I knew I’d have to rinse
my hair and re-shampoo it in order to remove the odor.

As I reapplied the shampoo, I heard a buzzing sound and then felt something hit my leg. Of course, I couldn’t actually see where it went because A) I still didn’t have my glasses on, and B) my eyes were full of water and shampoo. It didn’t take much to conclude that the stinkbug either didn’t go down the drain, or he’d brought along a friend. Neither scenario was appealing when all I wanted to do was wash-off the stink bug odor and finish my shower ALONE.

I quickly wiped my eyes and jumped out of the shower so that I could find the stinkbug. I grabbed my glasses, but the steam of the shower and the steady stream of water I’d neglected to turn off meant that I still couldn’t see anything.

Shampoo slid down my face and into my eyes. I took off my glasses and rinsed them. I felt around for the faucet and turned off the water as I grabbed a towel to wipe my eyes. I dried the lenses of my
glasses with the towel and was finally able to see the entire area of the shower.

That sneaky, smelly, no-good stinkbug was nowhere to be found.

Although I didn’t know where my nemesis had gone, I had to do something about the shampoo dripping from my head and hair that smelled like a stinkbug frat party. I took my glasses off and stepped back into the shower.

I rinsed the shampoo and grabbed the bottle of hair conditioner. As I attempted to open the bottle, I was horrified to discover that the stinkbug was sitting on top of the cap.

I threw the conditioner bottle onto the floor of the shower and immediately aimed the shower sprayer at it. I wasn’t about to let that stinkbug escape again. I turned the water on full force, desperate to wash that stupid bug and its stench down the drain for good.

After a few minutes, I felt confident that the stinkbug had gone to a better place – or at least wherever it is that dead bugs go - and continued with my shower.

I applied conditioner to my hair and tried to hang the hand-held shower sprayer back in place. I couldn’t really see what I was doing, but I felt around to put the sprayer into its holder. As if my shower hadn’t already been enough of an ordeal, the sprayer fell down and hit me squarely on the head.

Who knew that a shower could be so eventful? After this one, I’m not sure which I need more: pest control or laser eye surgery.

Driving Lessons: the Great Equalizer

We have a new driver in the house.   My son Matt is now the proud owner of a shiny new Pennsylvania driver's license.

He was certainly well-prepared.  After sixty-five hours of driving with a parent, thirty hours of classroom instruction, and six hours of behind-the-wheel training with a certified driving instructor, all of us were more than ready for Matt to be able to drive on his own.

I wish I could say that I had a part in this milestone, but I did not.  Having barely recovered from the tendency to grab the nearest solid object while teaching my son Ryan to drive, I knew better than to offer to teach Matt myself.  Besides, I birthed these boys; it's only fair that their father participate in something equally painful.

If you think about it, teaching a teenager to drive is kind of like childbirth: both are long, difficult, and potentially fatal.  The big difference is that when driving with a teenager, you can't just say, "Hey...I'd like that epidural now...with a side of Demerol while you're at it."  No, teen driver pain must be experienced while fully conscious if you hope to survive the driving lesson.

Getting my husband Dan on board with this idea required some planning, so I simply inserted, "Shouldn't you be out driving with Matt?" into every conversation:  "Hey, we need some milk.  Shouldn't you be out driving with Matt?"  "Happy birthday!  Shouldn't you be out driving with Matt?"

Over time, the brainwashing - I mean, gentle persuasion - worked, and the weekend ritual of Dan and Matt's marathon driving sessions began. 

Even though I did trick Dan into teaching Matt, he was a much better driving instructor than I could ever be.  He was patient and kind and never once screamed out loud, "You're going to kill us all!"  In retrospect, that phrase probably isn't particularly helpful when used with a young driver, but sometimes it's hard to hold in what you're really thinking.

While teaching Ryan to drive, Dan would often ask me how he was progressing.  My updates were typically something like this:

            "That kid drives way too fast.  He's going to kill himself and everyone on the road."

            "I think he needs his eyes examined; he has a hard time seeing stop signs."

            "Is there such a thing as nail remover?  Because I just left four fingernails in the armrest of the car."

            "I can't talk right now.  Just get me a margarita and maybe I can recover."

Dan was always much more positive about Matt's driving skills. Ever the optimist , he'd say, "My one leg is a bit pumped up from reaching for the brake, but all in all, he did really well."  That's kind of like saying, "Matt doesn't run over nearly as many people as he used to."

Now, after all of those months of Dan's patient instruction and guidance, Matt has officially become a licensed driver.  He can finally enjoy the privileges that come with operating a motor vehicle:  getting himself where he needs to be, and then picking up milk on the way home so I don't have to.

I hope that, like childbirth, Dan forgets the pain of teaching Matt.  I'm counting on him to be ready when it's time to teach Evan in three more years.