Oxbow's World

I hope they don’t see me. I hope they don’t see me. I hope they don’t see me.

I don’t know if the heat is getting to Mama G or if she’s just losing it a bit, but she said the strangest thing to me today. She came over while I was lounging on the loveseat downstairs and said, “Let me stroke the lucky rabbit’s foot.”

It really bugs me when I don’t understand what she’s talking about.

That’s all folks!

To paraphrase Mark Twain, the reports of my retirement have been greatly exaggerated.

You’re probably wondering where I’ve been. It’s been what now, almost two months? I didn’t get abducted by aliens this time, but all of us here have been battling something pretty alien to me: technology!

As you know, nearly all of my posts have photos, because a photo is worth a thousand words, and I know you certainly don’t have time to read a thousand words scribbled by me! These three paragraphs contain about 100 words, and already you’re probably thinking, “C’mon, get to the photo and the point!”

I’ve noticed that humans have a very curious habit: They use their phones, which were designed to let them speak to one another, to instead take lots of photos that they send to their friends and families so that they don’t have to talk to them. Silly species! Anyway, it used to be that Those Two would take photos of me with their phones, then email them to themselves and transfer them to the computer desktop, where I would do my thing. But at some point that stopped working, probably because the thousands and thousands of vacation photos and assorted blurry scenes that had them wondering “why?” had clogged the works up, so to speak, and those cute photos of me were stuck inside their phones. After spending hours of deleting their prized memories this weekend, we had a breakthrough! But then I had trouble logging on to my blog. After much troubleshooting and cursing, Mama G smashed through that roadblock as well.

So I’m baaaaaaack!

Now, as for the title of this post, I’m not referring to our various computer problems. We’re Mac people. Instead, I’m referring to my attempt to help Mama C out this weekend as she was cleaning our downstairs windows.

I guess my entry onto the scene wasn’t as graceful as usual, and she almost lost her balance as she stood on the loveseat. She probably should have found a safer way to gain access to the windows, such as moving the loveseat, and maybe, just maybe, she should have started that project before Happy Hour. But I have no right to act like the Safety Cat: I’ve done some pretty crazy thing in my day!

It’s good to be back in business again!

 

So you’re probably wondering where I’ve been, since I sure haven’t been writing much. Well you’ll never believe it, but I was abducted by aliens! Yes, it’s true!

It happened one late afternoon, as I made my way through the kitchen to see if Those Two had refilled my food dish. The first sign that something was amiss was the oven. There was nothing in it, yet there seemed to be some strange energy emanating from it, a sort of powerful, low-frequency vibration. I puzzled over it for a minute, then moved on.

As I passed the dishwasher, a strange green light caught my tail, and suddenly I was sucked out of the house and into a strange flying machine piloted by two tiny, neon-green creatures who spoke only gibberish. I was freaked out!

I was hiding under a seat when a third crew member emerged from the lavatory, shaking some slime off its three-fingered hands. It sat down across from me and gained my trust by feeding me some treats (I can’t resist those under any circumstances!). Then, with the help of Google Translate, it began asking me questions about Those Two and my life with them. The creature occasionally prodded me and took measurements with a complex-looking instrument. This went on for what seemed like hours, if not days.

At some point I must have lost consciousness, and the next thing I knew, I awoke in bed, tucked between Mama G’s legs. Whoa, could that have just been a weird dream? And then I saw the dab of green slime on my right paw.

Whatever happened to the notion that “a man’s home is his castle”? Lately I’ve been trying to lay low and just mind my own business, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult.

Take this recent visitor, for instance:

She came right up onto our patio while I was happily looking out back, then stretched out, yawned, and proceeded to roll around provocatively, all while I was trapped behind glass and unable to defend my territory. It was by no means fair, but I put up a good fight!

Muhammad Ali would have been proud of the way I floated like a butterfly … oh wait, I wasn’t exactly floating, but rather frantically dancing like a cat tangled up in a live electrical wire! I did sting like a bee, however, delivering three quick and powerful right jabs to the glass that ended the symbolic fight, at least in my mind.

Then there are the birds. My mamas are always feeding them, so the backyard is usually teeming with birds. Lately they’ve also been congregating in the front yard, being so bold as to hang out in the bush just outside one of my favorite napping spots, the back of a love seat. How is a guy supposed to get any sleep with that thing bouncing around right in front of his eyes?

And don’t even get me started on the ants that gather around my food dish in the morning! Haven’t these critters heard of social distancing?

 

 

As humans continue to stay cooped up in their homes, wondering whether their lives will ever be normal again, this spring’s gloomy weather hasn’t been helping matters. Sometimes during dark days, just a small thing can turn despair into hope. So when the three of us were just chilling on a recent rainy day, watching a movie, imagine our delight when a bluebird landed on the power line leading into the house! My mamas were so excited, because they had been trying without success to lure the elusive little bird to the yard. What made this visit even more special was that the movie we were watching happened to be “The Big Year,” a comedy about competitive birdwatchers!

The bluebird stayed on the line for a while, then left, only to return a few minutes later, sidestepping even closer to the house before eventually continuing on its journey. It almost seemed to be trying to tell us something. I found out later that bluebirds are considered a sign of happiness in many cultures, so I am hoping our visitor is a harbinger of better days ahead.

I hope our little friend returns. Like my mamas, I enjoy birdwatching, too. Here I am doing my impression of a great horned owl.

 

 

Hey, what can I say? Guilty as charged! Sometimes a guy just gets an irresistible urge to crack open a cold one.

No, this is not going to be my review of Dostoevsky’s classic novel, but rather a report about my weekend!

I’m normally a very well-behaved boy, but something just got into me this past weekend and I went wild! Maybe all this pandemic stress is getting to me, too. My bad day started when Mama C decided to make a beef stew on Sunday. To hear Mama G tell it, Mama C makes a very “mean” beef stew. That doesn’t sound like a good thing to me, but I guess in the wacky world of human lingo it’s a compliment. Anyway, Mama C went looking for the Crock-Pot, and I jumped at the opportunity to explore the cupboard. Hey, look, I found the fondue pot! Maybe Mama C can make a fondue next weekend.

Mama C then made a run to the supermarket for a few more ingredients, and she came back with one of my favorite things: flowers! Oh, those were for Mama G? Mama G gets very possessive about her flowers and shooed me away as I tried to help with the arrangement, and maybe grab a little snack, too.

After the stew was prepared and left to simmer, Those Two headed downstairs to their favorite place: the bar. They were in the middle of a competitive Scrabble game when I decided to join them. They were quite surprised when I gingerly walked over the board, then tipped over Mama G’s rack full of tiles and batted them around! Three can play at this game!

It was at about this point that Mama C raised her voice and Mama G was ranting about a “timeout,” whatever that is. I just yawned in her face, then proceeded to take a leisurely stroll atop the Foosball table. Gooooooooal!!!

By the time I was caught in the sink licking some beef stew out of a bowl, Mama C had completely lost her patience. She scooped me up and scolded me like I’ve never been scolded before! I was more embarrassed than afraid.

A guy’s got to know his limits, so after that I retreated to the spare bedroom, crawled under the comforter, and slept off whatever it was that had gotten into me. Monday was a better day, for all of us.

In case anyone is wondering how I’m doing following the removal of two teeth on Tuesday, the answer is good! I have lots of energy again, and things are pretty much back to normal, with the exception of me not being allowed to eat dry food for two weeks.

Last night I even joined Those Two for Happy Hour. They were kind enough to cut some of my treats up into tiny little pieces, then served them in a shot glass so that I could feel just like one of the gang.

Say, do you think these treats could be a gateway drug?

 

As some of you are probably aware, I had dental surgery yesterday to remove some teeth. It was my third such surgery, because although I was born with good looks and personality, my teeth have always been a problem. I am now down to just one tooth, my left canine. My mamas thought that one was going to have to go, too, and were happy to hear it’s very healthy. They’ve always been fond of that particular tooth and like to call me “Snaggletooth,” or “Snaggy” for short — as if I don’t already have enough nicknames!

Anyway, I knew something was wrong yesterday morning when I didn’t get my breakfast. Feeding me is usually the first thing Those Two do when they get up. I sat patiently in the kitchen for an hour, looking as cute and pleading as can be, but to no avail. Then, without warning, I was scooped up and placed in my carrier.

“I got this!” I thought, as I rode in the back seat with Mama G. After all, I had been through this routine twice recently, and figured I’d soon be back home. But this time was different. Once we arrived at the doctor’s office, we just sat in the car for about five minutes. Then a woman wearing a mask and gloves came out to get me, and I was whisked away in my carrier.

“Aren’t you handsome?” the woman asked as she carried me toward the door. Well of course! I have that effect on all the ladies.

There was some more waiting around inside, and then the next thing I remember is sitting in the back seat of the car with Mama G again, only things were looking very, very strange, and I was feeling even stranger. Mama C was driving, and had the radio cranked up. Harry Nilsson’s “Coconut” was playing and Mama G was singing along — “She put the lime in the coconut, she drank ’em bot’ up” — right in my face! If you’ve ever heard Mama G sing, you understand just how misguided this apparent effort to cheer me up was. Now I know how some of those people at Woodstock must have felt as they crawled toward the medical tent!

After a mercifully short ride, we were back home, and I was freed from my carrier. Those Two immediately started Happy Hour, but I wasn’t feeling too happy. I sat with them for a little while, my one leg partly shaved. Just how did that happen? Then I did what cats do best when we don’t feel well: I disappeared.

I’ve been told I’ll feel much better soon, but I’m not so sure at the moment. I’m hungry and sore, and yesterday seems like a bad dream.