I remember the house as a small two or three bedroom home with a single bathroom. The top floor, which may have been an attic, had a storage room (much like the closet Kreacher lived in) where my Grandpa Jack slept. I have memories of wing back chairs, a 10" television and Irving's poker games. I lived in the house until I was six.
I loved the apartment and apartment living. It was a huge building and a source of daily adventures. I would explore the staircases, large and grand, ride the elevators, look down the trash chutes and hide in the basement. I played ball in the courtyard and would sometimes pretend I was living in a medieval castle. I enjoyed playing marbles on my linoleum kitchen floor until the woman below would bang a broom on her ceiling and swear at me in Polish.
The duplex housing was OK. There was always a neighbor around to keep an eye on me. I was a pretty quiet kid and most of them were half deaf anyway. I don't think I was much trouble as I liked school and kept to myself. The highlights of my days were MAD Magazine and Rocky & His Friends.
My living arrangements never bothered me, not much I could do about it anyway. But I do have one regret, growing up I never lived with a dog or cat. If I wanted animal friends I had my choice of bird, fish or the always exciting turtle in a bowl.
When I purchased my first house the bad spouse and I scoured advertisments for a young female Doberman that needed a home. We found a family that was relocating and couldn't take their dog. They had two kids and she was well behaved. They called her Tante, which in Yiddish means aunt. I was pleased we adopted a Jewish dog but I couldn't live with a constant reminder of my Aunt Ida. We changed her name to Tanya and at 26 I got to know my first dog.
Tanya was my first and I'll never forget her.
I was just thinking of many firsts.....the first time I smoked a cigarette, drove a car, tasted beer, had sex. All these have one thing in common; they were just short of disastrous.
I didn't think much of cats, they were fine for women. It's not as if I disliked the species. I'd never let Tanya chase one but I was a real man and real men had dogs. I thought cats were scheming, conniving, lazy and manipulative.
After several years the bad spouse and I went our separate ways. She moved into another house and took Tanya with her. She was my one and only, the dog not the spouse. Three years later I met Wanda and she changed the way I feel about felines.
Now I think cats are loving, comforting and wonderful companions. They usually don't ask much; food and water and a pet or two if they're up for it. I can feel my pulse slow when I sit with Steve on my lap or Dakota across my chest. I do love dogs but scooping cat litter is much easier than shoveling dog crap.
You may think I have a rather idyllic life but I work very hard. Take yesterday for example. I wrote the blog, had lunch and watched two episodes of the new Starz series Outlander. It was Tuesday so I had the extra burden of dumping the waste baskets and taking out the trash. Not wanting Wanda to think I am basking in the glow of retirement bliss (and doing nothing) while she slaves away at the office, at 4:45 I sprang into action.
Sometime we plan meals while other days it's every man (and woman) for themselves. Last night we planned a Chuck & Wanda Big Ass Salad. I had lettuce, avocado, carrots, celery, salmon, blueberries, apples, sliced almonds and sunflower seeds to prepare. Over the week end I washed and packed the lettuce but I had a lot to do and was running behind.
So I'm working on dinner foraging, gathering, tearing, peeling, slicing and dicing when I decide to take a short break. I deserve some time to myself after toiling in the kitchen for twenty minutes so I sit in the living room and watch the hummingbirds and finches flit around the front yard. Relaxed and rejuvenated I walked back into the kitchen and I noticed a large pile of cat barf.
All of our cats have distinct barf types so I knew this was from Steve. He leaves the "I ate too much too fast" yacks. He does this so often I've tried to paper train him. If Steve didn't rival the weight of a professional bowling ball I'd worry he wasn't digesting enough food. I hate to use (and waste) paper towels but there isn't anything else I care to use for cleanup. Maybe next time I'll try a whisk broom and dust pan but I was in the middle of dinner prep and now in a bit of a hurry.
Since it was Tuesday and I had just emptied the trash I didn't want to put the mess under the sink where it would sit all week so I took it out to the garage where the trash is removed every other day. While there I decided the litter boxes needed cleaning. So I did that and noticed Steve lying on the floor in the middle of the garage watching me. I thanked him for throwing up, he blinked. Then I took the bag of cat waste, both before and after digestion, out to the trash at the curb.
I came back in the house, washed my hands and went back into the living room to retrieve something when I noticed a second and even larger pile of Steve barf. This one was on the tile entry at the front door. Knowing it was a greeting for Wanda I thought about leaving it but was concerned she might slip on the way in.
I got the cleaning supplies again and this time muttering to myself I eradicated all evidence of the welcome home gift. Back in the garage I rapidly walked by Steve, who at this time was still lying down. He was licking his privates and watching a dust bunny.
"I cleaned them both. I hope you're happy now," I barked at him.
And with that he got up, left the garage through the cat door, padded into the kitchen, went to his food bowl and began to eat.
And I swear to God, on the way out of the garage, he smiled at me.
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