Watch Out What You Pray For

Once again I have had my nose rubbed in that little innocent looking warning........you have before you both a triumphant Lois - Mighty Tamer of Cats and a Defeated and Exhausted Lois - Slave to those of the Feline Persuasion. 

Loyal readers may recall that I recently took in a small gray waif of a cat who immediately threw my entire household into a state of chaos.  Overnight my sedate LadyCats, Gussie and Winnie, found themselves being hissed and growled at by this impertinent young whippersnapper with no breeding and the manners of an alley cat.  And while they were coping with how to handle this interloper, I found myself cast back in time to the role of guardian of the gates which required much rushing around on roller skates (a figure of speech of course......clashes mightily with my new primary rule of "Don't Fall Down") to slam doors ahead of the little ingrate who seemed only to want  to escape from this prison and/or my kind ministrations. 

After enduring this struggle for almost 2 months I finally said, "Enuf is enuf....the hell with it......if you want to go out and be eaten by large dogs, rained on, starved,  ignored and despised, well go right ahead, Missy".  And I dramatically flung open the front door, whereupon the little snippet gingerly extended a paw onto the porch, smelled and sniffed her way down the steps, checked out each blade of grass on the lawn and eventually turned right out of my line of vision.

As I closed the door I had mixed feelings.  (being a Gemini I always have mixed feelings, sigh)  On the one hand - Free of that little pest at last....no more being awakened in the middle of the night with unholy shrieks of cat warnings, and on the other hand, sadness that I might never see her again and how would she ever survive in the harsh cruel world.  I made the serious mistake of saying a short prayer for her safe return.  I should have saved my breath and my sympathy for myself.

Not 3 hours later I was ensconced in Crochet Corner in my lovely recliner industriously poking the crochet hook in and out and trying not to think of cats at all when a strange sound forced its way into my consciousness.......could it be???  Yes, it was!!!  There at the front door squealing and complaining bitterly at being barred admission and left out in the cold was the little gray thing.  When I flung the door open she marched in like she owned the place, cast me a disdainful look,  headed straight for the snack  bar and then disappeared out the back door (which is left partly open during the day to accommodate Baskin, the mentally challenged tabby who dines and pees indoors but sleeps out in the garden shed. Go ask!) 

I must confess I was overcome with relief and triumph, both of which only lasted about 10 minutes when I heard the same strange sound at the front door again.  Dragging myself out of the recliner once more I tottered to the door, flung it open to see Miss Congeniality march in once again, pause for a snack and disappear out the back door.  I will save all of us the time and strength by skipping to the punch line which is that it only took about 17 repetitions of the scene to reduce me to a small puddle of sweat and tears and to knock it into my own mentally challenged brain that Bitsy had learned how to find her way home and intended to use the lesson to her advantage even if it killed me.  Thankfully, now that she has  got the maneuver down pat she no longer has to repeat it endlessly.  Now, after the return and the snack, instead of rushing out the back door she wisely takes a nap to prepare herself for the next round.  And, while she has not forgotten how to hiss and growl she seems to have found it less necessary.  There may be  hope after all.

Oh, yes......and she has even learned to come in out of the rain......will wonders never cease?

Excuses, Excuses, Excuses

Ugh!  I am plumb, fresh out of excuses.  I know I haven't blogged for eons and I am ashamed....but not so ashamed that I am able to do something about it.  I keep going to the file drawer in my brain labeled "Acceptable, Sympathy-Provoking Reasons for Not Blogging" and the folder is empty, barren of even a usable crumb.  I stand before you naked (symbolically of course) and vulnerable ......go ahead............throw rocks at me if you must, though I'd really rather you didn't............I abhor the whole idea of Death by Stoning.......in fact I could write a  whole blog about my rage at this revolting, barbaric  method of punishment......invented by cowards who are ignorant brutes  too afraid to indulge in their beastliness alone and must have the company and approval of the other cowards.....grrrrr.  But I digress........

I have spent the past week or so involved in the most unpleasant task of making changes to my Trust and, unfortunately. one cannot do that without having to contemplate ......nay, wallow in and face head-on one's final exit from this stage......that surely is enough to make anyone feel moody, puny and scared.

Furthermore, in the midst of this depressing task I also had to prepare myself and my Guest Suite for the arrival of some visitors.  No one who is not a hermit can properly understand the horror and strain this puts upon a hermit person.  Sadly, it doesn't matter whether or not you love the invaders of one's cave or not .........one has to be available for listening and/or talking and being totally interrupted from ones comfortable routine for a period of time.  Recovery from this usually takes at least twice as long as the visit. Gasp, groan. The torture and conflict are indescribable......on one hand you are tickled to see them and have them here and on the other hand you can't wait to see them...gone.

To make matters worse,  when my guests insisted on taking me out to dinner, instead of falling back on my good old reliable Italian restaurant, I decided we should try a new one that had  been highly recommended.  Disaster ensued, of course.  The unpleasant ambience was only exceeded by the dreadfulness of the food which we all kept assuring each other, with bright, phony smiles,  wasn't that bad when actually it was WORSE.  And, in order to keep up the pretense, I had to bring home in a doggy bag the uneaten remains of my dinner and suffer from the memory the next day when I opened the frig and my eyes fell upon the container.......the best part of that whole dining experience was that I got to enjoy throwing the garbage into the garbage where it belonged.

Well, you get the idea, and maybe I have managed to subtly generate an excuse for my absence after all.  Hopefully,  surely I have generated a bit of sympathy.  Or, maybe not.......

Needless to say, I am still in the recovery stage.  Not at all sure that I will ever emerge from same but keep tuned just in case.

Footnote to my beloved friends and family:
If any of you happen to read this, please understand that the above does not mean that you are not welcome to my cave.......it just explains why I have to keep lying down a lot.  Hermits are weird and need lot of understanding........ especially Gemini hermits..

Sickness and Demise by Google

I was just about to start this off with the admonition to all you wonderful people, "Don't Get Old!".......then I realized that the alternative is not very inviting so I take back the command.  Actually getting old is a very interesting process full of surprises (i.e that's funny.....I always used to be able to reach down there to put my socks on),  shocking discoveries (when the Gallup Poll asks me whether I expect my situation to be to be better, worse, or the same in 10 years (as they often do about different life situations)  just thinking about it scares the shit out of me.......I have absolutely no answer...... "damned if I know where I will be in 10 years, you insensitive dolt" doesn't have a box to be checked........I just click on "next"   and pray it is not as threatening. 

Perhaps one of the funniest things about getting old is the fact that, on your bad days,  you and your peers often have a lot of the same vague but possibly ominous symptoms but, in my case, only I have a computer....(these old biddies who refuse to move into the 21st century really burn my ass) ...consequently I have to be prepared to receive phone calls at any hour of the day or nite with an anxious, quavering voice pressing me to look up this kind of pain in the foot just above the big toe or that kind of strange eruption or rash on the hiney  or what could be causing a person to be unable to lift her legs and get out of bed in the morning and off I am dispatched to see what the oracle called Google offers as diagnosis. 

(Fortunately for that last mentioned condition I was able to diagnose it myself by asking how many blankets and quilts were keeping her warm and found the weight of same to be so heavy that it is a wonder she could ever walk again...removal of half of them resulted in an instant cure.......ah well.....)  But that Google can be a menace as well as an aid.........by the time I finish looking at the pictures and reading the dire predictions I usually come down the the very same affliction and can't rid myself of it till my next visit to the doctor whereupon he manages to dispel my fears without making me feel like a total unadulterated idiot.  I have always had a tendency to slight hypochondria
and Google is NO  place for hypochondriacs I can tell you.  I have decided, that for my own self protection, I must shut down my practice as medical intermediary or risk being stricken down before my time by somebody else's ailments.

I'll be very honest....I did not envision having these particular weird problems in my old age.......but I guess that is precisely the crux of the matter.....hardly anyone bothers to picture themselves in their old age and no one can imagine what old age is like till you are sunk into it up the the armpits.   Worse yet, there isn't a single damned book out there to properly describe or warn you of what to expect.  I guess that is why it still remains an adventure of some sort or another.........

An Apology to Rosie

This will be brief and to the point. 

I mistakenly accused/credited Rosie of "Spotty Dog" for offering the name "Bitch" for my new little terror/cat.  Horrors.  An error in the Blogosphere is a serious thing and I am ashamed, repentant and sorry, sorry, sorry.  Below is my public apology.

Rosie, my dear
A thousand apologies for crediting (?) you with the wrong kitty name in my blog.

Please forgive me !

End of the Name Game

I want to thank all you fine folk who attempted to help me name the newly arrived kitty and to apologize for my cowardly chickening out.   (see below)  All of the suggestions were splendid and I must confess I was very tempted by the appropriateness of "Spitunia" (laytonwomand3rd)  but you all must understand that I must picture myself standing on the front porch steps at any hour of the day or night shrieking the name into the neighborhood air along with loud clapping of the hands and intermittent hissings of "here pussy, pussy, pussy".  Sorry, Rosie, but from the beginning but I had to rule out "Bitch".   Not only would it project a skewed image of me as Cat Momma, but I fear it would give my neighbors the totally wrong idea of both of us.

However, for me the main quality the name must possess is that it feels good rolling off the tongue and I finally decided that the one that felt the best and was somewhat appropriate was...... "Bitsy".......not very imaginative I am afraid, but satisfactory.  Of course, I was also heavily influenced by the fact that the previous owners had been calling her "Mitzi", a name I detested, but I noticed that the little wretch at least cocked her ear slightly to the sound of that and "Bitsy"seemed the perfect solution..........so, c'est fini".

Thank you all enormously.......your suggestions were hugely useful in helping me decide what I did NOT want to name her......no offense intended..........and, who knows, after another few months of this silly growling and hissing she may end up being "Bitch"

I know you are all wondering why I have not posted a photo of her and I promise I will do so as soon as I can take one that does her justice. 

Gotta go now and round up the herd.

Urk......Excuse Me......Must Have Been Somehing I Ate

Oh, hell......I guess it was inevitable that it would happen some day.

I went to the frig the other day (and knowing me you KNOW that my frig is not one of those wimpy things with nothing in it but half bottle of champagne and an orchid )......well, as I was saying, there I was peering into the frig and I realized that one of the 5327 containers tucked away for future enjoyment or saved for the fight against midnight hunger attacks had leaked.  Rather then unload the entire frig to find the leaky one, I recklessly dipped my pinkie into the unidentifiable dribble and gave it a good lick to identify which container was at fault.  I can only say that next time I put out a fresh offering of lovely Smoothie made of chicken soup and Friskies Mixed Grill for those ungrateful beasts who share my house and my life, and they spurn it with cast up eyes and wrinkled noses and I scream, "You ingrates, that is delicious stuff,"  I will not just be flapping my gums.....I will be talking from experience.

Well, I wouldn't serve it to company, but it actually wasn't at all bad.........I think I have had worse in some restaurants......

You can tell from the fact that I have chosen the above minor incident to star in today's blog, that life here is rather uneventful and my best bloggyness is still hiding.  Most of my time lately has been devoted to trying not to fall down and trying desperately to introduce a 3rd female cat into a house ruled by 2 other spoiled rotten female cats.  In all fairness to Gussie and Winnie, they are  behaving like real menches while the new little one has the deplorable manners of an alley cat.  I am occasionally a bit cheered when a few hours go by without hearing any spitting, hissing or growling or the strange trilling sound she makes when she just wants to remind everyone that she is not a cat to be messed with. 

I am ashamed to say that I still have not settled on a name for the new arrival..........I usually name my cats after some ancestor or other but I have used up most of those names by now and also she just doesn't look like a Blumenthal......in fact I am afraid she is a shixa....(I am not prejudiced) but she should not go through life under false colors.........definitely not a Sarah or Fanny or Lena.  I have tried out dozens of names to see how they feel rolling off the tongue and still don't have the right one yet.  I began with Geegee (for Growling Girl), quickly skipped to Sugar (too bland) even tried Itsy Bitsy, Teeny Weeny, Green-eyed, Gray Haired Young Catini..........obviously too long even when shortened to Bitsy.  I dunno.......the right one will come to me and fortunately it doesn't seem to matter what I call her,  because when I do call her she ignores me no matter what the name.
I would welcome any suggestions, but I do not promise to use them unless it really works for both of us.

Well, here I sit rather listlessly on a Sunday morning, waiting for the Super Bowl to begin in a few hours (no, I do not watch those endless hours of pre-game hype....... I may occasionally eat cat food but I do have some standards) and am hoping it will be a good one and will dispel this strange ennui which sits heavily upon me today.  In the meantime I have hummingbird feeders to fill, birds and squirrels to feed and a thousand objects in between to NOT trip over.  I guess you could say that I have my work cut out for me.