Yet they come together in the end. What would Tom be without Jerry or Jerry without Tom? Just a regular cat and mouse. The same goes for dating and the entire courting process. A woman gives a little, takes a little. The man is enticed. Suddenly, the woman stops running. She is ready to be caught, to be loved. This is exactly what happened between Brad and I. He was hot for me in every sense of the word. He grew weary, impatient.
When I decided to take our relationship to the next level, mofo disappeared. Brad stopped chasing and I took over the role of mouse. This role reversal happens often in relationships ; a woman can only give and take so long before the game is flipped on its head. So I called and texted and let it be known that, yes, I wanted to give him a piece of my apple pie. It was an impulsive move. One that I took to gain control, to be the power player, the Jerry to his Tom. Minutes after erasing all traces of his phone number on my iPhone, I freaked.
The second mystery more directly involved our chronically wayward cat, Klaus. First of all, Klaus is a very spoiled cat.
A few years ago, while we were out of town, he managed to convince the cat-sitter into giving him wet cat food every night. He also persuaded the sitter to urge us to continue the practice when we returned. At the time, I told my Diane that there was no way that I was going to buy expensive wet cat food, just so Klaus could stuff his face every night. I said that it was totally unnecessary, since he got plenty of nourishment from his dry food and that he was fat enough as it was. So yesterday, as I was opening a can of wet cat food, I mentioned to Diane that we needed to get more grilled salmon, since Klaus was getting tired of the flaked whitefish.
Normally we keep Klaus in the house at night and make him go out in the mornings.
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He fully expects us to be on constant call to serve as his doorman and to make sure he never sees the bottom of his food bowl. In order to stay inside in the mornings, Klaus has found a hiding spot that has left us completely baffled. He even stayed hidden when I shook his bag of cat treats, which almost always works.
He usually come running, sort of like I do when someone shakes a bag of bacon jerky. The other morning I imagined that he must had snuck by me when I was half asleep and was now outside watching me through the window and mocking me, as I searched for him. Klaus is so diabolical that I can find the family couch empty one minute and the next, like a ninja, he suddenly appears out of thin air. I told Diane that I fully expect to see him clinging to the ceiling or perhaps suspended under a chair. One of his chief strategies seems to be to circle back into the rooms we have already checked.
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I told Diane that I fully expect to see him clinging to the ceiling or perhaps suspended under some chair. One of his chief strategies seems to circled back into rooms that we have already checked. We hoped he would overhear us and get cocky and slip-up.
Never-the-less, Diane has theory as to his favorite hiding place and has neutralized his doubling back tactic. Tonight, however, just as we are preparing to leave town for a few days, another mystery suddenly cropped up. While watering plants, Diane spotted a mysterious wet spot bubbling up on our otherwise dry front lawn.
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I thought I saw him playing with, what suspiciously looked like a pipe wrench the other day. Like high fashion, the American toy industry is dominated by trends and exclusivity. Like kidnappers, they called me a couple of days later and told me to be at the store at 10 a. When I got there, they took a small group of us chosen ones to a darkened back room, where they had a pallet full of new Cabbage Patch dolls completely covered by a black sheet of canvas. When it was my turn, I grabbed a doll and was escorted to a cashier.
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I felt like I was buying a couple kilos of heroin. Trends in toys constantly repeat themselves. With our three boys and now a grandson, it seems like we have gone through at least three generations of Star Wars, as well as several of Transformers, and now Teen Age Mutant Ninja Turtle toys. How did we know our daughter would end up having three girls of her own and never forgive us? We still have a couple generations of Star War toys stashed in plastic bins in our basement.
Besides, they belong to our sons and are my backup plan in case the government ever privatizes Social Security. Toy sales have been declining over the past decade and the trend is accelerating, according to a Goldman Sachs report Monday. Part of the reason may be the tremendous growth in digital games played on tablets and smartphones, which are edging out traditional board games and puzzles. When videogame consoles are included, the market share of digital games has increased from 1 percent to 20 percent in the past decade. Advances in electronics have certainly made toys awfully flashy and sophisticated.
Some people may think that modern toys have become too complicated and explicit to encourage creative play and they lean toward classic toys that require more imagination. As a child, I owned a red plastic console that was advertised to track missiles and satellites in space. It had a tiny opaque screen that only showed vague shadows of small plastic cutouts of spacecraft as you turned a crank.
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I must have spent hours staring at that opaque screen in anticipation of my current job, at which I still spend hours staring at a screen. I would have given anything if that screen would have shown a little detail, color or miracles of miracles, actually said something. Perhaps modern toys are not imaginative enough to stimulate much creative play. I was thinking about this recently as I watched our grandchildren play with sticks in our backyard, which consists primarily of sticks and tics.
Watching them jogged my memory and I remembered one of my early favorite toys — the stake. Although I had a homemade swingset that my father had constructed from pipes, my favorite outdoor toy was a three-foot long, sharpened, solid-steel stake. I think it may have once been part of a of horseshoe game or perhaps belonged to a surveyor. While a metal stake may seem like a dangerous and inappropriate plaything, the story gets worse.
I remember two games we made up using the stake.
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We threw the rope over a tree branch and then pulled the stake out of the ground. Then we poured water into the hole left by the stake and lowered the stake again back into the hole drilling for oil until the oil mud finally came gushing out of the well. We added a bunch of toy trucks, cars and plastic soldiers to the scene to complete the tableau. So basically we played for hours in a large mud hole with a large sharp metal stake suspended over our heads.
Our house had once been a boarding house, so it was configured rather oddly. For example, we had two front doors. My bedroom had its own door to the outside and it lead to a porch with a railing. The steps had been removed so it was sort of like a little balcony. I always imagined it was the deck of a ship and our backyard was the ocean. We used the porch as our pirate ship until one day Bobby suggested that we turn it into a whaler. Of course, to do this we needed a serviceable harpoon. We then took turns hurling the stake into the yard at old basketballs and pieces of newspaper whales.
How we managed to avoid impaling some small child or skewering one of the neighborhood dogs or cats is still a mystery to me. We did managed to loosen the column supporting the porch roof and a few years later when it finally collapsed, my father removed the porch, filled in my door, and put in a window instead.
I for one have always taken a firm stand against such patently unacceptable behavior. For these reasons I feel compelled to turn over to the authorities our recalcitrant cat, Claus. Sure, he looks like an adorable stuffed animal. Occasionally he slips up and reveals his true nature. I offer to the grand jury the following five felony counts and urge that Claus be indicted as soon as possible. Please be wary of his numerous tricks and lies. As we have learned the hard way, he is capable of almost anything. Felony Count 1 Litter Box Malfeasance: Claus fancies himself an indoor cat.
With his highly inflated sense of self esteem, he apparently holds it all in, until we let him back into the house. When Claus was younger we kept one of his litter boxes downstairs in the bathroom tub. After we removed the box he seemed to think the drain was good enough. Now we have to keep that bathroom door closed at all times. Now we keep his litter box upstairs on an old vinyl tablecloth to catch any litter that might fall out.
Always devious, he has taken to throwing a few pawfuls of litter onto the tablecloth to rationalize using the table cloth, rather than squeezing into his box. Along with his overt transgression, there seems to be a lot of contempt thrown in for good measure. He is the devil incarnate. Felony Count 2 Food Dish Misconduct: He has always had plenty of dry food available, but by some nefarious means he managed to intimidate his cat-sitter into giving him wet food every day.
The cat sitter then intimidated us, insisting that Claus just had to have wet food. I suspect some kind of mind control. Claus is relentless in hanging around his food dish, griping, moaning, and threatening to bite the microwave electrical cord until he is fed. When he is fed, the first thing he does is tip over his dish, so that a big chunk of food falls on the floor.
Someone needs to teach that cat a lesson. Felony Count 3 Sofa Mistreatment: It had little mice made of carpet hanging by ribbons from the top of the post so that he could bat them around. All this, however, was evidently not good enough for Claus. Apparently this was not sufficient to satisfy his primal instincts. Recently we discovered that he has also been using a hidden corner of our living room couch as a scratching post. I take this offense rather personally. Felony Count 4 Attempted Manslaughter: Like any narcissistic personality, Claus always insists on going first.
He tries to jump ahead of us when we open the basement door. He can get into our basement any time he pleases from the outside, using his secret evil Ninja powers. In addition he is always underfoot in the kitchen, just hoping to trip someone carrying a hot pot or pan.
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But worse of all, he has taken to jumping ahead of me when I go down the stairs. He frequently entwines himself between my legs as I try to step down. Like in chess the anticipation is worse than the move. I have lost all confidence in navigating the steps. It is a deadly psychological game of cat and what he sees as a very large mouse. The other day I was gingerly coming down the stairs when I almost stepped on a dead mouse, carefully placed on the bottom step. I have concluded that the presence of the dead rodent could mean one of three things. It was an attempt to scare me to death, which almost succeeded.
Finally, if my body is found lying at the bottom of our stairs before Claus is prosecuted, make sure the police look for gray cat fur on my pants, just about shin high. This blog orignally appeared in the Southern Indiana News Tribune. Maria belonged to our friends Johnnie and Julie Green. They indulged this unseemly dog like a favored child. They were card sharks and as they put it we were s not. She welcomed us with a loud bark and vicious snap and then dashed under our car.
Suddenly Maria dashed out from under the car yelping. They were not amused. Maria constantly ran ahead or straggled behind while Judy frantically screamed for her in a shrill voice.