Recommended Reading

At 11:30 this morning, I began reading a most excellent book.. I am afraid that I could not put it down and have just completed the 300^th page of one of the most heartwarming books I have ever had the good fortune to stumble upon.

Should you get a chance to read “Homer’s Odyssey” by Gwen Cooper, I highly recommend it. This is a true story detailing the life of a most extraordinary feline!

More Tigger

I am going to post two chapters today as the first one is rather dry.....

Chapter 2 - The Set-up

So, I am going to borrow a leaf from the wonderful writer James Michener who authored such novels as ‘Hawaii’. Mr. Michener often used the first chapter of his book to ‘set up’ the stage for the words to come. I shall endeavor to do the same for you now.

The area:

My abode was in the Westville section of New Haven.

Westville is rather an oxymoron….. Whalley Avenue, where I lived, is a dividing line of sorts. To one side, the projects and the dorms of the local college….This section was rife with all the things one might expect of projects and college housing. Sex, drugs, rock and roll….. etc. The other side of Whalley Ave is lined with homes and a few that could be called ‘estates’. Quiet streets, well-off families, even some ‘Executive Housing’ – apartments generally built to rent to traveling businessmen for terms of weeks, days, or months.

The building I was in was bordered by Whalley Ave on the front, and a very quiet little side street on which stood the local phone company office, a church, a fire house, and a library.

The parking lot for our building was off this quiet side street and fairly well lit. The back door led to a long hall – the hall had its own baseboard heat complete with a thermostat. My apartment was at the end of this hall on the left.

The abode:

The building I lived in had 3 floors. The first floor, the second floor and the ‘garden apartments’ – one of which I lived in. “Garden” as a nice way of saying ‘basement’. My windows were the kind that were put into houses built in the late 50’s and early 60s – screen on the outside, four panes – two on the top and two on the bottom. It was a fairly quiet building with all the occupants being generally quiet and reasonably friendly.

I should mention that this was an ‘early 60’s’ design apartment – intended to be a ‘luxury’ affair. This meant that it was ‘total electric’ and had such amenities as a dishwasher and an air conditioner.

 When one entered my apartment, one was in a short hall with two closets. The one on the left held the hot water heater. The one on the right was a coat closet. Directly past the hot water heater closet was the entry to the kitchen. It was a small but cozy affair – brown appliances (a very popular color during the 60’s. The kitchen and hall both opened into the living room. To the left of the living room – a hallway with a bath on the left and my bedroom directly in front. The bedroom had a huge walk-in closet which could have easily been another bedroom.

The bathroom was a delight – for an apartment. I had a full vanity sink with a long medicine chest with sliding doors and a mirror above. The vanity held many, many things…. Deodorant, the usual plethora of feminine fripperies and perfumes, make up of every shade and brand, facial cleansers, moisturizers etc., and, of course, the ash tray. Yes – at this time, I must claim that filthy habit  -UGH!

On top of the toilet tank stood a wooden shelf unit which contained soaps, Kleenex and various other sundries. The bottom shelf contained a large box of q-tips. (Yes….there really is a point to this.). The tub had the usual shampoo and cream rinse assortment, sponges, loofas, razors, etc all strewn around the tub ledge.

The hamper was in the bathroom. This was Cuddles perch – upon which many games of ‘Beaver Slap’ were played.

The walk-in closet I usually kept closed off. It was a vast storage area for many things OTHER than simply shoes and clothing.

The Car:

Yes, the car DID play a part. It was the only car I have ever bought brand new. The department of motor vehicles and I strongly disagreed on the color of this car. They insisted that it was ‘brn’. “BRN” – are you serious? ‘BRN’ implies brown…. Dull… unimaginative… boring… and my car was NOT boring! The color was CINNAMON! Yes – the color of the stuff you put on TOAST! YUM! It was a 1984 Buick Skyhawk. These were called ‘J’ cars – which refers to the body style somehow. (didn’t look like a J to me – but maybe it just meant that it came before the ‘K’ cars? (Reliant K etc)?) In any event, the car was a 2.0litre 4 cylinder with a standard shift (4speed). The interior was a RICH chocolate (nope – that was NOT ‘BRN” either!). The bucket seats were cloth covered with headrests that were, of course, much too high for this very short woman. And no – I was not bright enough to purchase this car with air conditioning… sigh…

So – there you have it…. Where I and my fur-children resided. Needless to say, with Whalley Ave ( Ct Rt 63) outside my front door, my fur-children were NOT allowed to explore the outside….

Chapter  3

So, my fur babies grew and grew. And of course, soon it was time to consider neutering them. Cuddles – being the older – was first. Uneventful…. Other than it was totally traumatic for him. And me.

If you recall, I mentioned that there was a thermostat and heat in the hallway.. Frequently during the winter, those of use in the ‘garden’ apartments  would open the doors to our apartments, close the doors at either end of the hall, and utilize that heat instead of turning up the heat in the individual apartments – as the individual heat was difficult to regulate and often ended up being uncomfortably hot.

Across the hall from me lived a nice young man with two female cats. I with my two boys and he with his two girls – often let our ‘children’ play together in the hall.

Just before I could neuter Tigger, this young man went to visit his family for about a week. and asked that I ‘babysit’ his two girls – which I readily agreed to. His two girls were in the same condition as my two boys – one spayed, one not.

 Okie was part Sphinx I think. No fur. And in heat. Tigger was old enough to ………. Well… you know. But he didn’t. As a matter of fact, he was completely clueless. So, Okie thought that  she could SHOW him…

She called and called and called…. And over came TIgger. She laid on her tummy putting her tail as far up in the air as she could… pushing her backside up. She wiggled. She squirmed. She wiggled underneath him. He nibbled her neck. And she yowled harder…. And then – he went to play with his ball….

So she called again…. And called and called and called. And over came TIgger. She laid on her tummy putting her tail as far up in the air as she could… pushing her backside up. She wiggled. She squirmed. She wiggled underneath him. He nibbled her neck. And she yowled harder…. And then – he went to have some crunchies…..

So she called once more…. And called and called and called. And over came TIgger. She laid on her tummy putting her tail as far up in the air as she could… pushing her backside up. She wiggled. She squirmed. She wiggled underneath him. He nibbled her neck. And she yowled harder…. And then – he went to take a nap…..

And so the weekend went….

Somewhere in here, I realized that neutering Tigger would probably be a kindness….

The glass half full

So, yesterday, I was talking to my therapist and I said to myself (and then out loud) words that I have said COUNTLESS times before… “It’s too much”…

Now, everyone says those words sometimes.  And then we all go on. Well, ok, not everyone just goes on. But many do.

“It’s too much”.

I’ve been so ashamed to say that out loud.  After all, there are so many with so much less and so much more to do than I and I am so fortunate so how can I possibly say that it’s too much. I’m a single parent.  Single parents  are supposed to do what I do. Long hours at a job, being mother and father and chief cook and bottle washer and doctor, lawyer and Indian Chief…  How can it be too much if every other single parent out there is doing it?

Well… it is.

Just because it’s too much doesn’t mean we DON’T do it. That statement doesn’t let us off the hook for doing what is necessary. But  what we single parents do IS ‘too much’ for one person to do.

 In the standard family unit, there is always some inequality in the chores that make a household run smoothly. But, in most, the burden is carried by TWO people. In households like mine, that burden is carried by ONE person.

Now, the big thing here isn’t that I, and other single parents do a lot.  What IS a big thing is that I can SAY that and know that it is ok to say that because it is true. I’m not tooting my own horn. I’m not being a martyr  I’m not trying to garner  sympathy or accolades.

 I’m not a hero.

It  IS ok to state a simple fact.

And it is also ok for me to recognize in myself that I do accomplish a lot. And that I will continue to accomplish a lot. It is ok for me to recognize me for what I do.

Living in the Past

This morning, someone sent me an email with a delightful poem about growing up In the 50’s…. I got kind of an odd feeling.

I didn’t grow up in the 50’s.

I didn’t really grow up in the 60’s either – although I was alive through that entire decade and am very much aware of all that happened….

I am really a child of the 70’s… a very interesting decade.

When I was 8, my aunt opened up a whole new world to me. She introduced me to books. She had a collection from when she was a young girl which she began to share with me. They included Nancy Drew, Hardy Boys, Judy Bolton, Ruth Fielding, Honey Bunch, The Five Little Peppers and How They Grew , Cherry Ames and many others. 

I did not read the ‘updated’ versions of these books. I read the ORIGINALS. The ones that were written in the 30’s and 40’s. The ones with large printing and pages that were like construction paper.

My aunt passed away in 1989. She left all these books to me and I treasure them still and reread them often. I collect ones that I do not have from church basement tag sales when I can find them and I read each one multiple times.

Through these books, I learned about life in the 30’s, 40’s and 50’s…… The descriptions of the towns, roads, people, and the occasional pictures allowed me to see a world that was vastly different from the one I grew up in.

Reading these books – and seeing this email….. I know that I did not physically live during the 30’s, 40’s and 50’s – but through these books – I DID live through them. The things that people my age do not remember came alive for me through these books. So, when I see these reminiscent emails – I feel as if I have lived these times. Each picture seems real  to me – as real as if I had seen them first hand.

Books make history come alive in a way that movies cannot. With books, we are free to use and to develop our imaginations. To see what WE choose to see – our own visions of the past. In movies, we see someone elses vision of the past – what they think or believe or research. The feeling of living through that era or time can’t be created because it is not ones own…

Books are mans gift to man. Read. Treasure what Is in your own mind. Create. Live a time that is not your own.

Tigger - Part 1

I guess I will begin at the beginning…. Although, I’m not really sure where the beginning actually is….

Lets see…. How about starting with Boo..

I had a long and fairly tumultuous relationship with a man that I thought I was going to marry. When we broke up, it was the single most devastating thing ever to happen to me. I slunk downhill emotionally to a place where I never want to be again. It was pitch black there…..

The apartment building I lived in did not actually ‘allow’ pets – however, since the super had a dog, they tended to turn a blind eye to resident animals. I’m not really sure when I decided that I wanted a cat, but I remember taking my mom with me to pick one out. My aunt happened to be friendly with one of the founders of SAFE. SAFE was a group of people that took in stray animals and eventually adoped them out for a very small donation, or kept them for the remainder of their natural lives. SAFE worked on word of mouth, and would not have allowed me to adopt had my aunt not vouched for me.

Mom and I went to see LaVonne first. Sadly, LaVonne did not have a kitten at the age I was looking for. She recommended us to another woman – Shirley – whom we went to see. Shirley had just rescued a litter of kittens. They were just 8 weeks old and ready to be adopted. After playing with these little fellows for quite awhile, Boo picked me.

Since I was so devastated (and quite the drama queen), I initially named him ‘Ashes’. “From the ashes of my life, I will return” was the dramatic statement accompanying his name. Well, ‘Ashes’ doesn’t work very well with an Orange tabby…

As a new pet owner, I was nervous…. After all, this little ball of orange fluff – well – he was LITTLE! So, the first few days, I closed him in the bedroom, fearing that I would lose him if I allowed him to wander freely in my HUGE (LOL) 3 room apartment!  I also put him down on the floor because I was afraid he would fall off the bed which was a whole 2 ½ feet off the ground!! Well… I mean – geez – he is soooooooooo LITTLE!

Well, after a few months, I began to date a fellow that I had dated a few years before. We quite hit it off together and he was also a cat lover!  He had a cat he called ‘Grey’. Grey was………. Well, grey. J Grey had a thing for water – yes, a cat that likes water! Grey also had 6 toes. On all 4 paws!  Grey and I became great friends…… he accompanied me to the bathroom every morning to watch the water in the toilet… While waiting for that exciting moment, he would sit patiently on top of the washing machine (placed directly across from toilet) and we would play  ‘Beaver Slap”. This is a delightful game for cats and humans alike – as long as the cat remembers to keep his claws retracted. If he gets out of hand, however, the humans hands can end up looking rather like shaved steaks!

As bad luck would have it, Grey was hit by a car…. L

A few short weeks later, the then beau came home with another kitten…. The kitten looked amazingly like Grey except that he was much darker – a great deal of black fur…. But, the same 6 toes on every paw!  According to the beau, Grey had a predecessor – Tiger. Since the new kitten looked rather like Tiger, the name my gentleman friend settled on was Tigger.

Well, Tigger and I also became great friends. I introduced him to my little orange tabby – who, by that time, had earned his semi-permanent name of Cuddles. The two – Tigger and Cuddles also became great friends. I sort of took over Tigger’s care…. Vet visits and shots and the like…  The two cats went back and forth between my apartment and the beau’s trailer.

Eventually, our relationship came to an end. The day we broke up, my gentleman friend came to retrieve Tigger – and as he was sitting in my living room preparing to take Tigger back home with him, I believe he had a revelation… He got up to leave – without Tigger – saying, ‘Tigger is much happier here with you. I think he should stay with you if you wouldn’t mind having him.”

Wouldn’t MIND???????? Are you serious???????

And so, Tigger came to stay.

I must digress here for a moment and tell you how Cuddles got his name…. well, THIS name. This little orange heart-breaker preferred to sleep with humans… as a matter of fact, he preferred to sleep LIKE humans. Every night, he would get into bed with me.  He would tuck himself underneath the covers – with his head facing mine on the pillow next to me. He would then take one front paw and place it on either side of my neck….. cuddling me.  He would gently purr and purr and purr and purr and purr until he fell asleep – and then he SNORED!

Oh – yes, one more Cuddles story…..

My dad was a GREAT fisherman. He LOVES to fish – fresh water and salt water. So, he would catch fish, clean them, and send me home with a bag of heads and tails for my little Cuddle-kins for treats…..

Well, I must tell you – my little boy had to ‘kill’ his meal before he could eat it. So, when I awarded him with one of these fish parts, he would pounce – and the next hour (at least) was spent in absolute rapture chasing, stalking, tossing, batting, beating, and throwing this already-deceased ‘prey’  prior to dining upon it. Of course, by the time the dining event took place, it had been in many places –including one of the most feared places in the kitchen – the dreaded ‘UNDERNEATH THE REFRIGERATOR’…. The place where many things (including dust and dirt) go but very few things ever return from…..

Well, this was a source of great amusement for my little feline friend and I saw no harm in it …………………

UNTIL

ONE NIGHT

When the ‘prey’ had been particularly exhausting to ‘hunt’ and ‘kill’ and my lovely furry child disappeared to dine… After a few moments, it occurred to me to wonder why everything was so quiet all of a sudden… Anyone who has children knows that when you hear nothing – no sounds – WORRY!!!!!

So… I called.. “Cuddles’ “Where is Mommy’s baby Cuddle-kins?!”

Nothing

So I looked…

In the kitchen

In the hall

In the closets

In the bathroom

Under the couch…..

And finally

The bedroom

Where my PRECIOUS FUR-BABY was sprawled upon the pillow upon which we BOTH lay our weary heads at night – dining on the ‘prey’ which he had so skillfully ‘hunted’……