They Behave For Only So Long
ByTodd De Haven
About a week and a half ago, an acquaintance asked me why it had been so long since I had written a column about our feline children. I replied that, “Well, they just haven’t done anything worth reporting.” Well, that’s changed.
Tomorrow, Fran is hosting what I refer to as a “Family Dinner.” Anyone who knows Fran knows that she keeps a lovely house. They also know she never thinks so. Consequently I knew that beginning about three weeks ago, she’d start cleaning the place to such an extent she’d even clean the immaculate areas (which is probably about ninety percent of the house). We both knew from the get-go, that we’d have to have a meeting with the kids. That didn’t make things easier.
After gathering everyone in the Sun Room, Fran announced that we were indeed having a family dinner and for that reason they would have to be “temporarily relocated.” She learned that phrase from the Katrina Disaster and thought that would be the best way to phrase it. Sad part is, so did our cats. Weaver started with, “I am NOT going into a FEMA trailer.” Felix chimed in, “If you think you’re sending me to Huston, you’d best be thinking again!” Our little girl Jennie started to cry, wiping away crododile tears with her paws and sobbing, “Mommy, you don’t love me anymore!”
Poor Fran just sat there shell shocked. I quickly jumped in with, “Calm down! Your mother only meant that you wouldn’t have free run of the house because my family will be here.” Too late, I realized what I’d said. “Well that’s a fine ‘How do you do?’ now isn’t it?? Chimed in Big Winston.” Why didn’t you tell us your Family doesn’t like us!” he continued. “But they do!” I quickly replied knowing it was too little too late. “Well, then why don’t they want us around?” asked Oliver. “But they do want you around! I stressed. “It’s your mother who doesn’t want you ………………….” Oops!
Alhough it took several hours, we were finally able to placate the little “darlings” with the promise they’d be fed only Fancy Feast for the next week with double portions tomorrow. They seemed placated.
Late last week I had one of those electrical defibrillator/pacemakers known as an ICD implanted in my left chest. For you who are unfamiliar, they’re a cool little device that only cost about as much as a new Buick and that hopefully shock you back into existence should you suffer cardiac arrest. You uhhhh don’t want to know what it feels like if it goes off. Anyhow, everything went just fine and the next evening I was home in my own bed none the worse for wear except for an annoying ache in the upper left chest where the device was implanted. I finally feel asleep and at some point woke up and opened my eyes as a result of a searing pain. No, the device hadn’t gone off. It was worse than that. Standing on my chest with his right front paw right on my incision, was almost 30 pounds of Big Winston. “He immediately said, “Daddy, I wanted to make sure you were alright. While gritting my teeth I replied as sweat poured down my forehead, “Thank you son, now will you PLEASE get off my chest?” He did but as I lay there gasping, Fran awoke. She asked, “Is something wrong?” I replied with but four words, “Get me my drugs!” And so it goes.