Who’s the Scary Cat Now!

The month of May might be known for bringing flowers but at my house it also brings the dog’s yearly vet appointment to get caught up on his shots/vaccines and to get the ‘diet talk’ about him needing to loss a pound or two. Doctors are all the same, aren’t they. In Levi’s case the vet talk usually goes something like this: “One pound will lead to two pounds and pretty soon it will start effecting his all over health.” Ya, doc, I know it. But have you ever lived with a stubborn schnauzer who wants his treat when he wants it? Walking him more sounds easy, doesn’t it, except Levi won’t go out in the rain and I won’t go out in snowy or icy weather. I used let him run in the back yard on a long clothesline but my back lot line neighbor acquired three pit bulls two years ago and only one is chained up---presumably the one that has already killed a cat and attacked another neighbor’s dog. But Levi didn’t get the ‘diet talk’ this year because he actually lost his two pounds and now I’m mad at the little bugger for not sharing his weight loss secret with me.

This routine appointment drained $452.43 out of my check book for all his shots/vaccines including two required for licensing, a canine flu shot, CBC blood work, fecal check, ear infection treatment, three months’ worth of flea, tick and heart worm meds and apoquel pills for itchiness when he needs it for a plugged saliva gland. On the good side, this was the first time in three years his teeth didn’t need cleaning but they aren’t going to let that money get away. They want to re-check his teeth in October and I will let them because he can’t afford to lose any more teeth to gum disease. And I'm taking bets on whether or not his CBC blood work will turn something up they'll want to treat. He's a senior citizen now and those years turns us all into cha-ching machines for the medical communities.

The month of May also brings my yearly eye doctor appointment. My eyes are tired and bother me from the minute I get up to the minute I go to bed but the doctor keeps telling me eyes are healthy and my sight hasn’t changed enough to bother getting a new prescription in three years. And my cataracts aren’t big enough---yet---for him to want to remove them. “Artificial tears,” he says, “use them up to 20 times a day.” I asked if they have a car service for cataract surgeries like the slick, new eye surgery ‘assembly line’ in town advertises. Not having any children who are obligated by love or guilt to help with transportation to and from cataract surgery is a huge concern for me. The eye doctor said there is a service in town that will pick you up, stay with you and bring you back home for any medical procedure. "Costs a royal fortunate," he said, "but it’s an option to file away in your back pocket." You can’t just call an Uber or Lyft for rides to medical procedures because they require that you have someone in the waiting room in case of emergencies. I guess having a total stranger you just met two hours ago qualities.

Have you warmed up to using Uber or Lyft? We spent our childhoods being warned about getting into cars with strangers and the only time I ever did it I got raped so now I’m supposed to unlearn all those warning that were drilled into us growing up? Granted, no one is going to want to do bodily harm to an pudgy old woman in sensible shoes…unless they're working as a ‘body procurer’ for a modern-day Leonardo da Vinci. Did you know he dissected bodies in the dead of night to learn human anatomy? He started out paying grave robbers to supply him but when they got caught taking a shortcut and helping a vagrant into the next world, his new 'body procurers' would get unclaimed bodies from the city until Leonardo finally worked his way up to getting a doctor at a hospital to give him access to cadavers. Anyway, back on topic. A few years ago I thought I was ready to try Uber when my arm was in a sling then an Uber driver in a town near-by killed six people and wounded two others and in between him shooting random people he was picking up Uber customers! At least with the medical patient courier service my eye doctor told me about I have to believe they go through a thorough screening. If not, don’t tell me. Let me live in blissful ignorance because the odds are good I may need their service someday.

I’ve turned into a quirky little creature, haven’t I. I’m afraid of my back yard, of dying in a car accident, of falling on the ice, of Italian Renaissance Era body snatchers and a hundred perfectly normal 21st century activities like wearing sleeveless blouses, roller coasters and people who dress up like zombies. Not that I was ever a fearless person in my prime. I never jumped off a dock head first, for example, without knowing how deep the water was. I refused to go sky diving in my 20s or to sit in the front row at the stock car races and I’m pretty sure my scary-cat persona was the reason the guy I was dating at the time broke up with me. But I’ll tell you what I’m not afraid of doing that most of my Gathering Girls pals won’t do. They won’t answer their front doors if someone rings their doorbell. Who’s the scary cat now?  ©

Wakeup ‘Calls’ and Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood

After sleeping a grand total of 3 hours and 4 minutes according to my Fitbit I got woke up by the dog having a hissy-fit while attacking the narrow glass panel that runs next to my front door. It was 5:30 in the morning with just enough hazy pre-dawn light coming in that he could see something out there. I know his that-dog-is-in-my-territory bark. This wasn’t it. I know how he enthusiastically greets expected guests and solicitors. This wasn’t it. This, as it turned out, is how he greets juvenile raccoons who do spread eagles on the window pane and act like Levi is the most interesting schnauzer they’ve ever seen. But let me tell you, before I found out what that dog was going pitbull-postal about, I was a tad worried someone was trying to break in.

I grabbed my emergency dialer off its charging cradle on my nightstand and cautiously approached the front door. A short press of the dialer button brings an emergency operator, a long hold calls the police. Or is it the other way around? I couldn’t remember but I approached the door window with my finger paused over the button. With Levi’s barking and a large human figure trying to hold him back, that curious raccoon wasn’t the least bit intimidated. Her small face was adorably sweet looking up at me and I got a wonderful view of her paws on the window pane. Even taping the glass didn’t scare her off. I’ve lived here for almost two decades and I’ve never seen a raccoon, not even road kill. But a couple of blocks away they’re cutting down a lot of trees to put a brand new street through wooded acreage, so I suppose I’ll start seeing more critters looking to relocate. I just hope little Miss. Raccoon doesn’t make a habit of visiting Levi in the night. 

It was Monday morning and there was no way I was going to fall back to sleep after that “wakeup call” so I put the coffee pot on and started my morning routine which doesn’t usually include watching the sun come up. If I had an ocean or lake view I would have been impressed but through the white pines all I got was an hour when I had to pull my venetian blind back down because the glare on my computer screen made it impossible to read. Sipping coffee with Italian sweet creamer I surveyed the week ahead on my day planner: Later that morning I had a brunch date with the Gathering Girls lined up and Tuesday it was an ice cream social at the senior hall. Wednesday a breakfast garden party with the Red Hat Society was on the agenda and Thursday I’ll be taking the dog in for his annual teeth cleaning before the crack of dawn. And Friday I’ll be up early again, waiting for the plumber who will probably show up closer to 9:00 than 8:00 of his arrival window. 

It frustrates me to no end that I have weeks like this where all the fun (and not so fun) stuff is bunched together and other weeks where I sit at home with only the dog and the wildlife to talk to. Even the vet and plumbing appointments weren’t as flexible as you might think. Unless it’s an emergency, the plumbing company only schedules calls to my neighborhood on certain days and I get a $100 discount at the doggie dentist, by getting Levi in within a certain time frame. I call this my Goldilocks Effect: One bowl/week of the month is always too cold, one bowl/week is too hot and one bowl/week of the month is just right. And while I’m bitching about something, who on earth decided to make socks right and left foot specific? I bought them, saw the L and R but didn’t believe they were made differently. They are and they do feel weird if you put them on the wrong foot. Now I’m trying to remember if the seven pair panties sets we had as kids with the names of the days embroidered on them, felt differently if we wore Sunday’s undies on Saturday.  But I digress. 

Have you seen the movie/documentary Won't you be my Neighbor? that's been on PBS and in select theaters? I haven't but from what I hear about it, I wish with all my heart that we could kidnap Mr. Trump, tie him down to a chair, gag him and make him watch all the episodes of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, the 1960s TV series produced for kids. Learning about kindness and empathy are obviously things he missed in his early childhood development. According to the New York Times movie review, Fred Rogers tried to teach children “how to navigate ‘some of the more difficult modulations’ in everyday life — might now be classified as emotional literacy. He acknowledged that anger, fear and other kinds of hurt are part of the human repertoire and that children need to learn to speak honestly about those feelings, and to trust the people they share them with.” Fred Rogers was a seminary graduate, a trained composer and contrary to what alt-right forum posters are claiming about him “ruining society with all that ‘touchy, feely’ crap” Mr. Rogers was the kind of person I would have liked for a neighbor. I could have called him early in the morning and he would have understood why that raccoon episode scared the crap out of me. ©

"Most of us, I believe, admire strength. It's something we tend to respect in others, desire for ourselves, and wish for our children. Sometimes, though, I wonder if we confuse strength and other words--like aggression and even violence. Real strength is neither male nor female; but is, quite simply, one of the finest characteristics that any human being can possess." 

From The World According to Mister Rogers (Kindle Location 161).

"Confronting our feelings and giving them appropriate expression always takes strength, not weakness. It takes strength to acknowledge our anger, and sometimes more strength yet to curb the aggressive urges anger may bring and to channel them into nonviolent outlets. It takes strength to face our sadness and to grieve and to let our grief and our anger flow in tears when they need to. It takes strength to talk about our feelings and to reach out for help and comfort when we need it." 

From The World According to Mister Rogers (Kindle Locations 111-114).

Am I Adventurous or what!

The dog decided to get up in the middle of the night and christen the carpeting with three piles of vomit. I wasn’t particularly worried about his health because Levi has always had a touchy stomach. A couple of days of me making him scrambled eggs and rice usually puts him back on track. And his vomit episodes turn me into the queen of getting yellow stomach acids out of light gray Berber carpeting. I could do a commercial for Resolve High Traffic Carpet Cleaning Foam. Day one I follow the directions on the can but I leave the can sitting next to the spot. Day Two I wait for the sun to pass over the spot so I can look for a telltale ring. If I can see one I repeat Day One. This time, because Levi upchucked hours before I found it, I had to add a Day Three and it took an entire roll of paper towel to blot up the rise cycles before I was satisfied the spots were gone. It’s a good thing dogs are so lovable because spot patrol days test my patience as I waffle between being glad Levi didn’t end up in animal ER and wanting to kill him for something he can’t help and finds embarrassing to look at.

On day three of eggs and rice Levi wanted nothing more to do with that sick puppy menu and he demanded his regular fare back again. That dog is a popinjay and there’s no mistaking his message when he’s barking in front of his plastic bin of kibble. As I fixed him a bowl, I apologized because that’s when I realized that I was probably responsible for him being sick in the first place. I had mistakenly toppled his last bowl of kibble with 3-4 inches of doggie tooth paste instead of dog food enhancement. I had recently moved the doggie tooth paste to a new location which obviously was an ill-fated idea that came straight out of a box of rocks. Both are the same shaped tube, both mixed in the same way and Levi likes the peanut butter flavored tooth paste. I thought about punishing myself by eating a couple of inches of Colgate Whitening Toothpaste for people but I was afraid if I upchucked it I’d have to go through Day One through Three of Resolve High Traffic Carpet Cleaning Foam again and who wants to do that twice in the same week? 

Day Three was sunny and beautiful, especially for January in Michigan, so off I went to the pet store to see what they had in new foods for dogs with touchy stomachs. (Ya, I know, putting my glasses on at feeding time might cure some of his issues but don’t spread that around, okay?) I couldn’t believe all the gluten-free, grain-free products at Chow Hound! But they didn’t have any sample bags for sale like they often do and I wasn’t about to buy ten pounds of stuff that Levi may or may not turn his nose up at. So I got him some more food enhancer only this time I got a brand that didn’t come in a toothpaste shaded tube. Now I have to worry about getting his doggie broth mixed up with my Swanson’s chicken broth when I make soup! Same box, different labels.

After leaving the pet store I sat in the car trying to decide where to have lunch. I was parked in the Bermuda Triangle of Restaurants. Across the street was a local chain that I’ve been going to since before Levi and his predecessor were born. It’s a sit-down place that reminds me of Cheers, the old TV sitcom but no one ever knows my name. I like to go there when I’m feeling widow-strong and independent, like I could belt out “I am Woman!” at the top of my lungs. Straight ahead was Starbucks where I knew I could collect an extra ten points for ordering a Gouda and Bacon Breakfast sandwich. Ten points gets me that much closer to earning a free lunch. I like going there when I feel like showing the young’uns that I can do something they can’t---write in cursive. I could take my new Kindle Fire and use the ‘OneNote’ app to take notes and I'd blend in with all the others using devices but my 3 ½" x 4 ½" notebook and pen makes me feel like a sly spy as I make up back stories for my fellow coffee drinkers.

The Guy Land Cafeteria was also close by and that’s where I ended up. I ordered their new Canadian Bacon Club Pita because after eating their tuna melts on rye for the past twenty-five years I was ready to put some adventure in my life. I sat down at a booth, dug out my notebook and pen, ready to record my adventures in Vomit Land and whatever else came into view. That’s when I noticed a woman I’ve seen there many times in the past. She’s around my age, always sits at a table where there’s a wall plug and I’ve never seen her with food or dishes on the table. She charges her phone while working on an adult coloring book. It was two in the afternoon and to the right of me was a set of grandparents with a pre-schooler who was still wearing his Spiderman pajamas. I was jealous! Why do I have to get dressed to go out for lunch? And why can’t I bring Levi to restaurants? He certainly eats neater than that little boy did. He was having fun with gravity while his grandparents ignored his game. When they left the floor needed a treatment with Resolve High Traffic Carpet Cleaning Foam. ©