Cat Time

Around my house, there are two kinds of time. Regular Time reserved for such trivialities as getting to work, watching the news, going to church, eating dinner, sunrise and sunset. Stuff like that.

The second kind is Cat Time. For those who are owned by a cat, you know what I mean. There’s the come-and-see-what-I-caught-you’ll-be-proud-of-me time when you are right in the middle of finding out who murdered Grandma on your favorite tv show.

There’s the I-want-to-sit-on-your-lap time. I am sitting there in my comfy chair, zoning out on that new episode of “Game of Thrones”. The bowl of popcorn rests on my lap, all buttery and salted the way I like it. Kitty wants on my lap right where that big bowl of popcorn sits. For the last six weeks, I have tried to persuade her that I have a nice lap. Now she has taken me up on my offer. Of all times.

I move the popcorn out of the way and she jumps up on the lap. Now you would think she would lay down and leave well enough alone. Oh no. She has to make sure I know who is in charge. She starts kneading. For those of you who are not cat owners, here is Wikipedia’s definition of cat kneading:

“The cat exerts firm downwards pressure with its paw, opening its toes to expose its claws, then closes its claws as it lifts its paw. The process takes place with alternate paws at intervals of one to two seconds. They may do this while sitting on their owner’s lap, which may prove painful if the cat is large or strong or has sharp claws (as the claws tend to dig into one’s lap). Though cats sit happily on a hard surface, they only knead a soft or pliant surface, although some cats reflexively “march” on hard surfaces instead of kneading them.”

As you can tell from this information, my lap is a soft, pliant surface.

The time I hate the most is the I-want-out-I have-to-go-chase-something time. This usually occurs at 4 am around my house. I say, “Go ‘way. Let me sleep.” I hear this retort, “You don’t want me to go way. I know how to miss the litter box.” When the god speaks, I must respond. No matter what.

In most religions, there is a place for repentance. Cat owners know that does not hold with kitty. No matter how much I beg for forgiveness for that one time that I did not respond to kitty, there is no repentance on earth that will be accepted. I broke The Commandment: Cats rule. Even if I wear sack cloth and ashes and present kitty with special treats for months on end, kitty shall always hold it over me. Lest I transgress a second time. God help me if I transgress a second time.

I have come to one conclusion about cats and their times. This is their revenge for that moment of weakness we called them the one word they truly hate. And believe me. There is no revenge quite like Cat Revenge. So what is The Word? Cute as in “Honey, we just have to have him. He’s so cute.”

If you didn’t say it, you thought it. Cats know. They read minds.

Ads I would love to see on TV

Ad #1. Jeff is sitting in his kitchen, eating a bowl of cereal. He picks up the bowl and walks to the front door. Opens the front door, looks out. The birds are singing. The grass is green. The cocker spaniel lies on the front porch, dreaming his doggie dream. Jeff looks at his brand new car. It is a beautiful work of art. Then he sees his neighbor get in his car. The driver’s door falls off his neighbor’s Chevy. Jeff smiles, then calls out, “Hey, Bart. Doors don’t fall off my new Puchie.”

Ad #2. “Need a new car. It’s on your bucket list. Why not come on down and make that final deal a hearse? We have them in seven gorgeous colors: red, yellow, blue, orange, pink, turquoise, and, of course, our most popular color, your basic black tie. If you want to go in style, this is the way to go.”

Ad #3. “Come on over to Brady’s Super Sports Store to get all your football supplies. Down here at Brady’s, we really know how to deflate a football.”

If it’s Thursday, this must be Thursday.

My dear Readers, I hope you know that I stay up very late thinking about you. Thinking about what will entertain you and give you delight. In that light, this came to me last night. (This one I could have put on Facebook but, kind soul that I am, I decided to save it special for my readers.)

Do you know the difference between an a pessimist and an optimist?

No, not that.

Wrong there too.

C’mon, guys. You can do better than that.

So I won’t keep you guessing, here it is. The difference between a pessimist and and an optimist is: When a pessimist is surprised, it is a good thing. When an optimist is surprised, it is a bad thing.

Hamlet: So you think you’ve got problems

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Hamlet 1. 5. 

For Hamlet’s plot till now, see Hamlet So Far.

Act 1 Scene 4 1/2. We already know that it is a dark and stormy night at Elsinore Castle. Well, it’s about to get darker and stormier.

There’s Team Hamlet—Hamlet, Horatio, Marcellus, Barnardo. Sounds like a law firm, doesn’t it? Or a vaudeville act? The Marx Brothers. The Three Stooges without the nyak-nyak-nyak. Up on the roof, chattering their teeth off from the chill. Next thing you know, Horatio’s teeth stop chattering. Then to Hamlet, “My lord, look, it comes.”

Now that “it” can only be one thing. Not Polonius. Not Claudius. Not Gertrude. Not Laertes. Definitely not Ophelia. Yep, you guessed it.

Enter the ghost. Just three words. If you’re looking for a good plot device, this is a good one. After all, Dickens did it. So why not Shakespeare? They are about to change Hamlet’s life. Hamlet turns. Not slowly and not fastly, but just right the way Goldilocks liked her porridge. The next thing out of the Hamster’s mouth,” “Whoa, dude.” The “dude” comes from his surfing days.

He buckles up his courage. That is Courage with a capital C. “Okay, Big Guy. WTF are you?” Hamlet takes a gander at Horatio. His eyes big as saucers. Not just any saucers either. Flying saucers. “Is that who I think it is?”

Horatio nods an uh-huh.

Hamlet to the ghost, “Hey, are you from heaven? You don’t look like you’re from heaven. You’d be all shiny and new if you were. Maybe you’re a demon.”

He leans over and whispers to Horatio, “Run and get an exorcist. We have a big one here.” Then thinking better of it. “Oh, never mind. ”

He squints and speaks to the ghost, “Well, if it don’t beat all. It looks like the Old Man. Hi, Dad. I got to tell you that you forget to pay my college tuition for this semester. The school almost booted me out. Thank God for financial aid. But you know the interest rate I am having to pay on that loan. It’s enough to bankrupt the kingdom out of castle and moat when I become king.”

Hamlet then realizes he may not be talking to dear old Pop. “Look, dead corpse—you are dead, aren’t you? How did you get out? And don’t give me that yo-ho-ho-and-a-bottle-of-rum-on-a-dead-man’s-chest either. I read Treasure Island and I know how it turns out. It ain’t you.”

Eve

“My heart is breaking,”

Eve wrote her sister

Lilith, Adam’s first wife,

residing in the land of Cush.

Eve scribbled the words

with the ink of her tears.

“My son has murdered my son,

and the murderer is a ghost

haunting the valleys

and the rivers between

the two of us, you and me.”

Eve sat by the river

mourning her baby child,

mourning her first born man.

Eve sat by the river,

the blues in her eyes shedding

one hundred forty-six tears each day

‘tween the sunrise and the moon.

“River, my heart is bleeding,”

she sang, her grief rising

like smoke up to the ears of God

while the clock kept faith with time.

Eve went down to kneel

in the church down by the river Cry.

She lit a votive candle

and prayed the rosary

one hundred and fifty times

for the souls of her sons.

For the one whose life was taken away,

and the one who took the life

she prayed.