Hooray For America!

FREE hit counter and Internet traffic statistics from freestats.com

Election Day is finally here--and it looks as if, for the first time in a LONG time, turnout will be high. Hooray for America! My personal political choices are clear. Above and beyond anything else, however, whether people agree with me or not, I want them to participate. For whom you vote is not as important to me as it is that you vote.

[Of course I'm presuming you've paid attention and are casting an intelligent vote, but that still doesn't mean you must agree with me on the issues. Agree with me only that paying attention and casting your ballot are what matters. That's all I ask.--Ed.]

It seems appropriate, somehow, that today is also Walter Cronkite's ninety-second birthday. Happy Birthday, Most Trusted Newscaster In America! Many, many happy returns! Mr. Cronkite is the embodiment of responsible journalism. In all the years he anchored the CBS Evening News, no one who did not know him personally had any idea what his personal political proclivities were. After he stepped down [was it 1981? Has it really been a generation? Tempus Fugit.--Ed.], I for one was delighted to learn that his personal politics were more "liberal" than I has suspected. Even if that were not true, I'd still say he is a totally "class act," and deserves our collective approbation. Just don't put 92 candles on the cake, or there will be a fire hazard!

On a more personal (and sadder) note, today is also the 6th anniversary of the day I had to have my beloved calico cat Gewürzchen euthanized. She had a malignant tumor in her jaw that grew from nothing to the size of a golf ball in 10 days . . . she was in a lot of pain, and the vet told me even surgery would not guarantee a cure. She'd never be able to eat solid food again, and there was no way to know whether the tumor would return. I know I did the right thing, but I still miss her. She was a sweet if skittish kitty. I hope she is resting in peace and comfort.

Veggie Tales

My cousin Anne yesterday brought me some of the bounty from her garden--tomatoes, a cucumber, assorted peppers, and green beans. I can't wait to make some Pico de Gallo with the tomatoes and peppers, and a side salad with the cucumber and some onions I already have on hand. Haven't figured out quite yet what to do with the green beans . . . and I must decide soon. When I got up this morning, I discovered that at least two of the green beans were making a break for it.

Well, actually, the cats were abetting the green beans in making a break for it. I caught Linus carrying one in his mouth while running down the stairs, and Lucy gingerly extracting one from the pile with her teeth.

I really need to get a video camera. The visuals are much funnier than any description I can provide.

Anyway, thanks to Anne for her generosity. Her garden's bounty will be put to good use . . . even if some of it does duty only as ersatz catnip.

Thank You, Garrison Keillior

FREE hit counter and Internet traffic statistics from freestats.com

If you have never heard nor read Garrison Keillior's Lake Wobegon story Tomato Butt, I encourage you to find a copy (in audio, it's one of the "Summer" Lake Wobegon stories; in book form, it's in Lake Wobegon Days) and listen to it or read it immediately. If you don't laugh out loud and don't recognize yourself or your family/friends, you need a mental health check-up.

Besides, it makes a perfect bookend to my tale of Linus and Lucy and the Roma tomato (see my previous post, You Say To-May-To, I Say To-Mah-To). The wandering Roma has been found . . . and disposed of without further incident, thank goodness.

Sometime in the last day, Linus retrieved it from whatever downstairs hidey-hole he'd used for it, and he deposited it amongst my stash of 1- and 2-liter bottles of water awaiting refrigeration. Complete with kitty tooth marks. [On the tomatoes, not the water bottles . . . though I wouldn't put that past Linus, either.--Ed.] My lovely friend Sarah (not Palin, praise the Powers That Be) noticed it while we were making pizza last night. As I was telling her the wandering Roma story.

Timing is everything!

You Say To-May-To, I Say To-Mah-To

FREE hit counter and Internet traffic statistics from freestats.com

I haven't written much about my kitties of late--not because they don't do something amusing every day; they do--but my attention has been focused primarily on other things. What happened yesterday, however, deserves special mention.

That's Linus in the photo, Lord Of All He Surveys. He likes to get up on the china hutch to get my attention when he feels I am not sufficiently attentive to his needs. So far, he's done nothing up there other than rattle a lid or two, but I am relieved that the hutch's crown molding creates a 4" deep barrier. I have no doubts he'd try to push one of the soup tureens or teapots off the thing if he thought it would get him what he wanted.

Sometimes he is a bit more subtle. Monday, my mom brought me a slightly under-ripe tomato from her garden. I left it out on the kitchen counter to get a day's sun to hasten its attainment of tomato-y Nirvana, and thus hasten my attainment of tomato-eating Nirvana. Yesterday morning, as I stumbled through my a.m. routine, I heard a thump, then the sound of Linus jumping off a counter, then the scurrying of cats playing with new and interesting toys, like twist ties.

I didn't think too much of it. I wasn't yet entirely awake. [Those of you who know me know well that I am not a 'morning person,' I have never been a 'morning person,' and I will never be a 'morning person.'--Ed.] Only later, when I entered the kitchen, did I realize that Linus and Lucy were playing soccer with the once and future tomato. Which has since disappeared. I have no idea where it is. I've looked for it in all the most likely places (as determined by whence the sounds of their playing with it came). I have looked in all the places they usually stash their toys, or lose them, depending on one's point of view. I have looked in places I believe it would be impossible for the tomato to be.

It's gone. I don't think they ate it; had they done that, there would have been seeds or juice residue visible somewhere. Besides, they've never shown a bit of interest in eating "people food"--except for Lucy with clotted cream and Linus with Ranch salad dressing.

I know. If I wait a few days, the tomato's location will make itself known. I'm just not sure I really want to find it by that method.

And why the heck didn't someone tell the cats the Olympics were over already, anyway?

Santa's Little Helpers--NOT!

For those of you who had trouble seeing the picture I've added to my profile, here it is in a larger version. That's Linus on your left (higher) and Lucy on your right (lower). They never knocked the tree over, and they didn't break any ornaments--because I put up only non-breakable ones--but the tree was listing quite a bit by the end of the holiday season!

Unaccustomed As We Are . . .

Welcome to my looney bin!

I don't know exactly where I will be going with this blog; in the past, on other sites, and under another name, I have posted political commentary, satire, news analysis, and the laments of Chicago Cubs fans everywhere.

I imagine that I will cover everything from accountability issues to zoos. For I believe in being interested and informed about just about everything under the sun.

You may expect from me bad puns, obscure movie references, stories about my cats, and my honest efforts to analyize news topics of interest.

I hope to get a lot of feedback, for what I most hope for is to exchange ideas.

It may be corny, but let's sit down together and learn from one another--and especially share a hearty laugh or two.

My motto, a la Groucho Marx, is that "I wouldn't belong to any club that would have me as a member."

I will begin with a story or two about my cats, because we are approaching the two year anniversary of the revelation I am about to share, and because it's funny. At least, I think so!

A little more than two years ago, I adopted two black and white, half-Siamese kittens from an area animal shelter. I was told they were the last two sisters in a litter of 8. I never bothered to check independently. After all, the animal shelter staff knew what they were doing. In any event, the kittens had green eyes and adorable personalities, so how could I not take them both?

I named them, brought them home, and did my best to make them comfortable in the face of the hubub of the holiday season.

They each liked to take turns sleeping on my left shoulder. (They still do, which is a problem now that they are full grown and the size of small ponies.) One night, one of them was circling around, trying to settle, and thus waving its butt in my face, and I realized something: there are a lot of things I do not know, but I do know that THAT is not a girl!

So, it turns out I have a brother and a sister. I renamed them Linus and Lucy, and nothing has been the same since.

(The humane society people, by the way, were as startled to learn this as I was. I had my vet send independent confirmation when I had them spayed and neutered in accordance with the humane society's policies. One of the staff called me and asked me if I were sure! I'm sure.)

Linus apparently has gender issues; he is bound to prove at any given moment that he is all boy. He likes, for example, to do a tightrope walk on my living room wrought iron balcony railing. And then to chase his tail when he is out over the "deep end," as it were. In short, he needs to prove every day that he has a full component of testosterone, giving me heart failure in the process.

He also likes to climb more than any other cat, Siamese blood or no, I've ever known. I regularly find him on top of my china hutch, skulking amongst the soup tureens. He also enjoys breaking things if I am not paying sufficient attention to him at any given moment. And for the longest time, nothing would deter him--not even a squirt of pure vinegar (water had absolutely no effect on him whatsoever). He has finally learned, however: now, I just have to point the squirt bottle at him when he's doing something I don't want him to do, and off he'll run. It's just that he has short term memory loss, or something, because a few hours later, he'll try again.

But he has the tiniest meow and the most delicate purr, and the pinkest of pink noses . . . so maybe he's not 100% certain about his gender issues either! In any event, I cannot stay mad at him, for he loves to cuddle and purr. Especially now that the weather is getting colder, I can find almost nothing better to do than curl up w/ the cats, a cup of tea, and a good book.

Lucy, on the other hand, has a black Groucho mustache over her nose and upper lip; a meow like a foghorn, and a motor like a '68 Dodge Hemi with no muffler. But she also has the most silky fur of any cat I've ever encountered. She likes to cuddle, too, but she's not as "in your face" about it as Linus literally is.

I'll try to post a picture or two someday. They are truly adorable, especially when they both try to curl up together and snooze in my bathroom sink. They could do that when they were little, but now, let's just say it's more than a bit of a tight squeeze.

Here endeth today's lesson. Let the fun and games begin!