We should have named him Neptune...

Kelly linked to a “personal DNA” test that is quite fun.  If you’d like to give it a try, click here.  Kelly is a Considerate Leader.  Jake is a Cautious Inventor.  I am a Benevolent Visionary.  Funny, I didn’t see THAT coming.

I have spring fever.  The birds woke me up at 7 AM this morning, and I did NOT experience the desire to purchase a shotgun.  I am not a morning person.  I am, however, an idiot.  I have just ensured that the birds will wake me at the crack of dawn by setting up five bird feeders.  See, spring fever.

I am not blind to the irony of a cat owner setting up bird feeders to attract birds.  My kitties are the indoor variety, however, and so just sit at the front door, salivating and plotting their escape.  Being cats with tiny little brain pans, their only strategy so far has been to periodically charge the door when it is opened and this strategy doesn’t work.  It is annoying, but it doesn’t work.  I see Hobbes and Patches with their heads together, diagrams and maps laid out in front of them, synchronizing their watches- and then they charge the door.  Cats do not seem to learn from past experiences.

Hobbes is turning out to be an interesting cat.  He loves water.  I have trained cats using a spray bottle in the past pretty effectively; well, as effective as can be, since we are discussing cats here. If they get on the table or counter, I squirt them.  Since most cats hate water, after 6 or 7 millions squirts, they associate getting wet with whatever it is they are doing, and stop doing it.  Hobbes, however, seems to enjoy getting wet.  He engages in forbidden activities so that I will squirt him. His hydrophilia does not stop there.  He splashes in his water bowl.  Since he shares this bowl with Patches, she is not amused, and since the floor is slippery when wet, neither am I.  He loves to play in the toilet and doesn’t seem to mind when he periodically falls in.  He particularly loves to watch/interact with a flushed toilet.  He also likes to shower with me.

I’ve had cats that were curious about the whole bathing thing before.  They would jump up on the tub, look in, horrified and appalled by water falling from the ceiling and the stupid human just standing there, for Pete’s sake, and then take off.  Not Hobbes.  Hobbes gives me “Psycho” moments.  My bathroom door does not stay closed unless locked, and I don’t like to lock it in case I fall or faint or am attacked by newspaper wielding bell-boys.  Hobbes takes advantage of the easily opened door and lets himself in.  He stealthily gets up onto the tub rim and begins to pat at me through the shower curtain.  The first time I felt something touch me while I was showering I nearly had a coronary.  Good thing the door was open, because I went through it, dripping wet and buck naked, and stood trembling in my bedroom, looking for something to defend myself with.  Fairy figurine in hand, I went back into the bath, and found Hobbes in the tub, batting at the spray at the far end of the tub.  We bathe together regularly now.  

Hobbes is an “in your face” kinda kitty.  Patches likes to curl up on my lap, or in the curve of my legs while I am sleeping and purr her deep, loud and throbbing purr.  It is so soothing.  Hobbes likes to curl up on my face. I push him off, he comes right back.  I throw him off and he comes right back.  It’s actually a signal that he wants to play, and I can get him off my face by playing with him.  We usually play “kill the kitty”.  

     Well, gotta go.  The workmen are here to put down the tile in Mama’s bathroom, and she and Hobbes, apparently fascinated by the process, are driving them crazy.  Guess I should go rescue the poor dudes.  Ever notice that “senile” and “feline” have all the same letters but one?   Mama is wandering around in “shout, sing and babble” mode, and Hobbes is investigating the disconnected toilet which is sitting in the tub.  I’d squirt him, but I don’t want to encourage him.  Wonder if I should squirt Mama?

Not for the FAINT of heart...

Dave left for San Diego without me on Sunday, so I am home alone with La Mama. It had to be… one contractor will be installing a new floor in Mama’s bathroom on the 15th, and another is coming to fit my trapezoid windows in the great room with some light filtering system or another. Mama is paying for the second, because she is the one who really wants the light to be filtered, though neither Dave nor I care enough one way or the other for it to matter.

Our last trip to San Diego lasted three weeks, which I know from experience is one week too long for Mama to cope with. She manages our two-week absences fairly well, but the extra week that is necessary from time to time is too much for her to bear. It drives her crazy. It’s a short drive. Invariably, our time home with her after a prolonged trip takes on a surreal quality that defies description.

The latest wrinkle is fainting. Mama gave fainting a test run last summer. She went with me to meet the kids at the old house when we were trying to get it ready for renters. The house was cool, there was plenty to drink, and she had a place to comfortably sit while we worked, and she had the kids running in and out to keep her amused, but she apparently wasn’t getting enough attention. She went out to sit in the hot, closed car. When I noticed she had gone, I brought her back into the house and told her to stay there, that is was dangerous to sit in a closed car in the Tennessee summer. She stayed indoors until it was time to leave.

She headed for the car and we were right behind her, but, at the last moment, Becca and I had to go back in for something. We were in the house all of two minutes and when we came back out, Mama was falling into a “faint” that was so blatantly phoney Becca laughed out loud. I just stood there, at first amazed, and then irritated, then went back into the house to get a wet cloth and a glass of water for her. When I came back out, she was swinging her feet and squirming to get more comfortable. I got Mama seated properly in the front seat- Becca was no help, she was laughing too hard and trying not to let Mama see or hear her. I washed Mama’s face, gave her the water, and left for home without confronting her about the obviously fake faint. I figured, what’s the point?

Fast forward several months to last Friday night. I was going to be gone the next day; I was attending the District IV meeting of the General Federation of Women’s Clubs, where I was elected district president. My friend Taffy was spending the night, as she was riding with me and we had to leave very early. Mama came out and said hello to Taffy then retired to her bedroom. We ordered pizza. The moment it was delivered, I went to get Mama. She toddled out of her room, said “Oh, oh” and fell into my arms. I yelled at her to stop it, but of course she didn’t, so I hollered for Dave. I couldn’t hold her and I was afraid to drop her on the floor, so I was doing a slow-motion squat when Dave finally arrived and lifted her off me. He struggled to get her into a chair. She opened her eyes. “What happened? What happened?” she asked breathily, the image of wide-eyed innocence and surprise. “We don’t know” Dave replied sourly, at which Mama promptly “fainted” again. Two more faints later, we got her into the livingroom where a larger audience- the two of us AND Taffy- awaited, and, true to form, she promptly fainted onto the couch. I took her pulse. I counted her respirations. Her color was fine, her skin was warm and dry. Thus reassured that she was in fact faking, I turned to my pizza.

Of course we had a reprise of the “what happened?” scene, but we flatly refused to say “You fainted.” I got her to drink some regular Coke, in case her sugar was low, and she sat with us for about 20 minutes, then took her Coke and her pizza with her to her bedroom. I followed her to make sure she got there safely. When I returned, Dave and Taffy were just shaking their heads. Easy for them to do, they get to go elsewhere :)

Dave tells me Mama made an apology of sorts the next day and managed to apologize without admitting guilt or asking forgiveness. Tell me she’s mentally deficient. I dare you.