Category Archives: moments

Achilles Heel

Posted on April 10, 2013 | 1 Comment

It started yesterday morning. No, wait… it really started some time back.

Let me back up a bit.

First of all, a status update: Michael is growing disenchanted with swimming. I am sorry to say, my Olympic dreams are, for the time being anyway, shelved. He’s been stuck in the same level of swimming class for several consecutive sessions, having lost either motivation or attention enough to get his fast kicks going and his “wonky arm movements” under curtail. He is a strong swimmer, no doubt: he’d be able to keep himself afloat and make it to safety, and look stylish along the way. He is keeping up the diving, though, which is great. More video of that later.

He and his older (twin) sister L are taking Taekwondo lessons, and enjoying it immensely. Video of their first lesson made its way to Facebook in no time at all, thanks to my wife and her handy iPhone. If nothing else, this will help teach Michael discipline and respect in a way that I have not been able to.

I have been diligently working on a project for a science presentation for Michael’s class: a three-color spotlight that I can use for demonstrating the concept of additive color in an impactful way; nothing beats a live, hands-on demonstration for showing kids the coolness of science. This project has involved a lot of drilling and cutting of metal, working in little fits and spurts as I try to steal snippets of time here and there. One of the things that tends to fall by the wayside in this process is cleaning the garage.

So, back to the main story.

Yesterday morning, by the time I’d gotten to work, my left foot was in a lot of pain. Deep, stabbing pain.

This was fairly unusual, as my left foot (and most of the leg to which it’s attached) has little sensation, owing to side effects of my second back surgery some years back. Ever since then, my left leg has been pretty much numb on the bottom of my foot all the way up the back of my leg. The only thing I do feel from time to time is an itch, though scratching it is useless as it has no effect at all. That can be maddening, let me tell you.

Most of yesterday I kept my weight off of my foot, prancing around (in a manly way, of course) on my tippy-toe.

Every so often during the day I tested my foot, putting my whole weight on it. For some tests, I was able to keep my weight on it. Other times, I couldn’t without a jolt of pain.

It felt like muscle pain, or a ligament thing. It was deep and jarring, and seemed to come and go.

I spent the day tip-toeing around, doing my best to combine my errands and take efficient routes.

Eventually the workday ended and I headed home. I’d told my wife of my affliction, hoping she would not suggest going to the doctor. I think my doctor does a good job, but I don’t have half a day to throw out waiting in his exam room. And I don’t know what he’d do anyway: this is one of those deep, chronic, needs surgery or physical therapy kinds of things.

Because I’m getting old and my body is falling apart bit by bit. This is the phase of my life where I need to go shopping for a good, sturdy cane.

I tried doing some foot stretches, as the pain seemed to respond to that. I thought maybe if I kept it moving and didn’t just sit there it might recover.

Maybe I’d done something stupid to my foot, and it was cramping up.

But then… on the occasion when I’d stand up suddenly and forget not to keep my weight off of it… wham! a bolt of pain would blast out from the sole of my poor foot and stop me in my tracks.

Just before bedtime, it hit me. It’s gotta be plantar fasciitis. That’s gotta be it. The perfect malady for me to contract to show me that my reckless living, carbohydrate consumption and sluggardly ways have brought me yet more torment.

I resigned myself to this revelation, hoping that there was some remedy. I remember my mother complaining about this a few years back… maybe she had some advice for me.

The pain continued, unabated, throughout the evening, right up to the point where I crawled into bed.

Extending my suffering leg down along the sheets, I felt my heel catch. I thought maybe there was an errant produce sticker or a random piece of tape stuck to it.

I reached around and felt for it… and was rewarded with a sharp stab to my finger. I felt a small, hard, jagged object protruding from the bottom of my heel.

I pulled it out and examined it. It was a 1/4″ shard of aluminum, cut from one of the pieces I was working on in the garage. My lack of cleanliness caught up to me: I’d stepped on a large metal sliver.

With the sliver gone, I felt instant relief. From harsh pain to no pain in one yank.

I spent a half hour this morning vacuuming up the floor of the garage. I’ve learned my lesson.

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Posted in dad, inscrutable, life, moments

Observations

Posted on March 31, 2013 | 1 Comment

We were driving home from Church.

Michael noticed an airplane in the sky with its landing lights blazing.

“Why do they have their lights on?” He asked, one hand shading his eyes as he peered into the sunny sky to watch the plane fly over.

“It’s FAA regulations,” I said. “It’s the law.”

“To make it safer,” his mom said.

“Safer?” He asked.

“Yes – it’s the law for airplanes to have their lights on to make it easier to see people,” she continued.

“No… I mean, during the day,” he emphasized.

“Exactly. It is important to keep your lights on during the day. The laws are set so that airplanes have to have their lights on. It’s easier to see people when you have your lights on.”

“During the day?”

“Yes,” she continued. “Some people drive with their headlights on during the day. Our car has its front lights on during the day, because it makes it easier for people to see.”

Michael sat and thought about that for a while.

“This world makes no sense to me,” he said, finally.

“When it starts making perfect sense, kid,” I said, “then you know you’re doing something wrong.”

 

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Posted in family, life, michael, mom, moments

How Do You Spell Irony?

Posted on March 20, 2013 | 3 Comments

Sunday was a day of adventure, as we had decided to take our old fire extinguisher to the fire station and get it checked out. We learned that the dry chemical kind we had was not rechargeable, but it was probably past its prime since it was about eight years old and, according to one firefighter, had all of the solid stuff in a wad down on the bottom (he could tell by turning it over a few times). They told us we should just buy a new one.

That sounded like a good plan.

After all, we’d be sure to have a fire if we didn’t have a fire extinguisher, right? I mean, that’s how things work: if you’re prepared for a situation, that situation won’t occur.

The rest of the day consisted mainly of journeying afar to the ye olde dump, only to discover that the hazardous waste area, where one would ordinarily recycle one’s old fire extinguishers, is closed on Sunday. We went to a burger place instead and got lemonade.

Once home, and after installing the new extinguisher, I took Michael outside to the back yard with the old extinguisher to demonstrate their operation.

“See? Just squeeze here and let it shoot!” We blasted the old garden area (which is now just a very large cat box) with a healthy layer of yellow powder. Michael was sufficiently impressed, and then asked if he could be dismissed so he could go back in and play some Zombie Apocalypse game on his DS.

Fast forward to Monday evening. Daddy had arrived home only minutes before, and after depositing keys and wallet and other accoutrements, plopped his carcass down on the couch to “rest up” before getting dinner going.

That’s when daddy noticed smoke in the back yard.

“Michael? Go look out the window and see where that smoke is coming from, please.”

He went to the window and squinted. It was hard to see with the sun blaring through – something we are definitely not used to here.

“I can’t see. It’s too bright.”

“Probably someone barbecuing,” I said, and thought nothing more of it.

A few minutes later – I saw more smoke. A lot more smoke. It seemed to be coming from the yard behind ours, near the corner by the play structure.

“That’s a lot of smoke…” I said to no one in particular.

I arose from my recumbent position and went to the window. That’s when I saw flames licking the fence. Big flames, reaching a couple of feet higher than the fence itself.

It took me a moment or two to realize that this was no barbecue, and that no one was out there tending to the fire – this was a blaze, and it was spreading.

“The fence is on fire!” I yelled.

“Get the fire extinguisher!” my wife yelled in response.

I ran to grab it. The brand-new fire extinguisher, less than 24 hours in its place, was called into active duty.

“Call the fire department!” I yelled as I hurried out the back door. As I ran I could see the flames reaching the lowest branches of our tree. I still couldn’t tell where it was coming from exactly, but it was definitely on the fence that separates our next door neighbor from the house behind us both. I stood at the corner where the fences meet and I let loose with the dry chemical spray, shooting over the fence and hoping I was making a difference.

In no time at all the extinguisher was used up, but the flames persisted. Luckily I had the old one we tested the day before. I grabbed that one and squeezed off a blast – and nothing came out at all.

Disgusted, I dropped the extinguisher and ran toward the house to grab the hose. I could hear my wife on the phone talking to the 911 operator. Then she asked me: “How far is it from the house?”

“At the lot line! About 25 feet!” I called back, yanking the hose reel off the house, opening the spigot and pulling the hose across the deck and out toward the fire, which by this time had resumed its destructive fury.

I managed to get a good spray over the fence, and saw billows of steam pouring out of the neighbor’s yard. It was then that I had the brilliant idea of standing on the play structure that was right there.

Jumping up on the lowest platform, I could easily see the problem area, and determine exactly what was going on.

While I sprayed down the fence, the culprit became obvious. Up against the fence, in my next door neighbor’s yard, was a compost bin. It was entirely blackened and covered in ashes. Near it was a plastic flower pot that had melted on the side nearest the bin. Next to it was another wooden planter that was charred on the side closest to the bin. All around the bin were signs of heat and fire, particularly on the fence.

Scorched

I continued to spray as I heard the fire engines pull up.

Apparently, the compost bin had ignited the fire by spontaneous combustion. I’d read about it, but never actually witnessed it in action. The composting action naturally creates heat, but if it can’t escape it climbs to the ignition point – and sparks a fire.

When the firefighters arrived, I had the flames put out and was just soaking the area to prevent any further flare-ups.firetruck

“Looks like you did our job for us! Good work!” they said. Michael and my wife joined me on the play structure to gawk at the action going on next door.

The firefighters assessed the situation,  used their axe to knock down the loose and charred fence boards, and hosed the area down further. One of them got a shovel and turned the compost over a few times. Another walked up with a thermal camera and began scanning the area for hot spots. I explained to Michael what was going on, how the fire started, and what the firemen were doing to make sure it was all safe.firemen

By this time my neighbor had arrived and was talking with the firefighters. With the situation under control and pictures taken, we hopped off the play structure and ambled back in the house, reliving the highlights of the excitement.

I expected my neighbor to come over and talk to me about it later, at least to find out whether or not there might have been some other cause for the fire, but he never did.

So – would it be considered ironic that a fire breaks out on the day after we get a brand new fire extinguisher, to replace the one we’ve had for eight years and never used?

Probably not. But I will let the pedants out there discuss the true definition of irony.

Extinguished

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Posted in family, life, memories, moments, stress

Punny Boy

Posted on March 7, 2013 | 2 Comments

It’s bedtime, and we’re upstairs brushing teeth.

Michael has had evidently been bitten by an exceedingly large wiggle bug because he won’t hold still while I attempt to maneuver the spinning brush around his teeth.

He gives one spectacular lurch and the brush is pushed out of his mouth completely, then goes skittering along his cheek.

“Hold still! I almost brushed your eye that time,” I said.

“Well, if you did, then at least I’d have good oral EYE-giene!” he replied without missing a beat.

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Posted in memories, michael, moments, night

Ding Dong

Posted on February 19, 2013 | 3 Comments

Yesterday was a particularly lazy day. Having completed our weekend cleaning chores the previous two days, we opted to observe President’s Day by doing essentially nothing at all: caught up on some episodes of “Avatar: The Last Airbender”, enjoyed a mid-day cup of coffee, assisted Michael in the upgrade of Minecraft to include the Angry Birds texture pack, etc. Important stuff like that.

We (and by that I mean my wife) decided that Michael and I should get hair cuts, since we were looking pretty shaggy.

Right across from the haircut place is Michael’s favorite pizza restaurant, and as we crossed the parking lot he looked over at it longingly.

“You want pizza for lunch? We can do that,” his mom said. This perked him right up. He sat through his haircut patiently, with only minimal wiggling. After completing mine and settling the monetary aspect of the transaction, we headed out and over to the pizza place.

“It’ll be about fifteen minutes,” said the waitress after taking our order. We decided to walk around the shopping complex to kill time.

Just to be sure, I got out my iPhone and set the timer to go off after twelve minutes.

Now… I know how to use my phone’s functions pretty well. I’d say I’m at a Brown Belt level: not a novice, but by no means a master. So I didn’t give it a lot of thought when I pressed the “Start” button and casually noted that the alarm type was set to “Doorbell”

“Hmmm… Doorbell sounds nice,” I thought.

And off we went on our walk. We sauntered around the building, down past an insurance place, another barber, a paint-it-yourself ceramics place and a Subway… then crossed a roadway and circled back up around a dentist office and a fitness center.

I glanced down at my phone and noticed that it was about time to head back to the pizza place, so we plodded on down the stairs and across the parking lot.

I opened the door and let Michael and his mom in. The door chimed announcing our entry. I checked with the waitress while Michael and his mom headed back to the video games.

“It’ll be out in just a couple of minutes,” she said.

The doorbell kept chiming. I looked to see if the door was partially open, but no.

I walked down to where my family was. The doorbell kept chiming, but this time I heard it from the back door.

“It’ll be just a couple of minutes,” I told them.

“Okay. Michael’s perfectly happy,” my wife said.

Meanwhile, the doorbell just wouldn’t quit. For some reason, the staff wasn’t concerned about it at all.

As I made my way back to the front of the restaurant, the sound of the doorbell seemed to keep changing position: it was in the back of the restaurant a minute ago, now it’s up above by the television screen, and now it’s right by the front door.

The waitress, obviously overworked and unsure of my presence, asked me if she could help me with something.

“No, I’m just waiting for our pizza.”

“Oh, okay,” she said and went back to dressing a salad and pouring some sodas.

“The doorbell keeps going off,” I said. “Like it’s stuck or something.”

She smiled and looked at me somewhat confused, and turned to listen to the sound of the bell that apparently only I could hear, despite the fact that it was loud and clear. In fact, it now seemed to be coming from the food preparation area.

“Geez, this would drive me nuts,” I said to no one in particular. It was getting to the point where I wanted to fix it myself.

The pizza finally was put up, and after paying for it and calling to my family, we headed back to the car. I held the door open with one hand and balanced the pizza with the other.

Once outside, I noticed that the sound of the doorbell was every bit as loud as it was inside the restaurant.

“My gosh,” I said. “Does that doorbell go everywhere?”

“What?” My wife asked, looking at me confused.

We walked to the car, the doorbell continuing to chime. The sound never dimming. The sound continuing to follow me.

Following me.

Like it was my own personal doorbell.

I suddenly realized what was going on, and starting laughing.

“What’s so funny?” my wife asked.

“The doorbell sound – it’s me!” I pulled out my phone, and there was the timer, dutifully alerting me to the lapse of time that I’d requested, chiming away like a doorbell, just as I’d specified.

I turned it off, and wiped away the tears of laughter as I got in the car. My wife looked at me and shook her head.

“You’re a real ding-dong, for sure,” she said.

Yes, but I’m her ding-dong.

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Posted in dad, family, memories, moments

Hide and Seek

Posted on January 29, 2013 | 3 Comments

Monday morning began like most of its kind: way too early. It was one of Michael’s Mommy’s work days, which means up at 4:30 and rushing around to help her get out the door before 6 AM.

All was well until 5:58, when she discovered that she had misplaced her keys.

“Oh, shoot!” she said, heading to the garage door. “I left my keys upstairs!”

“Where?” I asked.

“In my gray sweatshirt. I put my keys in there and then realized I should wear a heavier one and grabbed the blue one before I came down,” she said.

“I’ll get them,” I offered. “You and Michael get to the car and I’ll bring them to you.” (some of you may recall that Michael likes to ride  in his mom’s lap out of the garage and down the driveway on the mornings she goes to work. I am fairly confident he won’t be doing that when he’s 15, but he’s almost 9 and hasn’t lost any enthusiasm for the event.)

I rushed upstairs and began to paw through the few cast-off garments that graced the chair in the corner of the room. The gray sweatshirt was there, and a quick search of the pockets yielded nothing, not even lint or a gum wrapper to say nothing of car keys. I hunted a bit more: on the floor, on the chair, on the end of the bed, the dresser, the bathroom counter… nothing.

Pretty soon my wife came up the stairs, obviously concerned.

“Did you find the sweatshirt?”

“Yes, but no keys!”

“They have to be in there! I remember putting them in the pocket!” she grabbed the sweatshirt and searched it herself, but found nothing. “Where the heck are they?” she cried, panicked.

“I hunted all over the room and on the floor. Let’s take another look downstairs,” I said.

“Okay…”

We searched high and low through the obvious (and not so obvious) spots for her keys, to no avail.

“Look, just take the spare, and I’ll find your keys later,” I said, working her spare car key off of my ring.

Immediate crisis resolved, we said our goodbyes and Michael got his ride.

Shortly afterwards, as I was preparing my own lunch, I went to get my lunchbox. It was not where I had last put it. I had reorganized some shelves and left the lunchboxes out on the dining room table while I decided where they should live permanently. Unfortunately, my wife had cleaned up the dining room and made it look nice again, thus deciding for herself where the lunchboxes should live permanently.

Annoyed and frustrated, I sent her a rather perturbed text message. “WHERE IS MY LUNCH BOX?”

The reply came back in just a few short minutes: “In the closet, on the shelf over the shoe rack.”

I pawed through the closet, pushing past coats and scarves, three thousand mittens, costumes for the plastic flamingo in the front yard, and a flag of the United States. There were lunchboxes there all right, but not mine.

“I don’t see it,” I texted back. “I don’t have time to look for it.”

“It’s hidden inside another bag,” came the reply, along with a little smiley with a cheesy, impish grin.

“Indeed it is,” I said, after finding it stuffed down inside another bag pushed to the back of the shelf.

“I’m a good hider,” she said, tacking on more cheesy grin emoticons.

I made lunches for Michael and myself, and soon we were on our way to start our separate days.

After work and before swimming practice, I searched for my wife’s keys some more. I retraced her steps, checking each of her usual “landing spots”, but still no luck. Upstairs, I used a flashlight and scoured underneath the bed and on the floor under the chair. I checked garbage cans and behind bookcases, in the couch cushions and in the refrigerator.

No keys.

It occurred to me that she might have had them with her in the car or in her coat pocket, two places we hadn’t looked.

When she finally arrived at home last night I asked her.

“Did you ever find your keys?”

“No!” came the sharp, somewhat accusatory reply.

“I couldn’t find them anywhere. I thought maybe you had them after all,” I said.

With that, a strange look suddenly flashed across her face, and she turned and went to get her purse.

She gave it an exploratory shake.

Jingle, jingle.

Hunting inside, she reached down into the bottom, and there were her keys.

“I can’t believe it,” I said.

She just stood there and giggled.

“And it’s a small purse!” I said. “How do you lose something in a small purse like that?”

“I’m a good hider!” she laughed.

“That you are.”

“Well, at least it gives you something to blog about,” she said, after finally wiping away her tears of laughter.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I said.

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Posted in family, marriage, moments, stress

Bits and Pieces

Posted on January 21, 2013 | 1 Comment

This weekend was pretty much devoted to rounding up Legos.

He’d recently gotten a couple of Star Wars – themed Lego building sets and decided that it was time to start in on them.

So he did what any self-respecting kid would do: tore open each of the little plastic pouches right where he sat on the couch.

I’m not sure if you’re all aware of this, but Lego blocks are created from a special kind of material that seeks the lowest, farthest in, most inconvenient nook it can if left to its own devices. This is why when you happen to allow some of these little buggers escape your grasp, they will instantly bury themselves in whatever crevice is handy. A couch makes a perfect spot for this, as it has several strata and plenty of inaccessible crannies in which to lose things.

“Daddy! I lost some pieces!” Michael cried.

“Michael, you didn’t open these up on the couch, did you?” his mother asked.

“Yes but I have all the pieces except I lost some,” he admitted.

“Well let’s gather what you have into something solid and put them aside while we look for the pieces you lost,” his mom continued. “Really, Michael, you can’t tear into packages like that on the couch! You have to do it on a flat, hard surface where things can’t get lost,” she reprimanded.

Michael grabbed a nearby Frisbee and we used that to scoop up the pieces we could see, and we set them aside.

Digging through the couch did not immediately yield any treasures, so we had to resort to lifting the cushions.

A couple of Lego studs fell out, and maybe a block or a random character’s head.

Still some missing.

Time to turn the couch modules over completely and scour the floor. Our couch is a corner sectional unit, one we chose for its ability to simultaneously contain the posteriors of everyone who might at any one time be relaxing downstairs to enjoy the fire or the television. So it does turn over, but in four chunks.

Eventually we got the sections turned over and moved out of the way. On top of this were the cushions, bolster pillows, throw pillows, blankets and other assorted flotsam.

On the floor was quite a bit of shameful detritus not reached by the vacuum. Including a couple of Lego pieces. Not the entire contingent of missing pieces, but some.

Which meant more searching.

What made things complicated was the many battalions of green army men that Michael had deployed earlier. There were several troops arrayed in various areas, mostly flanking the fireplace and the ottoman (earlier there had been a squadron deployed along the floor between the table and the couch, but an avenging foot got tired of stepping on them and swept them out of the way). These complicated matters by making a larger array of items that needed to be picked up and put away before we could search for missing pieces, which we had to do before we could vacuum.

Michael reluctantly agreed to recall his troops. As of this writing I believe they are all still on leave.

A few more shakes of the blankets and one sweatshirt revealed the last of the missing legos.

Michael received another admonishment to be more careful, and a command to pick up every single individual Lego piece.

Eventually we were able to vacuum and restore the couch to order. By Sunday afternoon the family room looked neat as a pin, and Michael’s Lego project was safely stored in a Ziploc bag.

Last night he opened up another box and started in. This time, with a set that had four times as many pieces.

Fortunately, he did it on the carpet, not on the couch. So we only lost three pieces.

I’m going to be wearing shoes in the house until the Lego phase passes.

 

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Posted in kids, michael, moments, parenting

Don’t Take Advice from Candy

Posted on January 1, 2013 | 4 Comments

A couple of days ago, Michael came to me out of the blue with a sort of sidelong confession:

“Daddy… I had a blue chocolate and I was going to ask your permission but I ate the chocolate anyway but I threw away the wrapper.”

“Mmmmkay,” I mumbled.

As my brain processed his statement further, a small alarm bell began to ring deep in my subconscious. I looked up from my game of solitaire.

“Wait… what?”

“I threw away the wrapper.”

“What wrapper? What did you eat?”

“One of the blue chocolates.”

You see, on Christmas, Santa Claus had been gracious enough to place a full bag of “Dove Promises” chocolates in the stocking labeled “Daddy”. If you’re not familiar with these, let me just say, Dove makes a milk chocolate that is beyond compare. These particular little morsels are wrapped in blue foil, which on the inside have some pithy little affirmation such as “Hug yourself” or “Believe in your dreams” or “Take time to relax”. Before Michael could really read well, he’d ask us to read them to him (oddly, the ones he handed to his mom to read always said “Kiss Your Mommy”).

I made no mention of the chocolates at the time, but squirreled them away to what I believed to be a secretive location, one high and away from the prying eyes of those under five feet tall. Evidently Michael’s packing either a periscope or a high-tech chocolate detector. Or both.

He’d found my stash, and had gotten into it.

“So, you took one of my chocolates without my permission?”

“Yes.”

“Why? You should have asked me first! You know that.”

“Well, I was going to ask, but I opened it up and it said ‘Give yourself permission‘ so I did.”

I’m going to write the Mars company a strongly-worded letter.

And I’m going to hide my chocolate in a safer location.

 

 

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Posted in frustration, inscrutable, michael, moments

Love knows no distance

Posted on December 16, 2012 | 2 Comments

We’re all still reeling from the news of Friday last. The hollow, pained feeling that came with the unfolding story is palpable. I can only imagine how horrible it must be for the families involved.

My wife sent me texts at work. She was following the news reports and shaking her head in disbelief. We prayed for the families, prayed those little souls would get an express trip to the arms of our Lord.

Like everyone else, we came home and hugged our own a little tighter and kept them a little closer.

Michael knew what had happened, as much as his little 8 year old mind could comprehend from what he saw on the news, and from the information he gathered from the questions he asked about it. He felt his own sadness and disbelief.

But he was content to play with his action figures behind the couch while his mom and I sat side by side watching the horrifying news updates.

“Michael?” his mom said, when she could bear it no longer.

“What?” he called around from behind.

“Come here please.”

Michael obediently came around and presented himself to his mother.

“What?”

“I just want to hug you again,” she said. He climbed into her lap and wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in his neck and kissed him. “I love you so much,” she said, holding him tightly.

She finally loosened her embrace. “I need you to sit here with me. I need to love you,” she said.

He thought for just a moment.

“Could you still love me while I’m just over there?” he pointed behind the couch.

“Yes, I can love you over there,” she said, though I knew she’d rather have him right next to her. Probably for the next 10 years or so.

He scrambled back to play with his toys.

Love can be right up close, but it can also go around corners and down hallways and across town. And across miles.

We may not be related, but those were our kids too. They were everyone’s kids and we all will miss them terribly.

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Posted in family, michael, moments, parenting, ponderings

Games Kitties Play

Posted on December 7, 2012 | 2 Comments

I’ve never considered myself to be a cat person.

But over the course of my life I have come to know a few of the creatures and have to say I’ve softened a bit in my outlook. Not that I want a houseful of them or would ever think seeing one lap up milk from a glass while standing on the counter is cute, but I can say I like having a cat in the home.

When I married I inherited not only a Stepdaughter but a pet cat as well. This one is low key and innocuous, takes care of her own business out of doors, and only rarely hauls in dead or dying creatures. And while she is a good cat on the whole, she has some pretty odd little quirks. Some of her behavior, some of these weird little things she does must be intentional, done for her own amusement.

We have taken to naming the ones we could categorize clearly:

“Homeless Kitty” – sits outside sliding glass door and longingly stares inside, as though wishing she were part of our family.

“Quarantined Kitty” – sits inside sliding glass door and wistfully stares outside, as though she wishes she could somehow get out there.

“Jailbreak Kitty” – lurks near the entryway, unseen, and then quickly darts out the door when you open it.

“Prodigal Kitty” – opening up the back door to step outside, kitty comes running and jumps into the open door, meowing gratefully and eagerly. Kitty has returned after her exile.

“Fickle Kitty” – Sits and waits by door, either inside or out, expecting door to be opened. When victim opens door to help kitty out, kitty turns and walks away from the door: “mmm, I changed my mind.”

“Brainless Kitty” – Sit motionless for at least ten minutes, staring at mysterious translucent rectangle embedded in the door to the garage as though she has utterly no clue that it has been her cat door for the past seven years.

“Neglected Kitty” – repeatedly paws at leg of victim seated at computer, meows for wet kitty food every morning as victim tries to catch up on email, tweets and blog posts.

“Jungle Kitty” – Only played when backyard lawn is overdue for a mowing by a couple of weeks, Kitty skulks through tall grass, low and slow until prey is sighted: moth or crane fly. Kitty then pounces on unwary pray, turns to see that humans have observed her behavior, and scampers off to climb over the fence and hide.

“Inconvenient Kitty” – stands on the stairs in exactly the spot she knows I will be walking through while I’m carrying a double load of laundry down.

“Cleaning Kitty” – waits until I am finally settled on the couch, then chooses another spot on the couch directly in my line of sight to begin loud, energetic personal hygiene.

I’m glad she finds her own entertainment.

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