In the Middle of the Night

sweet Abby?

Did I mention that Abby, our singing Chihuahua, and Button, our snoring cat, barked and hissed at each other at two o’clock in the morning the other day?  Thoughtless man that he can sometimes be, Bruce, my husband, had already gone to bed! While there was no actual contact between feline and canine, yet, I thought it best to separate them.  I grabbed the dog off the bathroom sink where I was combing her, looking for any fleas before she got in bed with us. With care, I gently tossed her on the bed as I told Bruce, who was still mostly asleep, to cover Abby’s eyes so she couldn't  see the cat, in hopes of defusing the animal confrontation.

Where's Button?

     He replied in his best bedroom voice, “Are you nuts?  If I try and hide her eyes, she'll bite me! My big toe is just now healing where she got me last week."  
     "Cry me a river," I sympathized. "Don't get any blood on the sheets this time!" 
     The next morning he asked, “What goes on in the middle of the night while you’re prowling the halls of our house? I had the craziest dream…”

Another Lucy Moment - Lunch

This proves I don't have writer's block because my mind is in constant whirl, often causing me not to focus on the task at hand.  So there I was serving my husband his lunch.  Mmm - Crockpot chicken drizzled in BBQ sauce, three bean salad and a third bowl, which I don't actually remember putting in front of him.
 
When he calmly asked, 'Is this cat food?', (not sure of the punctuation here, but that's what my book editor corrects), I stopped mid-stride on my way back to the kitchen and returned to look down into said bowl. By jingo, it was! 
 
Had I been paying attention  and not thinking of the book signing I was to attend that afternoon on our pretty Victorian downtown Centre Street then segueing into the phrasing for the end of chapter 21 in Mark of a Man, I'm sure I would have served him the dog's food he prefers.  

The Great Uncovering

Due to my Bunko party, I had the annual Great Uncovering.  It was so grand an event, it made our little parlor appear twice the size!  Whatever could this be?  If a cat or dog belongs to you--let me rephrase that--If you belong to a cat or dog, then you will understand the necessity for swathing your furniture in sheets, towels or blankets to protect it from the ravages of stinky, biting, shedding, clawing, but loving, animals.  We have tattered burgundy towels pinned to the back of our recliners overlaid by matching burgundy sheets.  That, dear readers, was what was removed, hence, the Great Uncovering.

 

note attractive shreds

 

The naked easy chairs left such a positive impression, the room could have been photographed for Good Housekeeping magazine. With the towels and sheets, I think Kennel and Flea magazine would be more fitting.  “Let’s give it a try and leave the chairs uncovered,” I said to Bruce. “Button (aka Little Naughty) will be a good girl.  She’s a year older and won’t shred the furniture.”

 

“Go for it,” Bruce replied, laughing in my face.

 

And so I did—for about 17 minutes.  Ignoring the extra tall scratching post which I read was good because it would draw her attention like a tree outside, she eyeballed the furniture and pounced.  I heard the tearing before I saw it.

 

“No!” I commanded.  To her mind, no means: I’ve got their attention now and atta girl. More claws, sharper claws.  Oh, you missed a spot.  Be sure to include every square inch now.

 

After I lifted her from her hang-ten position on the back of Bruce’s chair, I thought to try the water bottle.  Sitting in my still naked chair when she attacked, I sprayed her with water.  On the chin, the side, the hip, I squirted her.  She retreated to lick and clean herself, only to  return for more and more and more.  When she started smelling the water bottle I placed on the floor beside me for easy access, I realized she was clawing the furniture to get me to spray her!  She was training me! And, too, I remembered that she loves water. ( As a kitten, we found her peeking out, yes out, of the toilet bowl.  It seemed reasonable she would like water because someone once told me if a cat has any orange fur, Button is a calico with orange, black and white fur, they are related to tigers and tigers swim. Believe it or don't.)  

 

Well now, the room, once again, appears smaller since I’ve returned the freshly laundered sheets and towels to their permanent positions.  Bruce suggested I add a white hand towel where the head rests.  We wouldn’t want to soil those ripped sheets, now would we?  Besides, a raggedy old white towel will be a standout against the rich dark burgundy—an interior designer's delight, to be sure.  Sigh… 

 

Tale of a Tail

Unbeknownst to her husband, our daughter, Barbra, adopted not one, not two, but three Chihuahuas from the dog pound! One by one, he found out about each canine by way of a cell phone photo of some strange dog which Barbra cowardly sent to him. Being the brilliant young man Mark is, by the third picture, he realized Barbra’s covert meaning:  I have expanded our family by three new members. Coco was the first little boy, next came Abby, a girl, and most recently Nina, a second girl. And did I mention, granddaughter Ava’s new fish, named Ruby, who likes to ride in the car in a handy-dandy travel cup?  Ruby is some kind of Japanese fighting fish and kills all comers so she lives a solitary life, devouring fish food. If I took a magnifying glass to her, I expect to see choppers the size of butcher knives.

 

Back to the dogs—Bruce and I weren’t home when the expanded family arrived for a  three-day visit. That made for quite a shock to our calico cat, Button, who has never been too friendly anyway. After eight hours of not seeing the cat and knowing she was still in the house, Bruce had the brilliant idea of flushing her out with the mini-vac, we loving call the suck machine. You see, Button is afraid of the sweeper and all noisy appliances.  With the suck machine whirling away on high, zip!  Button shot out of my closet like her tail was on fire. Somehow, she managed to squeeze her fat self behind our antique pump organ. Poor baby, that lasted all of twenty minutes until one of the dogs, Abby, attacked.  There was barking and hissing. A lot of it.  I had just entered the house, grocery bag still hanging from my arm, heard the ruckus and burst into action. I grabbed for Abby's short little tail, the only animal part visible since dog and cat were both behind the organ.  Her tail slipped out of my hand and so with super strength from fear they'd eat each other up, I manhandled the heavy organ away from the wall, grabbed the dog and the donnybrook was over.  To my happy surprise, there was not a scratch or bite mark on either of them. By the way, you might wonder where the rest of the family was while I was performing this heroic act of thrusting myself between two ferocious beasties.  They were watching.  Yes, just watching!  The only remark made was by Bruce when he asked me why the shopping bag was still hanging on my arm. Oh, the passion runs deep... So, with the dogs in their corner (the bedroom), I scooped up the cat, all seventeen pounds of her, and put her in the sanctuary of the bathroom with food and water and other feline necessities. The dogs and cat could smell each other under the door and become familiar and friendly.  Right?  Right. 

As the hours ticked away, someone yelled, "Who let the dog out?" and we all hollered back in unrehearsed unison, "Woof, woof, woof, woof." And when I said to my brother, Bobby, in a panic, "Where's Abby?", he calmly replied, "I  know where she is. She's biting my right ankle..." Well, that's how the rest of that visit went.

Fast forward a couple of months.  Barbra asked us if we wanted Abby for our own because she'd become so possessive over our son-in-law, she would sometimes growl at little Ava when she got near her father. We couldn't say no. So, Abby has lived with us since Thanksgiving.  She barks at the cat and the cat hisses back.  In the spirit of camaraderie, Barbra instructed, "Let the dog smell the cat’s bottom- This has to be done within 10 seconds. Ha, ha. She won’t bark when she is smelling the booty….When she gets a good whiff, quickly pull her away and distract her. A one time snort may do the trick." Hey, why didn't I think of that?  I'll try it now that my suit of armor has arrived. 

Oh, I'm working on my nail filing, not my nails, but the cat's. It may lessen the chance of a severed artery from one swipe of a paw while we wait for that cat/dog best friend thing to happen.  I'm happy to report, after a box of band-aids and a cracked elbow where I tripped over the curious dog always under my feet, I only have 13 more cat toes nails to file.  At least, I think that's right. It's hard to see through the small eye slot in the armor helmet.  

  



                                 Abby aka Abs, Abby Girl, The Abster

  

Cat Quote

I came across this quote, in my August 7, 2012 Page-a-Day cat calendar, and had to agree.

"A catless writer is almost inconceivable.  It's a perverse taste really, since it would be easier to write with a herd of buffalo in the room than even one cat.  They make nests in the notes and bite the end of the pen and walk on the typewriter keys."  Barbara Holland, http://www.pageaday.com/



our Button visiting Story Central
 

Goodbye Lie Diaries - A New One to Peeper

2012
Fernandina Beach, Florida

Jane Marie writes:  I was asked, "What can I do to keep my new kitty from running away from my house?"

Cricket, from Virginia, wrote to me with an old wives' tale that just might work. Put a little bacon grease on the bottom of the kitty's feet. Let the cat out the door and walk down the sidewalk to clean his paws. After you've bandaged where he's clawed you, he'll be ready to follow the scent of the bacon and return home!

***
1880s
Fernandina, Florida    

*Grandmother Pepper writes: Woo-howdie!  That's a new one on me.  Don't think I'll be atryin' that trick any time soon though.  I got me enuf cats. Fact is, I got too many cats.  Hmm. Let me give that some more thinkin'. Yup.  I'll fry me up some bacon tomorra, dip a couple a cats in it and set 'um on Aunt Noreen's doorstep.  I'll be alistenin' for her hollerin' across the yard.  Won't take long! 

*Grandmother Peeper and Aunt Noreen are featured players in my Amelia Island's Goodbye Lie Trilogy. As you might guess, they don't get along- at all!

Everybody Loves Somebody

As you may know, we are down to one kitty now.  We recently went away over night and left Button on her own with bowls of food and water making up two different feeding stations. Our neighbor, Next Door Maggie, checked on her, just to be safe. When we returned, there she was, Button, not  Next Door Maggie, sitting where we'd lefter her but she was not alone. She had found a friend!  Apparently, Button had gotten lonely and went looking for some company. She found some in the form of a small teddy bear in a pink t-shirt with the breast cancer ribbon logo on it, who lived on a branch of my Treasure Tree.  (I'll save the Treasure Tree story for another day.)  It wasn't that the bear was on the couch with Button as in the photo or tossed carelessly on the floor.  No. We found the little bear in Button's bowl of crunchies!  Apparently, she was making sure her new friend had plenty to eat!  Since then, we've seen Button carry her Baby, that's what we call the bear now, from room to room. Not all the time, however.  Since Button is new to this friend/mothering thing, she sometimes seems to forget her responsibilities.  Just when we think she's no longer interested, we get up in the morning to find a soggy, soaking Baby, half in, half out of the water bowl.  We squeeze Baby out, and set her on the window sill to dry.  It must be true love on Button's part because dry, wet or damp, Baby has a home and Button has a baby.  And a fine pair of critters they are.

So Long Old Kitty

We first met Old Kitty aka Ping when our daughter, Barbra, was just out of college and moved into an apartment where no pets were allowed. Yup. Her father and I were awarded custody of her two huge cats, Taylor aka Tubby and Ping. We first saw them as they stood at the top of the stairs, looking down on us and they had the fluffiest tails of any animals I had ever seen. As time when on, Barbra hinted she might want her cats back. No way, Jose.

Old Kitty in front, Tubby behind (who photographed much darker than he really was)

Well, we lost Old Kitty today. I wish I could write he is off on some kitty adventure around the neighborhood because, in a former life, I think he was an escape artist. (One New Year's Eve party was spent circling many a block to find him.) There was never an open door, into another room or to the outside that he didn't try to dash though. 

Old Kitty lived a long life of 18 years. We are sad to think he'll never meow to be brushed, or push his nose under our palm for a scritchy-scratch or squeak for entry into the bedroom or bathroom by way of the linen closet kitty tunnel or chase the flashlight in the dark or lick the paper shredder bin to scratch his tongue, or so we assume, or sleep on a pair of shoes or sleep in any paper bag and every box lid while we played board games. With feeding stations in the kitchen, the front bath and the back bath, you would expect him to be rotund. Not at all. His full coat of long white and gray fur gave him the appearance but not the heft. Half Siamese and half junk cat, or so the vet guessed, Old Kitty's crossed light blue eyes lent him the look of confusion. In fact, we never thought him too bright, but he, along with Tubby, were two of the sweetest, most gentle kitties we have ever had.

Now he rests behind our house, buried up in the sand dunes overlooking Mr. Ocean, joining Tubby and our other animals who live happy lives together in that Perfect Pet Place we call Heaven, while they wait for us to come home as they did here on earth.

Please give your special animal an extra hug in honor of all those wonderful critters who have gone before us.

Jane Marie

P.S. Taylor's showbiz name is Mr. Buzzbee (he purred/buzzed so loudly, the vet couldn't hear his heart beating)  and Ping/Old Kitty's stage name is Spew (who too often lost his lunch). They live on in my free and silly online Rascally Readers short stories with Martha Bear® at www.MarthaBear.com . And Then There Were More features Spew and Mr. Buzzbee at http://www.greenlightwrite.com/marthababy.htm.

An Invitation to the Royals



The following is a copy of  the actual letter I sent to Prince William, Duke Of Cambridge, and Catherine, Duchess Of Cambridge along with two Secret Pebbles™ -

Your Royal Highnesses,

You are cordially invited to say at our house, Stately Malcolm Manor, the next time you cross the Pond and visit North America. Please give us 3 months notice of your visit to be sure our guest room is available. We live on Amelia Island, Florida, often referred to as paradise, so vacancies  are rare, particularly in the summer. I'm thinking when the kids are in school would be best.

My thoughtful husband, Bruce, has offered to remove his clothes tree, the already read stack of Louis LeMoure books and even the extra pairs of shoes in the corner of your room to make more space for you. If you'd like to sleep with a cat, just leave the door open. You will have to remember to drop the toilet lid each time you powder your noses to prevent the cat from bathing in that particular water. (Please refer to my July 10, 2011 blog entry entitled From the Cat at ttp://graciousjanemarie.blogspot.com/2011_07_01_archive.html.) We will be serving Crock Pot Spaghetti Sauce, a family favorite. We can not abide fussy eaters, so clean your plates. Mr. Ocean is two blocks away. Follow your noses to the scent of sea water. Oh, your security team is permitted to set up a tent inside our courtyard. However, we ask they conceal their slingshots to stay incognito.

Enclosed are two of my personally hand painted Secret Pebbles™ as wedding gifts as well as enticements to lure you back to America. The secret in the pebble is what you two share. Could your secret be love? I'm thinking so.

At your earliest convenience, please email me at GraciousJaneMarie@yhaoo.com so we may pencil you in our registration book. And remember, the latch string is always out.

Secret Pebble™
 samples

Sincerely,



Jane Marie Malcolm

silly person and author of The Goodbye Lie historic suspense

http://www.graciousjanemarie.com/



 

Goodbye Lie Diaries - Peeper

1800s July
Fernandina, Florida

Peeper writes:  I seen three orange beaks apeekin' outa the nest in the small pine tree out front. The mama and daddy birds just keep awatchin' us human folks. It's a sad shame for certain we cain't talk bird talk and they can't talk people talk ors they wouldn't have ta be afrettin' we might hurt their babies. If'n I or any of the children gets too close, then in comes mama aflyin' and aswoopin'.  She'll hit our heads if'n she has to ta keep us away. We all start alaughin' though when she attacks the back end a the cat. Oh, little Mac asked me how come the mama don't sit on her eggs ta make um hatch.  I'm aguessin' it's bacause it's so dang hot outside, there's no need fer it.

From the Cat

We have lots of wonderful company on vacation, particularly in the summer when the sea breeze invites visitors to the beach to sun and swim. A friend used to work for Disney and told me, "Once folks cross into the Disney park, they lose their brains," meaning they're on vacation and don't pay attention to many if any the necessities. All that is fine and good unless you have a catling named Button aka Little Naughty. For those who don't know of Button's antics, let me elaborate.

One of her favorite activities is to play in toilet water. The necessity here is to put the toilet seat and lid down when finished doing what needs to be done. This will, in turn, prevent her from frolicking in the less than completely sanitary H2O. As an assist in this process, we have installed automatic slo-mo toilet seat descenders, which mean all you have to do is gently push down on the top edge of the lid and it closes quietly. Our intent is to make the closing of the lid as near to effortless as is humanly possible. We explain this to our brainless guests, complete with demonstration. The rub here is that memory is required and without brains, can there truly be memory? Since Little Naughty has trained Bruce and me already, this lack of memory accords our buds an application to my Three Second Memory Club. Their repeatedly leaving the seat and lid up is proof the they quality for membership.

To make matters worse, we were mildly surprised to see where Button has taken to writting notes and taping them to the inside of the toilet lids. Aha, her diabolical messages thanking humans for leaving up the lids, did just the opposite---for 24 hours. Soon, the notes became invisible to those humans, still on vacation, and Little Naughty was once again playing in the toilet water. Oh, what  clever cat thou art. Her latest message of scoff demonstrates how we of two legs are good for but three things, feeding, stroking and cleaning her litter box. Sigh. See her  "Button note" below and advise as you see fit.

Jane Marie Malcolm, cat lover and  germ freak

PS I may be late in replying to your emails at graciousjanemarie@yahoo.com  because I am in the throws of finding the best sanitation company in which to invest. Might as well. I spend enough cash on the sanitrate stuff personally.

the Goodbye Lie Diaries - Peeper

1880s July
Fernandina, Florida

Peeper writes:  Little Mac found a nest in the pine tree out front a Dunnigan Manor two days ago. He come arunnin' ta tell me. He was wantin' ta remove them three eggs to show me when the mama bird come aflyin' down straight away. After I splained how he was not ta be abothering them eggs, he was a good boy and dun-did what I said. Now we can hear them babies atwitterin' and atwitterin'.  It's a happy day. Old Monstie cat best not be abotherin' them birdies neither.

Kitty Funnel Tunnel

Our whole goal is to make Spew extra happy in his old age. To that end, we have developed the Funnel Tunnel. Let me explain. You see, for some strange reason our cats prefer to drink our master bath tap water as opposed to our double filtered water in the kitchen. This is America, after all, so they can drink anywhere they darn well want. It would be cruel of us to shut them out of the back just to keep their flying fur from our room. Let us just say we have to stand on a fresh towel to put on our dark dresses and slacks lest they become covered in kitty hair.

Therefore, we very cleverly created the Funnel Tunnel. Tunnel because we leave the hall and bathroom doors of the linen closet ajar, thereby keeping them out of our adjoining sleeping chamber. This makes the perfect direct path to their water and keeps their hair out of our room. Since there is a box overflowing with antique dresser scarves on the floor taking up 7/8s of the floor space, hence the funnel part of the name.


Now that we have carefully calculated a way to keep the cats hydrated while maintaining our relatively fur free bedroom, there we are dressing in our American Legion/American Legion Auxiliary garb for an upcoming patriotic event, feeling so smart about the situation. As we glory in our success, still standing on the clean towels to make sure no left behind airborne white fur lands on our navy blue pants, I feel something pressing against my left calf. I look down to see the hairiest critter of all, Spew, rubbing against my leg. We have forgotten to close the bathroom door into our room. So much for all our scheming. Perhaps automatic door closures might be the answer.


In any case, furred or unfurred, the cats have their Funnel Tunnel to run back and forth- and in circles when we forget to close that third door- to for their favorite bathroom sink water. Oh, we put said water in a bowl on the floor for those of you who thought the cats drank from the facet. …We will leave that story for another time and the featured player in the tale will be Button aka Little Naughty ...