I’m glad to know that I’m not the only freak who worries, upon spotting money laying on the street, that when I pick it up a Dateline NBC crew will spring out from behind the bushes and Chris Hansen will tell me to take a seat and have a cookie.
Dateline would never set up a trap for mere pennies or nickels or EVEN quarters, though. And I also doubt that they’d just leave money lying there. No, what Dateline would do is send a doddering old lady out to dodder up the street, spilling money all over the place and then film what people did when it happened. Chris Hansen would be all “You saw her drop that twenty, but you picked it up and kept on going!” and the thief would be all “I didn’t know where it came from! I just saw it sitting there!” and Chris Hansen would be all “You SAW it fall out of her pocket! Does she or does she not look like a woman on a fixed income who can barely afford to feed herself, let alone easily lose twenty dollars? She might have to eat CAT FOOD to make it through the month because she lost that money!”, and then we’d find out that the doddering old lady is actually a teenager who looks particularly old for her age.
Years and years and years ago – I was living in Rhode Island and the spud was a baby – I was down to two dollars in cash, it was a week ’til payday, and I just HAD to have a bottle of Coke, because of course you’ve got to have priorities, don’t you? I went to the nearest convenience store and grabbed my bottle of Coke, and I was standing in line to pay, and the old man standing in front of me was shedding dollar bills all over the place and I could SORELY have used a little extra cash and no one else seemed to be noticing what was going on and I’ll admit, I hesitated for a moment, but then I came to my senses (and also, I suspected I had a hidden camera pointed at me) and I said “Sir, you’re dropping money all over the place!” and he thanked me and I helped him pick up the money he dropped, and he went along his way.
These days I doubt I’d even hesitate before I told him he was dropping money, but these days I’m very rarely down to my last two dollars with a week ’til payday.
Last night Fred and I were laying in bed talking, and we heard the sound of a cat meowing.
“Is that Miz Poo?” Fred said.
“No, it’s coming from outside,” I said, and got out of bed. “That’s that cat I’ve been telling you about!”
Some nights when I’m lying in bed reading or trying to go to sleep, I can hear a cat outside my bedroom window meowing. I never get up and see what’s going on when I hear the meowing, because Fred sets the alarm before he goes to bed and I don’t know the code and I’m usually too lazy to dig for the remote. Also, it sounds like a cat talking just to hear himself talk rather than one in distress.
So I got out of bed and went to see if I could see the cat. It wasn’t Maxi or Newt because they were inside for the night. When I went onto the front porch, I could hear it off to the side of the house meowing. I called and called and it would meow back, but wouldn’t come close. All I could see were little white paws. Fred saw a gray tabby with white feet the other night, so I’m assuming it was the same cat.
When I looked at the food bowl on the front porch I saw that it was empty, so perhaps this was the cat’s way of letting me know. I filled up the food bowl and opened the front door to go inside.
Tommy was right inside the door, and before I could grab him, he went shooting by me. I yelled “STOP!”, shut the door, and went after him. He went off the porch to the left, and I went into the yard to grab him, then he disappeared. Luckily, Fred came out a moment later and could see where he was. Naturally, as soon as I went after him, he squirted by me and headed off to the yard on the other side of the house. With Fred and I both in hot pursuit, Tommy ran across the side lawn of our next door neighbors, headed for the road. I had visions of him running out into traffic, so I pulled out the big guns.
“Who ready for the snackin’!” I called in a loud whisper. “Who ready for the snackin’!”
I try not to do the snackin’ time call unless it’s really snackin’ time, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Tommy paused and looked thoughtfully at me, then headed back in my general direction. Fred went inside to grab a flashlight, and I tried the snackin’ time call again.
I cannot imagine what our neighbors would have thought if they’d heard us and glanced out their window. I was standing there in my red Big Dogs nightie, blue Crocs on my feet, bellowing (quietly) about snackin’.
Fred came out with the flashlight, I yelled about it being snackin’ time a few more times, and Tommy ran over to the bush outside my bedroom window and touched noses with Newt, who’d run outside when Fred came out. Tommy ran toward the yard next door, but this time Fred caught him and picked him up, handed the flashlight to me, and we went back inside.
And I never did get a good look at the cat who’d been meowing.
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Smudgie has gone to the pet store. I set up the guest bedroom and put her in there yesterday morning and left HG in the foster kitten room. I left them alone for a couple of hours and then went to check on them. HG was like “Oh, it’s you. Whatever. DON’T TOUCH ME. Okay, maybe a little. Now let me nibble on your finger. Now go away. BYE.” Smudgie, on the other hand, ran over to me, meowing, purred, rubbed up on me, climbed up in my lap, and was just a big love slut. Since there was room at the pet store, I took her last night, because I don’t think they necessarily need to be adopted together. I think his reliance on Smudgie is keeping HG shy and skittish and if he gets lonely I’ll let Tommy or Newt in to keep him company (or Mister Boogers can go in and act like an ass – HG doesn’t seem particular about which cat he follows around and flirts with).
When I put Smudgie in her cage at the pet store, she sniffed around and went right into the litter box to hide, as the shyer ones always do – but in no time flat people were looking at her and exclaiming over how beautiful she is. She’ll be fine.
Last night there were small inroads with HG. He let Fred pet him several times and didn’t run away at the very idea. This morning, he greeted me with a meow when I came in with his morning snack and to clean out his litter box. He didn’t want me to pet him, but he also didn’t run and hide from me when I walked by, either.
Baby steps.
She’s not sleeping. She’s considering the best way to kill that mouse.
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I found this picture of Tommy from last summer. He’s such a sweet boy.
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Previously
2007: When one mows the lawn on a windy day when it hasn’t rained in a long time, one gets a lot of dust on one’s face.
2006: No entry.
2005: I am not pregnant, and I’m especially not pregnant with twins. I’m sorry to disappoint – some of you got REALLY excited, didn’t you?
2004: I can totally see the Bean clinging frantically to the top of the Jeep while I cluelessly drive around.
2003: But you’d better believe that if I had a penis, it’d be a big swingin’ one.
2002: “Walmart eating ass” will be the name of my seventh novel, in case you were curious.
2001: No entry.
2000: Well, I’ve got magazines to read, and naps to take.