The Cat Tour

It’s been a while since we’ve taken the Cat Tour. Readers of my little book, Cat Consequences, may remember the highlights, but since that particular writing effort failed to make the New York Times Best Seller list, it’s about time for another go round. What this tour will show is the enormous influence that the cats have upon my life here at the humble abode as well as an effort to evoke your sympathy for one who must deal with the felines on a daily basis.

(cue violin music)

The Garage: You wouldn’t think that the cats would have much influence over a garage. You would be wrong. A ratty maroon throw-rug adorns the hood of my pickup as we speak. Why? Because the cats climb on everything out there leaving tiny claw marks in the paint. All windows on both vehicles must be up. Leave a window down and you will find a cat curled up in one of the seats leaving a pound or two of cat hair behind when you chase it off. If the overhead door is left open a crack for dog ventilation, you must check to be sure that a cat is not lying under the door before hitting the switch. Now I know what you’re thinking; how could I possibly be blamed for forgetting to look and accidently mashing a cat? Well, I can. Nuff said about that.

Then there’s the Minnie cat that likes to lie on top of my rear wheel. The same guidelines apply. Of course there’s the ubiquitous bowl of fresh water and one of dry cat foot for midnight snacks. Yes, I have stepped in that water bowl, and more than once.

Oh, almost forgot. There must also be a cat rug over the table saw so that the little dears don’t stick a foot in the slot and cut themselves. It gets worse.

The Kitchen: More water bowls and food dishes. I had no idea how much ants loved cat food until this last summer. Leave a bowl on the floor for thirty minutes and the little buggers will form a chow line that stretches from here to who knows where? Yes, I’ve stepped in those bowls as well.

The Deck. This area lies just off the kitchen and also serves as an outdoor dining area for the cats. Here, food is catered whenever the kitties can’t be bothered to stand up and walk to the kitchen. And  yes, there is yet another water bowl on the deck.

The Master Bedroom and Bath: Water bowl and food dish? Check.  Been there, stepped in both of ‘em.  But wait, there’s more. Here, next to the bathtub, lies one of the infamous litter boxes, the bane of every cat owner. The box is filled with dried cactus needles and razor sharp rocks. I know this because I step through the overflow every night on my way to the bathroom. This particular location is Minnie’s favorite, and used only between the hours of  two and three a.m. This is significant because Minnie the cat has the worse smelling poop in the entire cat kingdom. What you think is a dream where you’ve fallen into a septic tank, is actually the aftermath of a late night visit from Minnie.

Years ago, while perusing a wildlife gift catalogue, I spotted an attractive bed cover with images of Northern Cardinals. Had to have it. Moments after delivery, I had it in place, stood back, and admired how well it went with the decor. I haven’t seen it since. Reason? The cover was constructed with a loose weave, perfect for grasping and tugging by the feline claw. Estimated destruction time? About three and half minutes. Glance in the bedroom today and you’ll see the bed covered not by beautiful red birds , but by a cat sheet, one of many that we’ll discuss later. A cat sheet can be any color or condition, décor be damned.

The Family Room: More cat sheets here, lots of them; my chair, the divans, but strangely enough, there is no sheet on the Missus’s favorite chair. I don’t know why. The carpet in this room is a light beige and goes oddly well with the color of cat puke.  In a pathetic attempt to keep the little darlings from destroying the divan, a scratching box is discreetly tucked away under an end table. You’ve seen them, cheap affairs made with disposable cardboard? I could easily sell it in the next garage sale as the box remains in pristine condition with nary a mark on it. Need I mention the curtains? I didn’t  think so.

The Doll Room. This is a small area where the Missus keeps her collection of dolls. Some are Plain Jane, others are unique with homemade dresses and cute little hats. Many of them have their own personal story. Many means exactly that. What started as a few dolls sitting in a cabinet has now grown around the room into baby beds, baby desks, baby strollers, and now on to and across the floor. Can you spell h-o-a-r-d-e-r? Are the cats allowed in this room? Hell, no. Strictly off limits. No surprise there.

The Utility Room: This might come as a shock, but there’s a water bowl and a food dish just inside the door. Also, a litter box, a cat bed, and various cat toys. This room is where the gray cat named Blue, spends the night; isolated, with the door shut. Locked In solitary is not unusual for Blue. If you recall, this is the cat that goes on an occasional urine spraying rampage. Why there has been no execution date set for this cat remains a mystery.

Guest Bedroom: Cat sheets galore! One covers a chair that I’ve not seen the color of since the day it came in the door. Another sheet adorns…well, I’m not sure what it is. Yes, there is a bathroom here. Guess what’s inside. You got it! Another food bowl, water dish, and the necessary of all necessaries, another litter box.

The Office Room: The Man Cave: The Sanctuary: Actually, it’s none of those things. Here, the cats roam with the same impunity they enjoy in the rest of the house, sleeping where they want, dislodging cables from the electronics leaving me to search for hours to find the problem, and generally making pests of themselves.

A final note: During our tour, did you happen to notice the number of cat related objects hanging on walls and sitting on shelves. In case you forgot to count, the total comes to one hundred and seventeen. Can you spell o-b-s-e-s-s-i-v-e?

Well, that’s the end of the tour. Thank you for your time and attention. Sympathy cards, sent to the usual home address, are always appreciated.

(fade violin music)

Feline Fury

Over the years, several battles have been waged here at the humble abode and against a variety of adversaries. But the one that remains everlasting, eternal, perpetual, and most maddening is the war against the cats. It’s the classic unwinnable conflict, for me, not the cats. They remain victorious. It’s a little like the cockroach scenario, the bugs will live on despite everything nature can and has thrown at them. The cats will rule long after I’m gone and moldy in my grave.

I won the war against the raccoons. Oh, they’re still around. They send out scouts every now and then to see if my defenses are down or weakened. I still see them on occasion  when the dog alarm goes off and I catch their shiny little eyes in the beam of my flashlight. But I know and they know, their once devastating attacks on my bird feeders are now nothing more than a hiss of a threat. Modern technology in the form of an electrified cable stretched between two trees, protects the feeders with an invisible force. The charger that gives them a “non-fatal but memorable” jolt hasn’t been hot for several months now, but the coonies haven’t noticed. Raccoons have long memories. I’m still considering a patent. (Note: Not only did the electrified cable stop the coonies, it also lit up the squirrels, an added bonus.)

But the cats battles, that’s a different story. Unlike the coonies, the cats operate under a shield of immunity upheld and enforced by the Missus. Cats can do no wrong.

 Pee on the carpet? “The poor thing must have a bladder infection. I’ll take her to the vet.”

Claw the furniture? “I’ll get a scratch pad at PetSmart.”

Knock over an antique vase and watch it smash to the floor? “She didn’t mean to do it.”

Yes, all those kitty sins wear on me, but nothing like when they take down the song birds that I so faithfully feed and coax in for photographs, luring them to their death as it turns out. Faithful readers might remember the cat fence. Another laudable invention where I encircled the area beneath the feeders with chicken wire. This idea worked far beyond my wildest expectations. Not only did it stop the ferocious feline charge on ground feeding birds; the cats would not scale or jump the fence even though they were quite capable of doing so. Something about the flimsiness of it I think.

However, there was one feeder, an expensive squirrel proof model, that hung by itself, away from the protection of the cat fence, there being no room left on the cable.. It hung at a higher altitude than the other feeders, seemingly safe from assault…until yesterday.

It wasn’t the first time I’d caught the Brat Cat, aka The Problem Child, hanging around underneath that particular feeder. I wasn't all that worried, the heighth of the feeder being out of range of even the most athletic of felines. Wrong! As I watched in horror, the Brat Cat gathered her strength, coiled, and sprang, snatching a bird off the feeder with fang and claw as easily as swatting a fly. Proudly, she then ran into the woods with her trophy,  feathers flying. I couldn’t believe it. The distance of the leap, and I’m not making this up, was 58 ½ inches measured by my trusted and highly accurate, Black and Decker ruler. Clearly, a new invention was in order.

What I came up with was the Acme Cat Shield. The idea was simple; a frame of stiff wire spanned by a network of plastic mesh commonly used in gardens and such for ivy to climb on. Tie wraps were used to secure a 24 inch square of the mesh to the framework. More wire served as a hanger to place the ACS (Acme Cat Shield)  approximately one foot below the feeder. I stood back, evaluated the invention, and deemed it to be a work of genius. Of course the final test, the make or break, the safety of the feeding bird, would not be known until the Brat Cat made another attack. I didn’t have to wait long.

Only a few hours had passed before the Problem Child made one  of her perfected stealthy approaches and parked her marauding little ass under the feeder for an another ambush. Remember, this would be the second kill of the day. No telling how many others I had missed.

With the ACS in place, I waited for a bird, the cat waited for a bird. Time passed. The tension was palpable.

I saw it out of the corner of my eye, a House Finch, it’s little reddish breast flashing in the sun, descended from the trees, hovering a moment at the feeder, and then… dropping to the ground.

 “NO! NO!”I yelled, “Not the ground you dumb-ass bird.” Sho nuff, before I could move, before I could find an object to fling at the cat, before I could charge to the rescue, the Brat Cat had another victim.

“It’s just doing what comes naturally,” the Missus says, a witness to the whole bloody event.

“Yeah? Well my natural reaction is to get the .20 gauge.”

It was an idle threat of course. She knew it and I knew it. But it felt good to say it.

Of course, there’s nothing idle about the threat of another invention. This one also includes modern technology in the form of electrical current. 

There’s nothing quite like the smell of burned cat hair in the morning.

Gas. Why so much?

It’s that time again, my annual rant against gas prices. Once again, prices have soared as we near record highs of the year. As always, the question is, what the hell? Why the increase?

At least one spokesman for the American Automobile Association had the refreshingly good sense to admit, “We haven’t a clue.”

Let’s look at the excuses from the past and present:

         Hurricanes halts production in the Gulf.

Granted, Isaac shut down a few refineries for a few days and they are, as the media reports, “slow to restart.” Umm, have these people never dealt with hurricanes before? Are there no backup plans? No spare parts on the shelf?  Keep in mind, it doesn’t take an actual hurricane to slow production, a single black cloud over Cuba will do it.

         Tension in the Middle East.

Gee, that’s the first time that’s ever happened, huh? Iran and Israel are rattling sabers? Wow. Unheard of. Yet, this rerun excuse is trotted out each and every summer as the cause of higher prices. A slightly new twist blames the recent riots because some loony film maker insulted the Prophet Muhammad and given yet another excuse for every flag-burning extremist over there to riot and murder. However, I did not see where any refineries were torched.

         The refineries have to shift to a summer blend which means added costs.

Oh, poor babies. BP, Chevron, ConocoPhillips, ExxonMobil, and Shell—earned a combined $33.5 billion, or $368 million per day, during the first quarter of 2012. Recall that these companies made a combined record profit of $137 billion in 2011, mostly due to high oil and gasoline prices. Think they could find it in their hearts to forego a little profit in the interest of the country's economy? Hah!

      It’s Obama’s fault.

     That’s the latest one. News flash! The President does not set the price of oil.

   

     But we all know the real reason for the outlandish prices don’t we? It’s the boys on Wall Street and their ilk, the speculators, the pirates that bid the price up on the slightest whim or rumor.  We pay and somebody profits while these boys sit back in their chairs and try to come with unique excuses. Actually, they’re not even trying for originality anymore, they don’t have to. Any old reason will do. And if they can't think of one, raise the prices anyway. 

This just in: Tulsa World, 9-20-2012. Oil prices lower for 3^rd consecutive day.

Why? What changed? Did the Mid-East sign a peace treaty? Did the lone black cloud over the Gulf dissipate? No. As one analyst explained, traders are taking profits after oil dropped below $100 a barrel.

Taking profits? Profits? Really? Suddenly, it all becomes clear.

And this: Crude inventories rose three times more than analysts expected.  

Three times? Poor judgment? I think not. Can’t we just see these bloodsuckers analysts sitting in their high rise Manhattan apartments? “Boy, we missed that one didn’t we? snicker, snicker. Sorry about that folks. Our bad.” At which point they all fall to the floor on their thousand dollar a yard carpet, spilling their drinks, and laughing hysterically.

Back in the day when I worked for Ma Bell, the Corporation Commission set the amount of profit that the company could earn because we were deemed to be a “monopoly.” Guess what. Despite the restriction, Southwestern Bell ( now AT&T... again) was and is one of the most successful companies in the United States.

 I think it’s high time we appointed a commission to set the price of oil. When one product can so drastically effect the lives of the entire population, there needs to be an oversight group than can stand up and say, “Hey, enough is enough. You can earn a fair profit, pay your employees, explore for new oil, and satisfy your stock holders, but you can not continue to hijack the American public. We are sick of your obscene profits at our expense and we’re not gonna’ take it anymore.”

Now some people may claim: you don’t understand how the oil business works. You don’t have your facts straight. Maybe, but our politicians aren’t bothered with any inconvenient truth, why should I be any different?

Until next year.