Draft Choices

If you’re a blogger do you find that sometimes titles for blog posts pop into your head? You might not have anything in mind to write about, then, wham! I have that happen all the time, and sometimes the titles even develop into something that’s printable.

Right now I’m figuratively sitting on half a dozen titles, some I’ve attempted to flesh out with additional words, while others have remained untouched.

Here are a few titles in my draft file. Hopefully by sharing these some creative urge will strike. Otherwise, I’m going to write more about my cat’s urination habits, and I think we’ve all had enough of that. I have anyway.

Things We Mourn (I think this is going to be a poem)

Weighing In (me, talking. Earth shatttering, I know)

Life on Mars (rambling poem–it rhymes sort of)

About Your Mom (everything the grandkids need to know about my daughter, their mom)

That Song (I have no idea)

Collective Whole (A thing I thought and then forgot)

Are you a “Title” person? Does the title come first or do you add one just before you publish? I’m truly curious.

Peace, people

Advanced Bed Making for Dummies

My mom was a stickler for a well made bed. As the only girl child in her home I was judged by my ability to create precise hospital corners and deliver a perfectly smooth bedspread. Wrinkles were a no-no. I let her down. A lot.

As a mom, I was much more relaxed with my bed making rules; although, I did attempt to demonstrate the principles my mom tried to instill in me. Neither of my kids paid much attention to the lessons, though, and I didn’t think bedspreads were the hills I wanted to die on. Pick your battles, right?

Nowadays at Doright Manor, my bed making philosophy revolves around our psychotic younger cat, Patches. I call it “Layering. It’s not just for clothing anymore.”

Patches has developed the nervous habit of peeing on just about any surface that suits her when the anxiety strikes. We took her to the vet to see if there was an underlying medical reason for her bladder control issues, and she’s fit as a fiddle. The vet prescribed a special food, but it requires about eight weeks to kick in.

She also prescribed an anti-depressant that I have to rub on the inside of Patches’s ear every 12 to 24 hours. I’m afraid the lengths I have to go to to corral Patches and administer the drug are increasing her anxiety levels and aren’t doing much for mine either.

She thinks I have an ear fetish. I’m afraid she’s right.

So what does this have to do with making the bed? Twice now Patches has relieved herself on our bed necessitating the laundering of our heavy bedspread that takes forever to dry. Following the first time I added an additional layer of covering to our bed. After the second time, I realized one layer was simply not enough. Now the rule is to have at least three layers on the bed in addition to the bedspread.

This isn’t going to get me a mention in Better Homes and Gardens any time soon, now is it? And my mom would be so heartbroken. Sorry, Mom!

Oh, before you suggest I use deterrent sprays and/or calming sprays, trust me. We’ve been there; done that with multiple concoctions. Patches seems totally immune to their effects.

She does seem to be making a bit of progress, though. Knock on wood, but I haven’t detected any pee on the baseboards or behind Studly Doright’s chair in the past couple of weeks, and those were among her favorite areas to go. And this morning for the first time in ages I watched her play with one of her toys.

We’d appreciate good vibes for Patches, and for me. It now takes me longer to make and unmake my bed than it does me to shower in the morning. And that’s the truth.

Peace, people.

Don’t be fooled by the sweet face. She’s plotting her next attack.

The Cat Peed on the Tree Skirt. Again.

I cross my fingers

Every day

That there’ll be no pee

Under the Christmas tree

Or in the bath tub

Or on the Persian rug.

It’s all a crap shoot

My life now revolves

Around the wheres

And the theres

The calming formulae

And deterrent sprays

I’m a detective

For my cat’s defective

Elimination behaviors

Seek and destroy

Clean and remove

I guess it could be worse

It could be poo.

Peace, people.

Vigil Auntie Meets Ms. Kitty Claws

All great superheroes have an origin story. Peter Parker was bitten by a radioactive spider and became Spiderman. Superman was born on the dying planet of Krypton and was sent to earth by his concerned parents in an effort to save their infant son.

Then there’s Vigil Auntie who came into her powers out of necessity when confronted with the knowledge of a cabal of cats whose plan for world domination includes cornering the market on catnip and urinating on any and every surface imaginable. Vigil Auntie’s powers are legion, but primarily include the ability to find and eradicate unwelcome puddles of cat pee wherever they might be found.

Our intrepid superhero once found herself taken in by an innocent looking feline named Patches at a vulnerable time in Vigil Auntie’s schedule. Fresh from her morning shower, she noted that Patches was sweetly drowsing on a bathroom rug,

“Ah!” thought Vigil Auntie. “This would be an ideal time to apply the new medication meant to prevent Patches from peeing on stuff. I’ll just put some of the cream on my finger and place it in the fold of her ear as prescribed. She’ll never even know I’m here, and the cabal’s plot will be spoiled.”

No sooner had Vigil Auntie squeezed a dollop of cream onto her index finger than Patches opened her eyes a slit. Determined to apply the medicine, the superhero placed a calming hand onto Patches’s back but was met with a hiss.

“Now, now! I’m not going to hurt you sweet kitty,” she whispered. “Just hold still for a…wait. Dammit. Come here.”

Forgetting she was completely naked and vulnerable to attack, Vigil Auntie scooped up Patches who in the blink of an eye became the notorious villain, Ms. Kitty Claws, determined to prevent any attempt at limiting her elimination locations.

Undeterred by Ms. Kitty Claws’ whipcord speed and razor sharp talons raking across her breasts, her stomach, and her thighs, Vigil Auntie successfully applied the medication as directed.

“Take that, you foul villain!”‘she cried in triumph, allowing the cat to escape.

“Bwahaha!” laughed the cat. “You might’ve won this battle, but victory in war will be mine. And just look at the damage I inflicted. Imagine how much worse it will be when you lose!”

Reluctantly Vigil Auntie look down at her naked form. Scratches, scratches everywhere and blood dripping from her thumb.

“My sacrifice was worth it. Next time, just you wait. As God is my witness I’ll never fight naked again.”

As Ms. Kitty Claws slinked off into the hallway she was heard to say, “I should really go pee on something, but oddly enough, I don’t feel the need anymore. Curses! Foiled again!”

Peace, and nonsense, people!

Vigil Auntie

Pee Patrol

Seems like all I do lately is clean up “accidents” left by our younger cat, Patches. From the time I get out of bed in the morning I’m on constant alert for the smell (Oh, the smell!🤢) and the telltale wet spots of cat urine.

When I return to Doright Manor after a trip to the store or lunch with friends the first thing I do is patrol the entire house, spray bottle in hand, to identify and eradicate cat pee. Before we get into bed and in the middle of the night I do walk-throughs. I’m paranoid and exhausted.

Late yesterday evening, for the first time ever she relieved herself on Studly Doright’s side of the bed. Thank goodness the bedspread prevented the liquid from penetrating to the mattress, but it was a near miss. I was up late doing laundry and changing the bedding. Studly was not pleased.

So, even though she was examined for a urinary tract infection in October, Patches and I are at the vet’s again, hoping to find an answer.

Wish us both luck.

Patches is underneath the calming blanket, and is refusing requests from all paparazzi.

Peace, people.

Chanel #5 Apology

Why was a Chanel #5 apology necessary?

Well, when you stayed up most of the night because your husband was snoring like the proverbial freight train, and when you tried to sleep on the sofa it smelled like perhaps the youngest cat had peed on one end and the more you explored the more you realized that the damned cat had pissed on EVERYTHING including two knitted throws, your husband’s recliner, the ever loving Christmas tree skirt, and a pair of sneakers, so you had to scrub and clean and cry and scrub some more before you finally fell back into your bed because maybe, just maybe your husband’s snoring had quieted down, but no sooner had you settled in than the bull elephant-like trumpeting began anew, so you said “screw it” and opened your kindle to read, but you just had three pages left in this book, so you had to download a new one, and there’s nothing on your wish list, so you had to search for just the right book, and you found one, but now your husband had ceased snoring, so you tried to close your eyes at 4:30 a.m. when the oldest cat jumped up on the bed and began walking back and forth across your head, forcing you to turn onto your back so she can snuggle in the manner to which she’s become accustomed, and you finally fell asleep only to miss the sound of your alarm, so you threw on your clothes after a quick shower without washing your hair because you had an appointment with an orthopedic specialist clear across Tallahassee and you’d be late if you had to wash, rinse, repeat, and blow dry your hair, and as you were driving to the dr.’s office you realized you can smell cat pee, but you aren’t sure if it’s something you’ve stepped in or leaned against or, heaven forbid, your hair, or if it’s just a phantom smell from all the pee you smelled during the night, and after they X-rayed your foot and put you in an examination room you started sniffing your clothes and hair and even your shoes and socks, but you couldn’t find the source of the smell, but you remembered you had an atomizer filled with Chanel #5 in your purse so you sprayed it around your head, but more came out than you intended, so then the small exam room smelled like a brothel, and it was too late to fix it because the doctor entered and you were so exhausted that you apologized for the overwhelming smell of perfume without even mentioning the cat pee, and STILL the dr. looked at you like you were crazy, as he said, “Don’t worry, I’ve smelled much worse,” and you just barely kept from saying, “Like cat piss?”

How was your morning?

Christmas, Christmas Everywhere

I needed some holiday inspiration yesterday, but where to go? Since a doctor’s appointment took me near Esposito’s, a local Tallahassee garden shop, I thought it might be a source of Christmas decorating ideas. Let me tell you, when I’m right, I’m so right.

We’ve lived in the Tallahassee area for six years now, and I’ve been in Esposito’s at least a dozen times. But never in December. I had no idea what I’ve been missing.

I’d best let you know that I’m not being compensated by Esposito’s for this or any other blog posts. I just wanted to share a cool place with my local readers. So, without further ado, and very few words, I give you Esposito’s Christmas shop.

Now, the cutest thing I encountered wasn’t a decorated tree or a gilded ornament.

It was an adorable cat who’d snuggled into a stack of tree skirts. She allowed me to pet her before giving me a look that indicated I should move on and leave her to her nap.

The Christmas village was pretty spectacular, too, but it didn’t purr.

I found a couple of things to purchase, but because they’re potential gifts for family members I won’t share the photos here. There was a piece that I think was made for me, though. Maybe someone will put it in my stocking.

It’s the third sign from the top. Tailor made for me.

Peace, people!

Calling Cupid

I see Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen, Comet and ________, and Donner and Blitzen.

What happened to Cupid? He was the one that got away. The reindeer ornament I never found at CVS. I had Rudolph, too, but he fell victim to a curious kitten and shattered into a bazillion pieces on our living room floor many years ago. No matter how many CVS locations I visited; though, I never found a Cupid.

As I type this, Studly Doright is searching eBay for the little guy. If he’s successful I might have him look for Rudolph, too. In the meantime I’m going to secure the remaining reindeer against a cat attack. The one responsible for Rudolph’s demise still resides at Doright Manor.

Peace, people!

From the Black Cat

Dear Inferior Beings,

You probably think Halloween is all about tricks and treats, goblins and ghosts, witches and jack-o’-lanterns. Wrong! Wrong, I tell you!

We black cats rule on October 31, and don’t you forget it.

Now, make sure you leave me a tuna flavored treat and no one’ll get scratched.

Meow, people.