August 2015 – Hot Dog Cool Cats

If You Could Read My Mind, Love

I admit, I am not perfect. I am wilful, hard-headed and sensitive…. a bit like my Momma. I don’t know exactly what my transgression was on this particular occasion. Well actually, I do. Wonder Boy was talking to Momma and, since I am the centre of the universe, I started bugging Momma, pushing her hand to indicate, ‘Pay attention to me, NOW.’

Down in the dumps. I hate controversy, especially caused by me.

Apparently, I had done it one too many times that day because, Momma said to me, rather sharply, ‘Lay down, Jakita.’ Somehow, Wonder Boy took exception to Momma trying to discipline me, since he said, well, that I only respond to his command.

I know, I know, dogs understand words, not sentences but you better believe, I understood, that my needy self shone a light on Momma’s weaknesses. I meekly lay on the floor beside her, my head on my paws, hoping she would look at me and see through the love in my unwavering stare that I meant no harm. So the moment passed, the night rolled out as usual, me sleeping blissfully beside Wonder Boy, dreaming of succulent doggie treats to devour and bones to demolish, but the next day, a new regime began.

It seems like all the hours of training Momma spent in order to make me perfect, had not quite paid full dividends. Momma says there are a multitude of things I get right but then there is that Quite Contrary side of me (inherited no doubt from Momma) that makes me buck the system. Apparently, I am a Work-In-Progress.

Momma started with the easy stuff, like sit, lay, stay, rollover, pray, count, beg, come, stop. Blue Ribbon, all the way…..On to the stuff that unnerves me…a knock at the door, a doorbell rings. It could be anyone at that door with malicious intent. It is my job to both warn the family of potential danger and frighten the interloper in to beating a hasty retreat. No??? You know the person at the door so when you say, ‘Jakita, lay down. Stay’, I am not supposed to move a muscle, until further command. Really, like REALLY? Just lay down? Everyone knows a dog laying down can not bark. I got to go through my Policies and Procedures for All Creation. I am sure Momma is wrong.

Okay, I got it. It is okay to bark, say one woof, if it is legitimate, like the cat is on the table or wants outside or to sound an alarm if no one is expected but someone is here, say poking around in our garage. But Momma and Wonder Boy are Control Central. I am to take the lead from them. Gotcha!

That leaves the annoying attention seeking behaviour. I solemnly do swear I will cease and desist to the best of my ability. If sometimes I forget, remind me. After all I don’t run away any more. I am perfectly house broken. I try, I really try.

It was a beautiful day. Not sure what I was doing - maybe singing opera, — It was a beautiful day. Not sure what I was doing – maybe singing opera,

I mean, when I was a puppy, it was easier to resist training but now, with every breath in my body, I want to please Momma and Wonder Boy. Their approval means everything to me. And you know the best part of the Retraining Program? It is the treats for performance. So bring it on, Momma! Especially those Kitty Cat Temptations. They seem to awaken the beast…I mean, the best in me.

Why Can’t We Be Friends?

As the Fashionista Kitty Cat of the Kitty Club Med, the Neighborhood Cats and the Cat Colony, I must keep my eye out for up coming trends and then reject or accept and implement them. I know, I see you, smirking but this is a real job for a Kitty Cat who has vision, loves glitter and is still working on bringing those high heels and sparkly eye lashes to the kitty market.

My right paw and keen eyes are always looking for a bauble to chase.

Besotted feline lovers are every where, willing to indulge their precious tabbies, although some of them are ashamed to admit it. Derision is heaped on the Cat Lady or the poor Cat Man who indulges his soul and forges an inexplicable bond with a feline who everyone knows can not possibly replace the love of a dog. My take on that theory is a lot of the Two Footed know ‘nawthing about nawthing’. Still. dogs may be all things wise and wonderful as well as fine pillows to sleep on (at least Jakita is) but they are high maintenance, and sometimes hard on your ears, you know.

First off a Two Footed Owner has to train a dog to do just about anything. Sit, stand, stay, run, fetch, drop, wave, wiggle, you get it – oh, and house break them. Not cats. Momma just put a litter tray in the bathroom, closed us in the first few days and we figured it out ourselves. No road map. No GPS. No ‘Go Pottie’. We got it, Pontiac.

Momma doesn’t have to take us for a walk. We choose if we want to follow her and Jakita on their walks but otherwise, we have it figured out. We can walk leisurely or stealthily or thunder whenever, wherever we want at any given time, not on some dead set rigid schedule. Still it is kind of fun to tag along with Momma and Jakita, run ahead, hide in the bushes, then jump out at them. Momma stops to pet us and try to get us home safely but we got that too, Momma. We cross the road to the creek and back a dozen times a day.

Then there is the grooming. What’s up with that, huh? Jakita digs in the mud, jumps in puddles, then expects Momma to bath, brush and blow dry her. I must admit. I love getting brushed myself and if I am out in the rain, when Momma opens the door to let me in, I expect her to pick the fluffiest towel and dry me down promptly. Failure to comply on her behalf, results in my giving her a proper dressing down. I always say, ‘A dry cat is a happy cat.’

Yet I can’t deny, my BFF (Best Friend Forever) is Jakita. She is definitely demanding and high maintenance but she has a good head on her shoulders and a non judgemental tender heart. Sometimes I think because she grew up in a minority, she likes cats (especially me, but Andy will do when Momma vacuums and Charlie when I am outside) more than dogs that sniff to long, bark too loud or worse still, have to show their dominance over her. You got to know Jakita. Inside of her lives a warrior that can take care of business, anyone’s business.

Siesta Time. Check! Got a Pillow to lay on. Check! Jakita is with me. Check! Bring on the Sandman.

What I know is, dog lovers, cat lovers they are usually all good people. We got to put aside some dog owner superiority. And, I got a secret. Somewhere deep in my heart I feel the same way about Jakita that she does for me. That begs the question if a dog and cat can be best friends forever, what is wrong with those hard-headed, critical Two Footed pet owners that pit a dog’s loyalty against an adorable, playful, agile cat? Just ask Jakita and I. We both bring love to the table….and love is a grand thing, init???

Starlight, Starbright

It came to pass that Momma and RIP Daddy took vacation, back to Momma’s place of birth, where things were not always what they seemed or even explicable, at times.

The baseball game was always a Right of Passage, separating the Men from the Boys, that you must endure (word chosen to relay Daddy and Momma’s poor attitude) at least one night of their vacation on the ball diamond or they may not be invited to the

Our annual bonfire at the beach. From Morguefile.com IMG_3598ed.jpgBy Dzz — Our annual bonfire at the beach.
From Morguefile.com
IMG_3598ed.jpgBy Dzz

Bonfire which could happen any moon lit night on whatever beach was chosen by the organizers, but kept secret to the last-minute (kind of like the Raves in Toronto where kids get on a bus with windows covered in order to keep the location a sworn secret from helicopter parents, who inevitably turned in to snow plow parents, as their kids mature). It was no normal game with teams. Each person came up to bat, like live looping disco music and the guy with the most home runs for the night won. Lucky for Momma she was so bad they didn’t use her as a catcher or an outfielder. She could not hit or catch a ball to save her soul but it was not for naught – at least Momma gave her fellow players something to laugh about.

Lanterns used to cast tepid light after the sun went down and darkness set in. — Lantern used

Somehow the subject of ‘remember whens’ turned to the night Starlight hit the ball out of the park. Like a winged angel, she seemed almost airborne as she passed the bases, her long blonde pony tail flying behind her. At home base she collapsed in shock because all these years and all those times up to bat and she hadn’t come close to connecting, before that night.

Starlite Starbrite Oct152010edit076 Fr: Morguefile By: phaewilk — Starlite Starbrite
Oct152010edit076 Fr: Morguefile By: phaewilk

No one knew what happened to Starlight. She had not been home, must be over thirty years now, the players all agreed. They all pondered and wondered what life had rolled out for her because everyone has their ups and downs, no doubt about that.

Could this be....The winged Starlight with a golden baseball bat. — Could this be….The winged Starlight with a golden baseball bat.

All of a sudden, from the players at the picnic table, there were gasps and excited voices, ‘Look, look out on the field. I don’t know if you can believe this, but I am told it was like a white light bathed the field. There was, Starlight at bat. She connected with that fastball and sent it out of the park, over the trees to an unknown destination, and made her famous run once again, pony tail flying behind her, around the bases, home safe, to a cheering crowd. And as quickly as the show started it ended, leaving all the players, Momma and Daddy as well, in the dark once again and speechless.

What had just happened? Was Starlight still alive? Had she astro traveled when she heard the reminiscing? Was Starlight a Starbright in Heaven twinkling down upon them and thought that it would be fun to once again entertain them with a home run?

Please, if anyone can figure this out, let Momma know because it drives her crazy not being able to come up with a logical explanation.

And you know those Right Wing, Born again, No-Booze for Youse (but still fun) all-related-to-you-somehow-types never would talk about it again. No, they all took the Fifth Amendment. It was, like erased from their memory bank. But Momma knows…. it still haunts them.

In the Jungle, the Mighty Jungle

Okay, okay, not these kind of trees….From Morguefile.com
20141106_4830_DxO_tonemapped copie.jpg By Eric Berthe

Now back ‘in the day’ when monkeys were monkeys (and it was okay to say your kids were little monkeys), life was pretty free, but not always easy. Oh yes, no doubt, you could spend your life, swinging from the trees, chattering to your extended family or your pack, and picking bits and pieces out of the fur of your fellow monkeys. Still, there was always the stress of the unknown, much like in a Cat Colony where the biggest and the meanest have a ‘my will be done attitude.’

Now you know me, (Ruby, The Incredibly Wide Eyed Monkey) I never lived in a pack in the Jungle. I mean, I am stuffed but even so, I am just as wily, intelligent and with the same need for socialization as a monkey born in a tropical rain forest.

Ruby cradles Babbie and Tigger as she tells about her past.

That is why just laying on Momma’s bed with Jakita, Gen, Charlie and of course little Babby and Tigger, has helped me develop in to the well-rounded, trusted companion that I am today. I know you know, I can not talk. Still, I have learned through listening, as well as communicating through my gestures and my wide-eyed stare, how to tell a tale just through the process of osmosis.

And, do I have a story to tell you, Jakita, Gen, Charlie, Babbie and Tigger. Forget Bad Boy Andy. He would not believe me, anyway, just because of his high levels of testosterone (you know, men, only believe in sports stats) and they all seem to share low-levels of tolerance.

You see, when we were being created in the warehouse, (which tried to resemble a jungle, (without the catastrophic thunder, lightening and torrents of rain) the owner, Mr. Get Stuffed (just like we were) had a really wise old monkey who had been kidnapped, sold to bounty hunters who in turn sold him to an exotic pet enterprise who in turn sold him to Mr. Get Stuffed. Are you with me so far? Maybe Mr. Get Stuffed thought it would be easier for his customers to put together a monkey, if they had a live prototype. Still you could also craft teddy bears in the warehouse, and I did not see a bear shuffling around (thank goodness). Go figure. Maybe Mr. Get Stuffed just liked monkeys.

Mr. Wise Old Monkey, surveying jis kingdom come. — Mr. Wise Old Monkey, surveying his kingdom come. From Morguefile.com **IMG_1462_v.jpg** By r chall

All I can say is that Mr. Wise Old Monkey had yellow teeth, a grizzly grey beard and patches of fur missing but he still had a twinkle in his eye…..and we all wanted to be like Mr. Wise Old Monkey when the fresh dew of youth passed us into another portal of reality.

Alas, you know the story. Super Boy and Itty Bitty chose me for Momma so I bade farewell to my forever warehouse friends, as well as Mr. Wise Old Monkey…and I may be wrong, but I think I even saw a tear in Mr. Get Stuffed’s right eye or maybe it was his left eye. Either that, or he had a severe allergy attack, just as I was leaving.

Eyes non wavering, eyes open, Jakita listens to Ruby's tale. — Eyes non wavering, Jakita listens intently to Ruby’s tale.

Now you know, I live the life of Riley with new best friends forever Jakita, Gen, Charlie, Tigger and Babby. Sometimes when I am all alone on Momma’s bed (Gen is catching mice, Charlie has paws to the screen in the sunroom, dreaming of being brave enough to go outside, Momma is walking Jakita and poor Tigger and Babbie are wherever Jakita left them)….I am sure…

I hear the echo of Mr. Wise Old Monkey’s chatters and clicks and wish I could see him just one more time. He’d be so proud of me and….I have so much to tell him about how the other half lives.

I Feel Good, So Good, So Good….

I have already talked about the Grooming necessary, not once, not twice but four times a year to make me keep me top of the line beautiful. Poor Momma, sometimes doesn’t get a hair cut even annually, because she rushes here and there, does this and that, takes care of the Hot Dog and Cool Cats. No time for her own beautification – the things you do for love…she says…she does!

Now I can not lead you astray, sure, four times a year I get defurred (new untested, unrecognized word), clipped, trimmed, bathed, blow dried and all sorts of such things to make me look like a girlie-girl that loves pink. But do you really think that is the beginning and end of my grooming?

Well then, you don’t know Momma, who is obsessive compulsive about cleanliness, in me, more than in the house, mind you and don’t tell anyone I told you that because there could be repercussions.

You see, every time, after a walk, she takes baby wipes and cleans my underbelly, paws and unmentionables. I try to protest but it has such a cooling effect, I end up licking Momma’s fingers because it feels so good.

Of course it does not end there. Every Friday (it’s not TGIF – more like OGIT – O God It’s Friday), out come the scissors, the tweezers and the toe nail clippers. My fur grows so quickly, (probably Momma’s to blame due to that top of the line food she buys me when I would rather have table scraps) covering my eyes, blinding me in the process so that I need a weekly trim. It is a very nerve-racking process because Momma is no Quick Draw McGraw. Patience is a virtue.

Next, Momma has to tweeze the forest of fur that grows in my ears. I don’t enjoy the process but I love the results. There is nothing more irritating and tickly than fur gone wild, especially for dogs with ear flaps. If Momma does not tweeze the fur out, I have to stick my furry little clawed paw, down, down to silence the itch at its’ source. As I roll on my back, my paw toenails inserted in my ear lobes, scratching to beat the banjo, Momma and Wonder Boy laugh. It is not so funny to me!

Next come those toe nail clipper. I am scared of thunder and lightening…oh and toe nail clippers in Momma’s hands. Better she use the pumice bar and nail files on me. It is not enjoyable to have your nails filed but …then again it is not life threatening.

Brush, check, bag with tweezers, files, scissors, toe nail clippers, check, lavender oil and spray, check and is that really, Chanel 19 Powder? Yup, it is. Is it just me or does it look like Momma get soap in my right eye, again? — Brush, check, blow dryer, check, bag with tweezers, files, scissors, toe nail clippers, check, lavender oil and spray, check and is that really, Chanel 19 Powder? Yup, it is. Is it just me or does it look like Momma got soap in my right eye, again?

After all these indignities, it is time for either a wipe down with a soapy cloth and a rinse or a full-scale bath – not my favourite choices but by now I am waiting to be finished so I can get my treat. Finally it is towel time, a good rub down with a fleecy towel, brushing, massaging in some beauty products, hair blowing (since day one, I like the warm air making me dry). Then just a little Chanel powder to make me smell like the Diva Senorita I am. Treat time has arrived but first I hop on the couch , roll around and around, shoving my head under the pillows, hoping to alleviate that I smell like a posy of flowers. Momma has to get the brush back out to make me look like the proud Havanese that I am.

Look at me. Teeth brushing bones held firmly in place by my furry little paws. And check out how good I look, now that the bath is done, the fur on my ear flaps perfectly blow dried - God Bless Momma. — Look at me. Teeth brushing bones held firmly in place by my furry little paws. And check out how good I look, now that the bath is done, the fur on my ear flaps perfectly blow dried – God Bless Momma.

Okay, now, bring on the treat I have been waiting for – the teeth brushing bones which I devour, as if I hadn’t already had breakfast and scavenged food from the cats. I know, you are saying something like, ‘Huh? That’s a treat?’

But I got to tell you, I feel good, so good, so good….and I am just thankful I don’t have to go through this again until next Friday.

All In All It’s Just Another Brick in the Wall

Momma told me this story… so it is mine to tell you. She seems to think there are a lot of what she calls Baby Boomers who will say, ‘Been there, done that and no thanks, I don’t want the T Shirt.’

Momma and WonderBoy are much kinder teachers than the teacher from H-E-Double Hockey Sticks. They are never sarcastic but they do laugh at me, sometimes. — Momma and Wonder Boy are much kinder teachers than the teacher from H-E-Double Hockey Sticks. They are never sarcastic but they do laugh at me, sometimes.

In the good old days, all adults just pitched in and made sure kids behaved the way they wanted their own to act. Maybe it was the threat of corporal punishment but no one dared sass back. You bit your tongues and listened, especially to your teachers who put up with students every day, week in and week out.

However there was one teacher (isn’t there always), who no one ever forgets. She was small in stature but made up for it in her ability to keep students on their toes, by being relentlessly unforgiving if she caught them drifting off to dreamland, rather than being present, feet on the floor, head out of the clouds. She actually expected students to be connected to the subject at hand, (Geography in her case) while in her classroom. Momma tried to mind her p and q’s, concentrate, come up with the correct answer but out of the blue, like a snapping turtle, the teacher would attack, centering Momma out for admonishment.

A blankmap - a.k.a.Geography Class Torture. From Morguefile.com MAPS_earth-map.jpgBy Prawny — The dreaded blank map – a.k.a.Geography Class Torture.
From Morguefile.com
MAPS_earth-map.jpgBy Prawny

Pity the student she brought up to the front, handed him or her a pointer and asked where, say Burma was. If the student pointed to the incorrect place (purely by accident), in a most irritating, sarcastic voice she would say, ‘Don’t tell me. Burma must have moved. Strange they are not talking about it on the news.’ The poor student would turn every shade of red as their fellow students tittered.

It is not hard to believe that this kind of walking on egg shells approach, makes one at the top of their game. Hey, everyone wanted to do well. That is why Momma would be so disappointed at the results of the exams when she got them back. Although it would be a passing grade, the teacher From H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks would routinely mark questions that were correct, wrong, and deduct points accordingly. One day after class Momma went up and asked her teacher about it. Putting on her sweetest smile the teacher would say, ‘You know what, Quite Contrary, you are correct. I’ll just mark it in my ledger and next exam, I’ll add the marks on to your score.’

The Mark Ledger where you were measured against your peers. From Morguefile.com a oct nov 036a.jpgBy jdurham — The Mark Ledger where you were measured against your peers.
From Morguefile.com
a oct nov 036a.jpgBy jdurham

Momma would look at her like she had two heads. The next exam would not even be marked by her. It would be sent to a central marking location to ensure provincial marking was uniform.

Momma wrote her final exam and waited for the results which came by mail. She could not believe it. She had got one mark less than the highest score for all of the geography exams written that year in her province. Momma and the teacher’s favorite student, even got an acknowledgement from Board of Education, because they got the top scores in the province (which rightfully made the H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks teacher look good).

In reflection, did the teacher from H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks very perversity cause students to dig deeper, go further? Did she see something in Momma’s personality that made her need to challenge her to get the best performance? Was the teacher as devious as Delilah or as Wise as Solomon?

You probably are saying, ‘whatever’. Momma would never have to see her after high school. You would be wrong. The teacher from H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks decided, since she thought so much of Momma’s parents, (translation – Grandpapa) she would not only move to the same city but buy a condo in the same building. Momma saw her all the time at unplanned / unsolicited drop bys, at the nearby mall where everyone shopped, at family meals, at the teachers’ place, and even at Momma’s place. However, the teacher from H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks was now on Momma’s team all the way, mostly because Momma’s son, Wonder Boy was intelligent, perfect in every way, as well as the best looking boy the teacher ever knew. No one knows how someone as hopeless as Momma (in the teacher’s eyes), ever managed to have such a remarkable kid.

All these years later and Momma will tell you, if she is talking teachers with those she went to school with, it always comes round to the teacher from H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks. Whatever methods she used, you can bet, she will never be forgotten.

All in all, it’s just another brick in the wall.

Must Have Been A BAT Party

Momma says that SNL (Saturday Night Live) comedian, Gilda Radner (RIP) (yeah, I know, it seems like Momma knows a lot of dead people) had a book titled, ‘It’s Always Something’ because it mimicked her reality. I agree, big time. At least it seems to be the case in our life.

The full moon that beckons all the living. the magical and even the inert. From Morguefile.com Supermoon1.JPGBy mparkes — The full moon that beckons all the living. the magical and even the inert.
From Morguefile.com
Supermoon1.JPGBy mparkes

It was another clear sky, full moon Saturday night. Maybe that is the beginning of the problem. It seems like the Two Footed and Four Footed like to exercise their demons under the pull of a full moon. The dogs bark louder, babies are born, the rich, the poor and even the hard-working, under appreciated middle class seemed to party full tilt under the beguiling full moon. So is that what it was all about?

Let’s start by saying, we live in Bat Country. I know. I am a witness. Since Momma and Wonder Boy are such enthusiastic wildlife supporters, they track all coming and going of the birds, bees, butterflies, rabbits, raccoons, ground hogs, possums and even the bats in our neighbour hood. I dare say they would follow the beavers, coyotes, deer, fish and so on and so on as well, if they lived in our community. Thank goodness they do not. Enough is too much already.

One night the sun dipped and dusk robbed us of the ability to see clearly. Wonder Boy and Momma were outside with me when a virtual cloud of bats came swooping, diving, heading towards a big old tree, right in front of our garage. This silent sea of winged specie seemed to disappear as magically as they had appeared, in to the fleeting dusk.

Just as dusk breaks, bats appear like a dark cloud in a blue sky. From Morguefile.com DSC05458.jpgBy sparkyface — Just as dusk breaks, bats appear like a dark cloud in a blue sky.
From Morguefile.com
DSC05458.jpgBy sparkyface

‘What was that, Momma? Flying mice with oversized wings? Super Duper Moths? Grey butterflies? No, butterflies are always colourful. So what was that Momma?’ ‘Bats, Jakita. Our community is their breeding ground and like the feral and raccoons, they are not moving out of their natural habitat any time soon.’

No problem. Well, no problem, until on a full moon last Saturday night they winged their way in to our shed room. You know we live in an old house. You do not buy a newer home, with a floor plan that includes a shed room, these days. Wonder Boy and I were out there when down from the rafters came two of those silent bat mobiles, flying so low they just managed to whiz past Wonder Boy’s head without making a touch down. It was very disconcerting. I was even too shocked to even bark at the intruders.

Now I admit, I don’t know a whole lot about a variety of subjects. I know I am responsible for the Two Footed and the Four Footed around here but I don’t cover bats. I do not care if they are endangered. They are some one else’s problem. I will respect them if they are outside but in my house, it is game on….well, it would be, if only I had wings to fly!

Here I am telling the Bat tale the morning after. I look a trifle tired because bat night mares kept me awake.

PS: True story. We were the lucky ones. Just four houses down the street, our neighbours woke up to Holy Batman…….I am not sure – it could also have been a Saturday night. Whatever day it was, they got up to find that there on their living room drapes, little bats, hanging upside down, in a row, sleeping soundly.

It must have been quite the full tilt Bat Extravagnza Party the night before!

I’m Special, So Special Charlie Cat

I love nights. I know what you are thinking. All cats love nights – they are nocturnal. Yes, we like to prowl around, hide in bushes, then ambush unsuspecting moonbeams, but that is not why I like nights.

Look how special I am even if the big clumps of fur would be considered a deterrent. See my longing eyes and distinctive whiskers. Still, I believe in inner beauty!

No, I love nights because I have Momma’s undivided attention. By 9:00pm I am skulking around at her bedroom door, trying to remind her through telepathy, that it is time to go to sleep because then and only then, I no longer have to share Momma with our gaggle of pets, housecleaning, gardening, painting, computer time and who ever she visits, when she goes God knows where. Sometimes she comes back with cat food, oh and little Temptation morsels, that she only serves to me because I turn up my nose (and whiskers) at wet food. Obviously, I don’t begrudge those trips. I even would encourage to go more often to the pet store.

Jakita, in her wisdom, decided she would much rather follow Wonder Boy’s ‘late to bed, late to rise’ schedule. I mean one night she just plopped off Momma’s bed and she never returned. Well, that is not quite accurate.

Charlie and Gen napping the day away, comforted by each other and Ruby.

You see, during the day when Gen and I are sleeping, Jakita begs Momma to put her up on the bed, (I’m pretty out of shape but I’d be so ashamed if I could not make it on the bed without help – was she born without springs in her back paws?) Then she dog naps as we cat nap. I like Jakita. She always shows me the respect I deserve but I don’t always understand her choices.

Gen and I, we get along fine, love to air kiss but the Diva Calico Gen is besotted with Wonder Boy so she has always wants to share his space at night. Come early morning, when she hears Momma stir, she comes in, meowing softly and jumps up on the bed beside Momma and I, all kisses and giggles, ready to kick-start the day, always up, like the Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidtt. What’s that all about?

Bad Boy Andy sleeps alone, on his back, little white paws ready to box all takers while long black tails drapes over his hind legs.

That leaves only Bad Boy Andy who would love to sleep with Momma at night, but it is not happening, at least not in my life time. The second he steps in to the bedroom I start my low growl. If he dares to jump on the bed he gets my hisses, and snarls from way down deep in my belly, as I take a menacing stance. Andy may have Momma fooled, but not me. He terrorized me so much over the years, chasing me round the basement, through the crawl space, (never in front of Momma), hunting me down, jumping on my back, nipping my ears. Let Momma love him in the daytime but I got her at night. Andy is the Brainiac. He knows why I give him the deep six. And he will never pursue me in front of Momma because he wants her to think of him as the Black and White Tuxedo Gentleman Cat that he is not!

Like a fine wine...better with age... — Like a fine wine, Charlie is…better with age…

So I may be old, I may not be a Diva, or a Brainiac. I may have too many coats of fur that turn in to dreadful clumps and make me look like an overweight and out of shape porcupine.

But I know how to take care of business….and Momma is my business.

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