I wake up with a rare feeling of energy pulsing through me. I’m focused on a list of goals in my mind, important things I will either accomplish or at least pummel into submission. Without words, I tell myself this is going to be a productive day.
After driving my son to school, I steer my way back, past flat lawns glistening with early morning wetness. It’s mid-September, and I can see that the silvery shimmer includes spider webs in the grass, a sure sign that summer is about to depart, making way for a short autumn and the long, cold winter to follow. As I pull into the driveway, I’m comforted by the fact that I have a clear, dry path leading from the car into my empty house. The spiders have their work to do, and so do I.
Around the front door, too, webs stretch in every direction. As I glance left and right within three feet of my head, I see at least a half dozen spiders, different kinds and different sizes, all busy mending their traps and tending to their captured prey — mostly the pathetic crane flies that normally cover the walls and doors, now folded and wrapped like a selection of convenience store sandwiches.
Crane flies, if you don’t know, resemble enormous mosquitoes. They remind me of what an alien attack might look like: huge creatures filling the sky, then swooping down to carry off an unsuspecting dog, or a squirrel with an attention deficit. They look frightening, but they don’t bite and are shockingly fragile; their legs seem to fall off at the first sign of a threat. And while it may appear that the crane flies have all attached themselves to my house, I know better. A short walk across the lawn will launch a thousand of them out of the grass and into the air, like scrambled jet fighters.
I’m sorry, did I say empty house? That isn’t quite true. Our two cats are inside. Zoey is ten years old, docile and undemanding, save for her nightly three a.m. snacks, which I get up to provide, if only to avoid an hour and a half of head butting.
Chloe is ten weeks old and, I fear, possessed by demons I didn’t believe existed. Her daily tasks include climbing screens, doing sideways flips onto Zoey’s back, and dismantling a beautiful wicker chair, bite by bite. But her main job is bolting out the door every time one is opened. Even at her tender age, she knows to run under the car, and using sophisticated calculations of trigonometry, manages to find the spot where no one can reach.
As I open the front door just a crack, I see Chloe’s little face peering out, her eyes bouncing around as her small brain wrestles with compound fractions and square roots. I reach my hand in and grab her, nudging the door with my shoulder and then closing it behind me with my foot. Kicking off my shoes, I take a moment to hold her in my arms, giving her a squeeze that’s part affection and part victory dance. I will not be crawling around on the driveway today. Besides, I have too much to do.
In my office, I realize I’ve left my wallet in the car. I don’t want to push my luck by trying to go out through the front door. Tossing Chloe one way while running in the other doesn’t work, because she has the uncanny ability to land on her feet and change directions at the same time. And she’s really fast. I close the office door, sealing the room off from the rest of the house, and head out through the side exit. Then I realize the car keys are on my desk. And then I realize I’ve just closed the door completely, with me on the outside; the house keys are also on my desk. I hesitate for a second or two, relishing the last remnants of hope that maybe I’d unconsciously turned the lock on my way out. I reach for the doorknob and twist it, but get nothing but the hard, blunt facts: I can’t get in.
I think of calling my daughter, because she has a key. She’ll laugh at the fact that I’ve locked myself out yet again, but at least I’ll be inside. The next thing I remember is that I don’t have a cell phone. And then my own mind comes to the rescue: There’s a spare key in the shed. The shed has a lock, and so does the gate in the fence around the backyard. Luckily, they share the same key. True, the key is part of the set resting on my desk, but there’s another one hanging secretly on a nail under the front deck. I am somehow managing to stay one step ahead of my own stupidity.
With secret key in hand, I walk through the wet grass and spider webs in my white socks. I could take off the socks, I suppose, but I don’t think of it until I feel the soaked cotton on my feet. The spider webs may have also contributed to my forgetfulness. Trudging through the back lawn, hundreds of crane flies explode out of the grass, and for the first time they don’t seem so pathetic. I consider screaming, just to see if their legs will fall off. I unlock the shed, grab the spare house key, and walk back to the side door. There are two keys in the shed, one for the side door I’d come out of minutes earlier, and one for the front door. I’ve grabbed the wrong one, so I have to walk around the house and go through the front. As the key turns, I savor a split-second of relief before seeing an orange-and-black blur race between my legs. I spin around just in time to see Chloe disappear under the car.
“Stupid cat,” I mumble. Then I say some words that I never say when people are around, and I begin a ten-minute battle that eventually ends with me holding the kitten down at my side, worried that if I look at her, I may throw her onto the roof. I wouldn’t mind throwing her onto the roof, but the ladder is in the shed and I’d have to walk through the wet grass and spider webs again.
As I open the door, four or five crane flies slip inside with us. I put Chloe down and she runs up the stairs, doing what I believe is a victory dance. Zoey appears and begins chasing a crane fly around the living room as I peel off my drenched, grass-stained socks and head back to the office to begin doing whatever it was I thought I’d be half-finished with by now. On the way, I decide to do a load of laundry, including my socks. I turn on the washing machine, pour in some detergent, and wait a minute to get some good suds going. Then I hear a crash from upstairs that causes me to crack my elbow down onto the corner of the washing machine’s lid. It slams closed as I run, clutching my tingling right arm, to see what happened. In the living room, I find DVDs scattered on the floor. Zoey is trying to climb a wall to catch a crane fly and Chloe is on the kitchen counter, about to dive into the sink for no apparent reason. I snatch Chloe and put her into my son’s room and close the door. Then I catch the crane flies, one by one, in a plastic cup and release them back into the wild. Before letting them go, I advise the insects to think before they act. “Use your head,” I offer. “Stay away from the spiders.” I swear I hear one of them turn and say something sarcastic.
Back inside, I sit down at my desk and get to work. I notice that the new operating system I installed on my computer the previous week is incompatible with yet another software program I’d been using for years. This one contains all of our bank and credit card accounts, as well as mortgage and tax information. The upgrade cost just twenty-nine dollars and promised to make me more productive. I call a new software company and after nineteen minutes on hold, I reach someone who tells me I’ll need to send our financial information to them so they can convert the files to their format. Then I’ll have to re-enter every transaction that has occurred during the transition. Feeling flustered, I hear the washing machine turn off and I go to take out the clean laundry. I open the lid and peer down into emptiness. I’d never put the clothes into the machine, and it had been running all this time, washing itself, but nothing else.
By now I’m tired of fighting the inevitable and decide to go to the grocery store, where I’ll stroll up and down the aisles and forget about the morning’s adventures. I hang my keys on the back of the shopping cart, as I always do, and begin to explore. I collect an assortment of items, including some fresh plums, a warm loaf of bread, some cheese, a package of tortillas, and a jug of orange juice. Feeling relaxed for the first time all day, I pay for my groceries, thank the cashier, and leave. I have just the one bag, so I drop off the cart in the designated area and walk across the parking lot, enjoying the warm sunshine on my skin. As I approach my car, I realize that I’ve left the keys hanging on the shopping cart. I run back into the store, but the cart is gone. I race through every aisle, slowing down just enough to look at the back of every shopper’s cart without giving them the impression that I’m looking at them. Several of the customers, all women, give me looks of alarm. One grabs her purse. I go to the customer service counter, where I’m handed my keys, which had apparently been turned in before I’d even reached the car.
On my way home, I make it a point to drive a little under the speed limit. I have no hope of catching a single green light, and I’m sneaking occasional glimpses at the sky, sure that if an asteroid were about to hit the Earth, I would be the exact point of impact. I also decide that if I ever again wake up with that sensation of energy pulsing through me, I’ll do the only thing that makes any sense: I’ll stay in bed until the feeling goes away.
Meanwhile, I park in the driveway and make sure I’m holding the keys before locking the car. I also concentrate on taking the groceries into the house on the first try. I check the front door for crane flies and spiders. Then I enter slowly, expecting to be confronted with Chloe’s cute little maniacal face. When I don’t see her, I remember that she’s still in my son’s room. I look down the hallway and notice that the poster that had been taped to the outside of his closed door is now lying on the floor. A large framed picture on the wall is tilted at a very precise forty-five degree angle. I hear something that sounds like fabric being torn into strips. I want to open the door, but I’m afraid. And I mutter the two words that, lately, seem to explain everything in my life.
“Stupid cat.”
Carl D'Agostino
September 15, 2011
Half the battle is learning not to spin your own toxic webs into which to fall
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bronxboy55
September 16, 2011
Good advice, Carl, although easier said than done.
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She's a Maineiac
September 15, 2011
Oh, how this made me laugh so hard! Because I have days like that. Okay, most of my days are like that. And I have no cats.
“I am somehow managing to stay one step ahead of my own stupidity.”
This line had me spitting out my coffee. This is usually all I can hope for–I pray to stay just slightly ahead of my stupidity.
And I almost managed to get through your post without getting the heebie jeebies from all the spider references. At the end I was hyperventilating. I must never read your posts first thing in the morning while drinking coffee. Lesson learned (I hope).
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bronxboy55
September 16, 2011
Thanks, Darla. Maybe I should start putting short notes at the top of the posts, such as “Spider Alert!” What do you think? I’m sure Amiable Amiable will have something to say about it.
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Earth Ocean Sky Redux
September 15, 2011
Your story reminds me of a book I used to read to my kids when they were little: Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Let’s just hope you aren’t also starring in the movie Groundhog Day. Your adventures should only be a one-time occurrence. What a day!!!
BTW, I had to look up Crane Fly. That term is new to me.
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bronxboy55
September 16, 2011
I’d never heard of crane flies either, or seen them, until about five years ago. They just appeared out of nowhere, and now there are millions of them. I’ve heard that they eat mosquitoes, which would be a point in their favor.
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Noreen
September 15, 2011
Nice to start out the day with a chuckle.
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bronxboy55
September 16, 2011
I’m glad to hear that, Noreen. Talk to you soon.
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Margaret Reyes Dempsey
September 15, 2011
This was great, especially since I just had a stupid cat experience an hour ago. My mom came over to have breakfast with me, and my cat, who is terrified of everything and everyone, ran up to her safe place beneath the foot of my comforter. However, there’s a suitcase on the bed in that spot because I’m packing for a trip. Rather than crawling under the comforter a foot over, she insisted on going to her spot, heaving a heavy suitcase up in the air as she crawled under it. Jeez. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
“I consider screaming, just to see if their legs will fall off.” This made me roar. There’s something about you that reminds me a lot of my brother.
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bronxboy55
September 16, 2011
I often see the cats sleeping in the strangest places, and the thought always occurs to me that they’d never sleep there if I wanted them to.
What sort of person is your brother? And does your Mom ever go over to have breakfast with him?
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Lenore Diane
September 15, 2011
Crane flies. We call them Mosquito hawks here.
Charles this was laugh out loud funny through the entire post. I could relate on many things, including doing a full load of ‘nothing’ in the washing machine. Ah laughable life moments…
This reminds me of a story written by Robert Fulgham. He watched his neighbor get caught in a cobweb as she was trying to get in her door. Apparently she tried the door and it was locked. Desperately trying to get out of the spider web, she tried the door again – still locked.
That visual always makes me laugh.
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bronxboy55
September 16, 2011
Maybe they’re called mosquito hawks because they eat mosquitoes? Or is it because they look like giant mosquitoes?
I do the same thing with a locked door. I’ll try it two or three times, as if maybe I was mistaken the first time.
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Betty Londergan
September 15, 2011
Charles, you are so funny — this is such a perfectly rendered depiction of the kind of day I sometimes have, it’s frightening. I just left my car keys at a friend’s house, after riding my scooter over there to save gas. Now I have to drive all the way over there again to pick up the car keys that I idiotically left on her counter. So I saved $4 worth of gas and have to spend another hour doing a reverse round trip…. brilliant!
Your description of racing through the grocery store freaking out all the women shoppers made me burst out laughing — and reminded me of the time my husband (the university president) insisted that I had mistaken the night of having 50 fraternity kids to the house for dessert… only to have them all show up at 7 pm while we were eating dinner. I raced to the supermarket and careened down every aisle in a mad panic, throwing cakes, ice cream, donuts, cupcakes & every sweet thing I could find into the cart. I looked like a bulemic on crack and when I checked out, the cashier just raised her eyebrows and said, “Well, somebody’s hungry.” It was pathetic! Thanks for sharing — and p.s. I can’t believe you captured and released the crane flies, much less get UP to give your cat a 3 am treat … you old softie!! (Send me a photo of Chloe!! I’m already nuts about her)
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bronxboy55
September 16, 2011
Fifty fraternity kids. Now that’s a story to hold onto, and get some leverage out of. While you flew off to the store, what was your husband’s reaction?
You want a photo of Chloe? I can do better than that. I’ll keep the photo and send you the cat. (That was kind of a poem there, although entirely unintentional.)
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souldipper
September 15, 2011
Oh what a clever cat – she’ll be the greatest companion you’ve ever experienced. She has the intelligence to pick a perfect home!
Know what? Those Grand-daddy Mosquitoes (we called them) do bite. For decades, I gently caught them by hand and put them outside. About 7 years ago, one bit me! And it stung! I was so shocked I nearly bit it. Okay…I just wanted to spank it. It got away and I ignored it thereafter along with all its flitting, fully-legged offspring.
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bronxboy55
September 17, 2011
I haven’t had one bite me yet, Amy, but my new strategy when I find them on the front door is to blow them sideways and hope they’ll fly away. Even the gentlest flick seems to dismember them. Life gets more complicated all the time, doesn’t it?
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magsx2
September 15, 2011
Hi,
Oh my what a day that was. Sometimes it pays to just stay in bed. 🙂
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bronxboy55
September 17, 2011
I think you’re right, Mags. It just doesn’t pay very well.
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Allan Douglas
September 15, 2011
Oh, man, where to start. My wife was starting to think I was having a seizure while reading this because periodically something would strike me as particularly funny and I’d have to fight to avoid spraying iced tea all over my laptop. Eventually I got smart and set the drink aside for the duration.
I’m gratified to know that I’m not the only one who has to hide keys in various places to be sure I can get in when I lock myself out. Notice I did not say “if”, but “when”. It is a given that I will (and have). Hidden keys are wonderful things!
I’m also glad I don’t have cats. I did have cats once, but I tossed them all on the roof. Although, one of my dogs, Zadie, bears the nick name of “Tornado Tail”, because she can wreck havoc on a room just by being happy. At least she doesn’t shred the contends of a room.
Now, about that computer upgrade, “this will make you more productive” stuff. All too familiar!
OK, I’m going back to my iced tea now… thanks for another very entertaining read!
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bronxboy55
September 17, 2011
Besides keys, do you ever put things away inside the house in a safe place, just to make sure you don’t lose them, and then later have to tear the place apart because you can’t remember where they are? I never do that. I was just wondering if you do.
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Allan Douglas (@AllanDouglasDgn)
September 19, 2011
Who… me? Nooooo; I never misplace things, I’m far too organized for that.
(LIAR!)
OK, Ok, maybe… once in a while…
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Snoring Dog Studio
September 15, 2011
I’m exhausted. Your description of this (typical?) day wore me out. And made me laugh out loud. I almost went back to bed, though! I’m lucky that my sister lives next door and in her garage is an extra set of keys for me. They get a lot of use. Some days I feel like I’m just circling my house, unlocking and locking doors, until it’s time to go to bed. I’ve had to wander next door at nighttime to the front of their house, in my pajamas and open their garage to get in. I now have a fence that locks and, so, I will occasionally lock myself out of the back yard.
I’m avoiding talking about your cats. Did you notice that?
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bronxboy55
September 17, 2011
Sometimes the entire day feels like I’m caught in a giant whirlpool, and the more I struggle to escape, the faster it spins me around. This wasn’t a typical day, though. It usually takes a lot more time for things to get spinning that fast, and the grass is a lot drier by then.
I did notice that you avoided the cat issue. That’s okay. We seem to agree on the important things, and pretty much disagree about everything else.
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O. Leonard
September 16, 2011
Thoroughly enjoyed this. I think I’ll go back to bed and wait for the feeling to pass. Sounds like a better idea than doing all the productive things I have planned for today. Besides, I suddenly don’t feel like doing anything. We have two Boston Terriers, no cats, but Domino and Sassy’s antagonisms are very similar to Chloe and Zoey.
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bronxboy55
September 17, 2011
Thanks, O. I’m glad you mentioned Domino and Sassy, because I was starting to wonder if we created our own troubles by giving the cats rhyming names. I guess not.
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happykidshappymom
September 16, 2011
Charles, you transported me from an idyllic fall morning, dew glistening on the lawns, straight into a scene from Hitchcock’s The Birds. Only instead of birds, your story featured crane flies and crazy cats and a wealth of laugh-out-loud moments. From “manage to stay one step ahead of my own stupidity,” to “taking the groceries into the house on the first try,” you turned an everyday morning into a remarkable adventure. Love it!
I used to have a cat who ate everything. Including electrical cords. Some days I’d pick up the phone and there’d be no dial tone… so I’d trace the cord back to its chewed off end. Same with the vacuum, lamps, the toaster, it was ridiculous. She used up more than her fair share of lives.
And just last week I got the kids up and dressed and ready for a trip to the craft store, only to realize I’d locked my keys in the car the day before. Better than when I locked myself out of my first home — in my pajamas! I’ve finally given up calling people to “rescue” me. 🙂 Now I just entertain myself and hope that next time, I’ll be able to get out of the house “on the first try,” as you say. Thanks for a great story!
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bronxboy55
September 17, 2011
Our kitten has also been chewing through electrical cords. There isn’t a set of working headphones left in the house and I find bits of wire everywhere. I’ve also had to unplug things like electric fans and kitchen appliances. One day last week, she pressed the button on a power strip and my computer, printer, fax machine, and lamp all shut down at once.
It was great to hear from you, Melissa. Thank you for the nice comment, and I look forward to reading your blog again.
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Sarah
September 16, 2011
Brilliantly rendered, Charles–as usual. I could so sympathize with the kind of day you were having, as I’ve had many of those myself. By the way, if Betty doesn’t want Chloe, please feel free to send her to me! She sounds darling, and much like the kitty I have now. (Abandoned, he was left outdoors to fend for himself. He found me instead, and has become so lazy and comfortable as an indoor cat that he shows little interest in escaping to the great outdoors, although he does love to snooze in front of window screens and open sliders–about as close as he can get to outside.)
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bronxboy55
September 17, 2011
I think Chloe will calm down soon enough, probably as soon as there’s nothing left in the house to destroy. She’ll be full-grown by the time you meet her. I’m glad you and your cat found each other, Sarah. And thank you for reading this very long story.
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slightlyignorant
September 16, 2011
Oh, Charles – what a day, what a day. It sounds more like a Monday than a Thursday, too. Garfield’s kind of Monday, where everything seems to go wrong.
And yet, I still can’t muster up that much sympathy for you – because come on, you’ve got a ten-week old cat in your house, which is one of the cutest, most adorable specimens on this planet! Can you tell I’m a crazy-cat-lady-in-waiting? I may be only twenty-one now, but don’t worry, one day I’ll be that woman with the eight cats who lives in that ramshackle house on the corner.
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bronxboy55
September 17, 2011
How about four instead of eight? Then you could use the money you save on cat food to buy some paint, and new curtains.
You’re right about the kitten, of course. It’s non-stop entertainment.
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dearrosie
September 17, 2011
Charles this is THE best post you’ve ever written. I laughed so much that my dog Monte Carlo came to check me and my laptop to see what was so funny. He’s never done that before.
I also laughed reading some of the comments, especially poor Betty having to run out to the nearest supermarket to buy cakes to feed 50 hungry boys. Oh god Betty I cannot imagine how embarrassing that must’ve been.
but I realized how powerfully you write BB when, after I laughed and snorted while reading Lenore Diane’s comment, I tried to share the joke by reading the Robert Fulgham story of the neighbor’s spider web to my Mr F, and it just wasn’t funny!
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bronxboy55
September 19, 2011
Thank you, Rosie. You have an eye and an ear for humor, so your positive words mean a lot to me. Mr. F must be getting tired of the whole thing, though.
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dearrosie
September 19, 2011
You know Mr F and I have been married a long time and we were talking the other day that our marriage has endured because we can still make each other laugh. Problem is – and I don’t know what your Mrs G thinks – but he doesn’t appreciate the long hours I spend here writing, reading, and commenting, so I try to include him by reading excerpts from posts – but it doesn’t always work.
so when he wanted to know what was so funny about your last post and I said “BB’s underwear” I sounded like a 6 year old kid laughing about someone’s knickers! heh heh but the way you wrote it was so funny heh heh…
It really was the first time our dog has come to check why I was laughing. He’s really smart our Monte Carlo – he knew somehow that there were cats on the page…
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Priya
September 17, 2011
Charles, how do you do it? No, not what you related in the story, but how you related the story itself. I could try for years, and still not understand how you manage this.
I never say “hats off,” but I will, now.
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bronxboy55
September 17, 2011
Priya, I have exactly the same thought every time I read one of your posts. Your way of seeing things, your appreciation of nature, your understanding of people and their relationships — and then your ability to put it all into words. Not to mention your beautiful photographs. I don’t wear hats, but if I did, mine would be off, too.
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Snoring Dog Studio
September 17, 2011
This is a little off topic, but I think it will brighten your day and help you forget these mishaps, Charles. You need some company on your pumpkin issue – Oma wants you in his club – http://blurts.wordpress.com/2011/09/16/hey-pumpkin-2/
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bronxboy55
September 17, 2011
At last, a rational voice. Thank you, SDS. That was big of you.
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shoreacres
September 17, 2011
I’d be careful if I were you. Your header image of the kitty and the door was here yesterday, and still is here if I click on the space where it should be. Otherwise, there’s only a nice, gray square. My theory? Check for kittyprints on your keyboard. She may be feeling insulted and decided to begin deleting your post, one piece at a time.
I did laugh my way through the story. My own kitty pulled together this post and your previous one about the cookies.I couldn’t find her yesterday until I noticed the opened sliding glass door to the patio. She lets herself out if I don’t keep it locked, and this time she’d decided to roll in the birdseed. She looked for all the world like one of those sesame-covered cookies. Well, except for the tail and the purr.
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bronxboy55
September 19, 2011
I think I fixed the problem with that image, Linda, but I’m not sure. Thanks for letting me know. The kitten did wake my computer up the other day by moving the mouse, then walked across the keyboard and renamed one of the folders on my desktop. (She’s very calculating, but her spelling needs work.)
A cat covered with birdseed. Did you take a picture?
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Westchester Square
September 17, 2011
Dogs, being much less mathematically inclined, are much easier pets!
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bronxboy55
September 19, 2011
I guess they are, in some ways. Especially the ones that can’t fit under the car.
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Jessica Sieghart
September 18, 2011
Do you ever see a pattern in you life between “feeling productive” and ensuing chaos? I ask because I’ve noticed that the days I seem to be chock full of creative ideas seem to be the days that the dog escapes or I drop my cell phone in the sewer. I often wonder if the surge of energy in my creative mind makes me somewhat of an absentminded professor. We have two cats (adults) and while Lulu has always been a bit of a handful, she’s been a total PITA since Samantha went to Denver. Sam is definitely her person and Lulu has spent the last few weeks climbing and jumping on everything looking for her. All of my family photos up the stairway are tilted. It’s a good thing she’s so cute, or…thanks for the chuckle, Charles. You really hang your keys on shopping carts? Why not pocket them? I must know.
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bronxboy55
September 19, 2011
That’s a good theory, Jessica. Maybe we’re more mentally preoccupied when we’re feeling motivated, and we tend to drop the other seventeen balls we’re trying to juggle. It makes sense. By the way, I think you should start using “mentally preoccupied,” rather than “absent-minded.”
I have a lot of keys. I don’t even know what half of them are for, but there are quite a few. I also have several souvenir keychains, all interconnected, and two of those automatic car door unlocker things. And I have a metal hook that opens and closes and looks like something you’d use when climbing a cliff. I just use it to hang the keys on the shopping cart, usually in the summer, because they won’t fit in my pocket. (If that explanation was disappointing, let me know and I’ll try to make up something better.)
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Damyanti
September 19, 2011
I wake up with a rare feeling of energy pulsing through me. I’m focused on a list of goals in my mind, important things I will either accomplish or at least pummel into submission. Without words, I tell myself this is going to be a productive day.
Exactly what I feel each morning.
And then of course, the day just disappears and it is time for bed, and I got exactly nothing done. Well, now I can be glad my days don’t descend into chaos.
Also, another reason why I won’t get a cat.
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bronxboy55
September 19, 2011
I wonder if your idea of getting “nothing done” is accomplishing only ten of your fifteen goals each day. As a writer, you’re too prolific to portray yourself as unproductive. (But speaking of unproductive, have you made those cookies yet?)
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Damyanti
September 19, 2011
Ah…prolific. Not me. I feel the seconds fritter away as I do Nothing. And nope, haven’t tried (making the) cookies yet. But they are on that long to-do list that keeps wrapping around my ankles and tripping me up.
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Ursula
September 19, 2011
Further to our last communication (and your kindly reassuring me of our continued friendship despite sudden blip in proceedings on my part – call it ‘nerves’ ) I am sorry (for myself) that, on the strength of this your last marvellous and masterful piece of your average day, my feelings for you are as ardent, or is it fervour, as ignited on the stroke of midnight first time round. What a pity. One craves a quiet life: As few Chloes as possible, no hovering flies of any kind and Charleses of the bronxboy55 variety to be kept at arm’s length; though preferably in reach, and as best as one can muster restraint. Do not be alarmed and do NOT reach for a repellent. I am not easily repelled. So spare yourself the effort. Or I might turn into a hoverfly. Riding on Chloe, dangling a key.
I have no idea what the key is to a man’s heart is (I am one of those people who need to turn the map upside down to work out whether I need to turn left or right – call me ambi-dexterous) but I sure do know that the ultimate aphrodisiac (for me) is: A man’s way with words; and I tell you, to keep me spellbound – at length – on account of a kitten, a key and what not when trying to following your average day is no mean feat.
Let this not go to your head.
Affectionately, and always in search for intelligent life, yours
U
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bronxboy55
September 20, 2011
Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re as fickle as they come, and will be tossing me away again with my next post, no doubt. Meanwhile, I must remind you that I don’t use repellent; I even try to reason with spiders and crane flies, although I don’t seem to be getting through. And speaking of getting through, don’t worry about my head, because not much does.
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arborfamiliae
September 19, 2011
“Crane Fly” — never heard it. We call them mosquito eaters around our house and celebrate their presence (because it means less mosquitoes).
And I have to second an earlier comment that having a dog is highly superior to having a cat, because of dogs’ general lack of mathematical ability (my dog can’t even manage to walk by a pole without getting herself hopelessly wrapped around it). Our dog is also far too large to fit under any car (excepting maybe a monster truck with a super-high suspension). And most spaces she used to be able to squeeze into are now impossible because of the sack of fatty tissue that adorns her leg (she’s 14 and a half years old, the equivalent of roughly 101 in dog years).
Anyway, sorry I’ve been absent for a while. Life gets in the way of blogging, you know. But your ability to turn a phrase about the craziest parts of life always makes me smile.
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bronxboy55
September 20, 2011
It’s always great to hear from you, Kevin, no matter how much time has gone by. I’ve missed reading your family history stories.
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notesfromrumbleycottage
September 20, 2011
Oh, you gotta love the cat for the evil maniacal creature that it is or so my husband says.
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bronxboy55
September 20, 2011
Not all cats, Rumbly. Our older cat is quiet and easygoing. The kitten, however, is out to destroy the world. Or at least our house.
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Mitch Mitchell
September 21, 2011
And now you know why we don’t have cats. Of course we don’t have dogs either, but at least you “think” you can trust most dogs, even though they sometimes get into that destructive mode themselves. Hmmm… I’m thinking pets “no”! lol
As for keys… I’m lucky in that I put my keys in one of 2 places most of the time, and I learned years ago when I still lived in apartments to never leave the house without them in my pocket.
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bronxboy55
September 25, 2011
I’m pretty good about the keys now, Mitch. The problems arise when I just run out to the car for a minute. Cats and dogs each have their own personalities; one may be calm and easy to live with, and that can cause us to forget that other personalities are possible.
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mischz
September 21, 2011
Love the post. Love the animation with the crane flies. Great read!
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bronxboy55
September 25, 2011
Thanks, mischz. I appreciate your comment.
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rangewriter
September 21, 2011
I love it! Cats and owned-by-cats people. The very best of the best. I particularly loved this:
“As I open the front door just a crack, I see Chloe’s little face peering out, her eyes bouncing around as her small brain wrestles with compound fractions and square roots.”
Thanks for lightening my day.
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bronxboy55
October 1, 2011
And thanks for lightening mine, Linda.
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Val
September 25, 2011
Yep, I understand about the crane flies. And the putting on the washing machine with nothing in it but water. And those days that start off with great promise which doesn’t last past putting on ones socks and getting out of bed. And the injuries that occur from ones body meeting walls and sharp corners that have appeared out of nowhere. (My right knee knows this one by heart. Not that I know where a knee’s heart lives. Or even if it does. Live, I mean.)
In the UK we call Crane Flies ‘Daddy Long Legs’ (the latter part for obvious reasons, the first part I’m not sure as some of them are surely mummies. Well, not the ones that are kept in pyramids anyway).
My mum used to call the ‘boyngy-boyngies’… naturally because they boyng. Myself I imagine them wearing socks. It helps me to laugh at them rather than run from them screaming! 😉
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bronxboy55
October 1, 2011
I never saw these huge insects until about five years ago, when they appeared in swarms. They do look frightening, but seem to be harmless. And there are fewer mosquitoes.
Thanks for the comment, Val.
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JSD
October 13, 2011
Wow, what way to start a day. If it had been me, I would have just gone back to bed!
Congratulations on being FP…it steered more of us to you.
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bronxboy55
December 28, 2011
And it only took me two and a half months to reply. Sorry about that, JSD. But it gives me another chance to say Happy New Year!
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Joe
October 14, 2011
What a morning! Bad thing is, and this probably goes for the vast majority, but my mornings tend to pave the way for the rest of the day. If I have a bad morning, chances are the rest of the day is going to be less than enjoyable and vice versa. Had I had a morning such as the one you described, I would have given up!
Fortunately (or not) most people are apt to find laughter in others misery. Great post!
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bronxboy55
December 28, 2011
Time does add humor to misery, for some reason. And I keep forgetting to check comments on older posts.
Thanks, Joe, and Happy New Year!
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renee
October 16, 2011
A very well-written post. Glad that someone else has bizarre hapless moments on days that would otherwise be, well, productive.
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bronxboy55
December 28, 2011
Thank you for the nice words, Renee. Sorry it took me so inexcusably long to reply.
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Boy Mom Blogger
November 24, 2011
wow – what a day! you do have kids! and cats (I don’t do cats) and you answer the phone during dinner to take calls from telemarketers! 🙂 I love that your stories make it seem like you never have a dull moment – even when you are describing dull moments. Great post! Happy Thanksgiving!
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bronxboy55
December 28, 2011
Maybe you and I have just discovered the secret of writing, BMB — there are no dull moments!
Happy New Year!
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