Humor......

[Guest guest]

wrote: I've been in the dumps for quite awhile now and it was good to read your post , you have such a good out look on things you remind me of my grand mother thanks and God Bless you dear.

Ardeith writes: I've got to look for the humor in my life, or I would become a sour bitch that no one wanted to be around. My poor little mamma was so crippled by RA that she could not dress herself, and she was a vindictive, manipulative, sour old woman....

she is my best example of what I do not want to be, and how I do not want to behave.

Did I tell you about my kittens? Last June, after losing two very elderly cats, Fred and I decided a kitten was what we needed to lift our spirits, so I told my friends in Tampa to keep an eye out for a male kitten. About a week later, here they came with a pale grey tabby boy....about seven or eight weeks old....very misty grey, so I thought I'd call him Misty. Took him to the vet for his first shots, and was asked if I wanted another little boy. Seems the girls at the vet's office had bottle-raised three little boys after their mother was run over by a car. I said NO....very loud and clearly....but the next day I went to pay the electric bill and came back past the vet's office. Something reached out and grabbed the steering wheel and pulled me into the parking lot. So I asked if I could see the orphans.

They were all boys, all a dark tabby with that lovely circular design on their sides....

and about two weeks older than my little boy....and a bit bigger. I chose the smallest of them with the idea he might not beat up on my little one very badly. I shouldn't have worried....the little one beat his butt at every opportunity. They have become brothers, or best friends......and their names are Mischief and Mayhem. The pale grey is not Misty....he is Mischief. And they have most earnestly earned their names.

About a month ago, Mischief got up on the drawers in the closet in my work room....I heard a rustling, and picked up my handly squirt bottle to chase him down. Well, that worked just fine......but he had his head through the handle space of a plastic grocery bag......and in the bag was a cellophane bag of fried pork skins that I despise and had planned to throw away.....so he brought the bag within a bag down with him. And it made a horrific noise, I guess....maybe it sounded like something that was going to eat him.....anyway he went ballistic. Around and around the room, under the bed, under the sewing table, under the work table, under the desk and back under the bed...so fast I couldn't get a hand on him.....and he made the circuit six or seven times before the grocery bag tore and the cellophane bag fell out, but the plastic bag was still hooked around his neck.....

Now, the cat was under a double bed that is pushed up against one wall, and he was all the way over against the wall......what did I do? I got down on the floor....something my ankles don't appreciate....sat on the hardwood floor....something my sit-bones don't like....and lay down on my back to see under the bed. Yep...cat all the way over there, and he was SHAKING.....my baby was so scared! So, did I go get Fred to go under the bed for me? I did not. It was three in the morning, and besides, I couldn't let Fred be the "hero" and "save" the cat, now, could I? Nope! Under the bed I wiggled.....and that's something my spine does not appreciate.

You have to use some imagination here, folks.....I weigh somewhere around 240 pounds.....and the bed is raised on blocks so I can stash my yarn and fabric under there.....so the fat lady wiggles and wiggles and wiggles.....it must have been a riot to watch, but there was no one to see except the cat, so what the hay?

I got the bag off his neck, and eventually he came out. A couple of hours later he was all over the trauma.....it took me three days to get over the aching ankles, spine and sit-bones.....but I'm beginning to appreciate how funny it might have seemed to an on-looker......

Ardy