Feline Posting

For those that know about the animal I'm about to speak of, I'll let you know that she is fine. Probably better than fine. She is eating all her wet cat food, peeing and pooping in all the designated areas (more or less) and still sleeping at least 19 hours a day. What could be wrong? Life is good. If you are the cat.

I was wondering just today what it is about this animal that vexes me so. I hear her little collar bell tinkle, tinkle, tinkle and I grit my teeth. I hear the clicking of her nails on the floor (which tells me she needs them clipped again) and I find myself either counting to 10 before going into the next room or getting on the computer and playing 700 rounds of solitaire. So I decided to just stop being annoyed by her existence for a few minutes and become a rational human and think this through.

When we first brought her home, she was an affectionate thing. Always wanted to be in your lap, purring constantly, following you around from room to room. She began to glom onto my husband shortly thereafter. If he sat down on the couch to watch TV, she would jump up on his lap and settle herself there. My husband is a cat lover from way back, so he just let her. It's seventeen years later and she still jumps in his lap, but now she can't seem to get comfortable for at least 20 minutes, turning, stretching, readjusting her position, licking (oh, let's not forget the licking) and not just herself is she bathing, she bathes whatever is in proximity to her nose, my husband's shirt, his chin, the couch and occasionally herself. Twenty minutes! Someone, usually me, can't take it after five, and she is removed from the couch. She wanders around the house for a few minutes, forgets that someone removed her and jumps back up to start the cycle all over again. Now, because she is 17, I am assuming that she forgets. But in all the time we have had her, she has a habit of repeating behavior that is obviously annoying to me. Maybe I'm reading too much into this, but really, she has been like this since we had her, so I'm not sure senility is the problem.

She used to jump up on the counters to see what was in the garbage bag. Nothing would deter her; balloons, aluminum foil, nothing. The only deterrent which seemed to work for a while was me losing my temper out of all proportion and screaming at her and smacking her tail end. She was sufficiently terrorized for a while to stop jumping up. But suddenly I would come home one afternoon from work and there she would be again--on the counter and looking like a deer in the headlights because--OH GOD that crazy lady caught me again. We solved the problem somewhat by putting the garbage bag in the microwave, but then that began to smell and well, anyway, I should be able to leave the bag out without having to protect it like some rare gem.

Her favorite ploy is to sit or lay somewhere in the middle of things and when a person, almost always me, begins to move around, she either jumps up and tangles herself in my legs or I step on her, because I didn't see her. I really don't like hurting animals in any way, but that screech she gives out makes my blood run cold. I feel like I've just tortured her and am more careful until the next time. And there is always a next time.

Today I am home taking care of a few things and battling the sniffles. She has run back and forth from room to room several times, that damn tinkling bell accompanying her jaunts. It's driving me crazy!

So I'm trying to devise a reason to go out. Any reason. So I don't have to listen to that sound or the screech when she sits under my legs and I move. I'm developing bad nerves. And I think she knows it. Senility my eye!

I've Never Visited Tuscon

But I visited Arizona with my sister a few years ago. It was a breathtaking experience, not because of her driving...honest. But because Arizona is beautiful. It's purple mountains are indeed majestic and the numerous plains were inspiring as well, with waving fields of green and golden grasses and birds dipping down to sample some juicy bug buffet. It was a wonderful trip because of our being together and talking and laughing. But I remember the grand vistas of Sedona and Phoenix, begging her to stop so I could get out and take more pictures. My mind is filled with these pictures even now, scrolling through the blue expansive sky as it turned golden and honey-hued at sunset, the rolling hills, like waves of the ocean undulating into the horizon. I thought dessert was dry, dusty, arid, lifeless. It turns out that the Arizona countryside is alive and living and full of flower, prose and poetry in it's grandeur. And I didn't even get to the Grand Canyon!

Hi-Ho The Lyrical Life

I was taking part in a class the other week and we were doing one of those "getting to know you" exercises. The particular exercise was that you had to name two truths and one lie about yourself and others in the class had to guess which was the lie. After pondering what I could possibly say which would be interesting and enlightening about myself I picked the following, stating in my best voice that they were all true: I can juggle, I failed Phys Ed in college, and I can tell you the lyrics of at least 25 musicals--all of the songs in that musical--all the lyrics.

The last of course, for anyone who knows me even a little is the truest of all truths I could tell about myself. I am not going to tell you the lie above...it's not relevant, really. Okay, I can't juggle. Well, I can juggle several tasks at once, but not the 3 different balls in air kind of thing. Anyway, why is it that I know so many lyrics? Why do musicals fascinate me so much? I know more musical music than any other kind of music, including the kind I grew up with (either rock and roll or 40's--take your pick, I grew up with both). I cannot read music. My hearing is such that I'm never really sure what I'm listening to when I hear a melody. But put the words to the melody and I can pick it up and run with the rest of the song, the rest of the story-line, the rest of the entire musical until the dramatic-usually happy-but not always-ending. I think it's because my singer of choice from an early age was Barbra Streisand and she always sang quirky things from musicals. Or the first entire score I memorized was Oklahoma from my uncle's albums stashed at my grandmother's house. The lyrics for me speak what I cannot say. They tell universal human truths, sometimes while being witty, sometimes while being wise-ass, and sometimes so poetically you almost miss the point. I picked up a book about Sondheim lyrics the other day entitled, "Finishing The Hat." I felt so smug because I knew where that title came from and could, almost, but not quite finish the lyrics of that song. There are some musicals with which I cannot do my "magic finishing act" like Sunday in the Park With George. The lyrics are intense, scatter point and I haven't listened to them enough to commit to memory. But for the most part, I can do the lyrics and tell you a little of the back story. The problem with this "talent" if you will, is that nobody actually considers it a talent. And now that my children are grown, no one really cares that I can do this. There was a time when I had a captive, yet young audience in my children. This is definitely no longer the case.

And so I listen to my musicals on my iTunes, hum the songs when I catch a phrase someone throws out and even belt out a few verses when no one else is listening. I think I was meant to be on stage, or maybe I was in another life? Who know? Not me I'm sure. I'm just sitting here in my own little corner, all alone in my own little chair.