WAR

Three days ago Mojo the cat bit me. I was so mad that I wouldn’t speak to him for two days. Then he got mad at me and seemed to want to bite me again. I could tell! He looked hungry for blood! Today, he got in my lap and purred and I petted him - carefully.

Mojo doesn’t just get in my lap. He meows quietly first – sort of a croak. If I don’t say “scram,” he jumps up beside me so that his tail is in my tea or on my pillow. This is disgusting. Eventually, he steps onto my lap (or bladder if I’m lying in bed) to give me the go-ahead for some rubbing and scratching. I’m so honored by his presence that I obey. And anyway, I feel sorry for him because he’s so short on staff. Good help is hard to come by, you know.

HUGH MOUSE FOR PRESIDENT

I, Hugh Mouse, hereby declare my candidacy for President of the United States. If elected, I will put a cheese on every table and a mouse hole in every garage.

I will declare war on specism. That's racism against the rodent species. I will declare martial law and arrest all cats. I will wipe Garfield comics from the face of the earth.

I, Hugh Mouse, presidential candidate for the Rodentary Party, stand for soft toilet paper, unbruised bananas, and easy-open medicine lids. I stand for freedom of the parent. No child will be sold watermelon flavored bubblegum without express written consent of the person driving the car.

My platform is: Decency on Television. I will ask Congress to outlaw soap operas and reality shows. Furthermore, I will make it illegal to advertise laxatives during the dinner hour. And I will return the bleeps for four-letter words.

If elected president, I will make spamming a felony, and I will put mandatory warnings on all junk mail: "Warning: The Postmaster General has declared this envelope to be a sales pitch. Open at your own risk." I will outlaw junk flyers in newspapers. The funnies can stay.

If elected President of the United States, I will declare war on holiday profiteering. Halloween costumes won't be sold until October, Christmas trees until December, and Valentines until February. I will declare a moratorium on the introduction of any more wacky holidays like Aunt's Day, Uncle's Day, Pet's Day (except, of course, mice), Pancake Day, National Custodial Workers Day, and World Smile Day.

Vote for me! Hugh Mouse! What have you got to lose? Have you seen any better presidential candidates lately?

Sneads Ferry

My friend asked how in the world I could get lost in the tiny, tiny town of Snead’s Ferry, half of which is bounded by the water. I informed him that it was real easy. I’d done it lots of times!

This time I had a Google map, but I couldn’t remember the name of the restaurant – let alone the street name. I knew it was beside a dock and that it’s worth the effort to find it. So I just Googled “Sneads Ferry NC.” Then I saw why I had gotten lost.

Sneads Ferry is a spider web of a town that lies on several points (or spits or promontories or whatever you call them) jutting out into the water, with a main road leading out to each point and many side roads branching off fishbone style. I headed down one of the main roads. The closer to the water I got, the more each side road looked like it led to a dock. I drove down several, and made a lot of U-turns. I got hopeful once when my husband said, “I recognize this road.” In his dreams! I took another main road, with the same results.

I’m bull-headed, you know. I don’t ask for directions. But this time I did. We stopped at a store, described the restaurant, and we were there within five minutes.

After a fabulous meal, we headed for home. I guess the planets just weren’t in alignment that day, because I missed a few turns coming home and got lost in eastern North Carolina.

SWATTING FLIES

I love to swat flies and I’m pretty good at it. I trap them in the bathroom – just me and the fly-swat and the cat if he’s unfortunate enough to be in there at the time. When I hear the little rascals hitting the mirror, I start swatting. After one fly meets his maker, the others get smart and hide. But I can wait a long time for a fly.

The other day a moth flew into the house. I didn’t want to squash him on my walls, but I didn’t have to worry about it long. Mojo the cat appeared out of nowhere and morphed into a wildcat. You could hear knee bones and paws hitting windows and walls. Finally, he jumped about five feet high against the glass door and grabbed the moth, threw him to the floor, and ate him. Pretty soon I noticed he went to his dish for some cat food. I guess cats don’t always like the taste of their prey.

However, Mojo likes the taste of his hair. (I think that’s why cats lick themselves. If they were instinctively clean, why would they eat moths?) I was rubbing him and a wad of hair collected, so I put it on the arm of the couch to be thrown out later. Mojo jumped up and devoured it! Yuck! I would hate to have to clean up a hairball wrapped around a moth.

Better a moth than a mouse!

Harnessing Marilyn

My grandpuppy Marilyn is a two-year-old Collie mix who has been in charge since she was a pup. She’s getting a little more submissive as time goes on – how long will it be, Lord? She has outgrown wetting the floor and chewing up shoes and furniture. But she still leads Susan on a leash, and she has gotten big and strong and pulls Susan down to the concrete. Ouch!

When I dog-sat Marilyn I was determined she wouldn’t pull me down, and I bought her a choker collar with metal spokes. (Aren’t you glad I don’t have human grandchildren?) It did the trick for a little while. But time went on and Marilyn got more nervous and more easily spooked and was barking and growling at everything that walked by. I suggested a shock collar. But my husband (the understanding and wise one in the family) said to Susan, “Just try a harness.”

Sure enough, Marilyn started behaving on her very first harness walk. Apparently, what made Marilyn nervous and fighting-mad was not garbage trucks or other dogs. It was her fear of the collar itself! I think I lost my grandmother status.

Something's Beeping

I hope I’ll find out what’s beeping before I finish typing this, but it doesn’t look promising. I began hearing the beep in the living room where my husband was watching golf on TV. I thought maybe it was coming from the TV. I don’t know what they do on those golf courses.

Then I came into this room to type, and I heard it again. I looked at the phone on my desk (like it was going to give me an answer or something). I shook my head. It doesn’t have a beeper. I don’t think it’s sophisticated enough to start beeping for just any old thing it thinks of.

I checked my cell phone. I hadn’t heard it make that particular beep before, but you never know what a cell phone will do. Sure enough, there was a text message that had been there for three days. If it didn’t beep three days ago, why now? The text was an apology from my daughter for inadvertently texting me. She knows I don’t text. She must think I’ll be really mad. She thinks I’m insane anyway. It’s a daughter thing.

Another beep sounded. Must be the phone in the kitchen. I brought it to my computer desk and placed it on my right side. The next beep I heard sounded like it was coming from somewhere on the right, but not the phone. I moved it to the left and waited, and another beep came from the right.

OK. That eliminates the phone. The only thing left is the computer. I have no idea in this world why it might decide today’s the day to start beeping!

My husband hasn’t heard it yet. Hmmm. Maybe my daughter’s right after all.

Dinner for Six?

I served dinner for six people last night. I had postponed it three weeks earlier when I hurt my foot. I thought it was only a slight sprain and would be fine in three weeks, but it was broken. Oh well. Might as well do it.

Necessity caused my brain to work pretty well, and I remembered the secretary’s chair with the missing back that I almost threw out the other day. It’s a stool on wheels. With it, I can scoot around the kitchen at breakneck speed. (That’s just an expression, “breakneck.” Not an omen. Really.) So sitting on my rolling platform and reaching up to the counter tops, and standing up on one foot when necessary, I prepared a pot roast, beans, peppers, and rice, set the table, washed the pans, set out the hors d'oeuvres, opened the wine, and enjoyed the evening.

But there’s more to this story. Do you have any idea how much grease and muck a kitchen can accumulate just below eye level? When you open the oven door from a seated position, it looks a lot dirtier. And the greasy spots on the tiled backsplash above the counters catch the light just right from that vantage point. The little crumbs that accumulate under the front edge of the stove are suddenly oh so close!

As soon as I can crawl around without hurting my foot, a white tornado is going to happen here!

Dangling Pocketbook

I’ve figured out how to carry a pocketbook when you’re on crutches. It doesn’t work trying to carry it on my left shoulder, as I’ve done for fifty years. When I get the crutches going in rhythm (swing crutches forward, swing body forward, swing crutches, swing body, swing…etc.), the pendulum hanging from the left shoulder falls down over the left crutch like an anchor out of control.

The solution is to hang it around my neck and let it dangle and bounce against my tummy. Not graceful, but nothing about the whole scene is graceful anyway.

Actually, the best solution is when my husband offers to carry it for me. He says I’m going to owe him when this is all over!

Erroneous Assumption – or No Way! Not Me!

Three weeks ago I twisted my foot in the yard. I heard a “pop,” but why not? Those bones weren’t used to such abuse. A “pop” doesn’t mean anything. I used to crack my knuckles all the time. Heck, even if there’s a hairline fracture, what’s a doctor gonna say? “Stay off of it.” I absolutely refused to go to the doctor, even though not one soul agreed with me.

It got better, and I tried the stationery bike. Found a comfortable position for my foot, and I was in business. The next day, I couldn’t walk. But the day after that, it felt almost well so I tried the elliptical exerciser. Next day – back on the couch. Then I moved some furniture, even going upstairs several times. (Hey! I was proving this thing wasn’t going to take me down.) Next day – pain! One day I watered my flowers and stepped on a bump in the yard and was out of commission again.

After three weeks of this nonsense, I caved and went to the doctor and guess what? It’s broken. Once again I managed to prove that 99 percent of the people in my world are right. I’m the one percent that knows it all!