Today is Saturday, August 6th as I write this and I am back to what one could call normal?
Day 4–a Recap
I am not hiding the fact that I have “the plague” as they call it– as it is nothing to be ashamed about. This is a new reality we have to live with and I know now that I also had it in January of 2020. My doctor could not put his finger on it because there were no antibody tests then. But, having it now just reaffirms what I had in 2020 before the surge. Instead of a few days, it was two horrid months long. We have come a long way, but these are the facts now. We have to live with it. It is the new flu– and it’s awful–hands down.
Looking in the mirror this morning I look like Bette Davis on a bad day with a semi swollen face and bags hanging under my irritated eyes. I decided to write a blog called “I Look Like Shrek” and then chose not to share it with anyone. Do I really want people to have that impression of me? If I really was Bette Davis I would have ‘my people’ helping me get through this awful day. But I am not her, so instead I daydream about how I longed to be a movie star when I was very young.
Most of my friends know that my favourite actress is Bette Davis. There is absolutely no one that can get her point across in three seconds or less like she could. As a child I used to buy Popeye candy cigarettes and flash them back and forth yelling in my mother’s high heels,
“It’s going to be a bumpy ride!”– or something to that effect.
But, Bette Davis is not wetting her pants today and doing a laundry load of underwear. The sheer force of nature is running through my body with each sneeze. Only I am feeling the true warmth of being sick and trying to sit in various positions tobe comfortable. I am suddenly longing for the time I can stop crossing my legs when I sneeze. As Bette once said: “Old age is no place for sissies!” and maybe I would be dry as the desert now if I was 31 and not 71.
But, once upon a time I was young and every part of me worked. My mother Bernice Ethylene named me Linda Susan after her two favourite actresses: Linda Darnell and Susan Hayward. From her hospital bed to her wheelchair at home she commanded my father to enroll me in every dance class known to man. Mother Bernice wanted me to become another Joan Crawford as she was her favourite actress and lived, ate and breathed Crawford.
My mother, who was also tone deaf, thought I was born to sing like Deanna Durbin. Every week Reverend Peacock would choose one person to perform a solo at Trinity Anglican Church in Cowansville, Quebec, and my mother called him and suggested that I participate.
Sunday came way too fast and barely standing next to the choir I began to sing. At the end, I hear no bravos in the congregation, but by verse three people are covering their mouths with their handkerchiefs. At the end of my song Dickie Miner in the front pew breaks out into a fit of laughter and ends up on the floor.
I go back to my seat and see Reverend Peacock look down at me through his bifocals in bewilderment. Miss Watson, age 69, the spinster church organist, stamps on the organ pedals and rolls into the next hymn at death defying volume. My musical career ended that day, but Bernice kept insisting that it was okay because they always had stand-in singers for Joan.
Daydreaming over, I come to the conclusion that I’m going to use up a box of Kleenex every hour and it’s going to be a bumpy ride for the next few days. There is no one that is going to stand in for me like Joan Crawford and Bette Davis, but I am lucky it’s only for days and not months or maybe even worse. For the first time in history we can stay inside and watch as much Family Feud (Canadian or American) as we want while chasing it down with a cup of Chicken Noodle Soup. Being sick has made us realize the things we take for granted in life are never to be ignored again, not to mention life itself.
My father cheered for the losing Toronto Argonauts until he died and even when comedian John Candy took over as owner, he still could not resurrect their life-force.
There is a difference between the CFL and the NFL and it has something to do with the size of the field but don’t ask me about it.
Upon leaving a Canadian University, my best friend’s boyfriend got picked up to play for the Edmonton Eskimos and after a week of practising with men that were double his size he left. The town of Cowansville, Quebec talked about it for at least a year.
I once was a cheerleader for the *Cowansville, Quebec Colts, who only won one football game in two years. I had no idea what they were doing on that field but I can still remember the cheers word for word.
American lobbyist J. C. Watts once played for the Ottawa Rough Riders and was dating one of my staff at the same time. He came to dinner one night and absolutely hated my Italian soup. Watts played football the next day and blamed my soup for feeling ill. No one else was sick so I cursed his game.
When the clock says there is 5 minutes left in the game you know that it’s really somewhere in the neighbourhood of at least 22 minutes.
Superbowl Sunday February 5, 2102
I have always been on a stadium free diet and knew that “The East Coast Bowl” extravaganza would be on all day. The only thing I cared about on Superbowl XLVI was the commercials and seeing Madonna. My joys would be the halftime show and eyeing the linesmen bend over during the game. Between you and me there is nothing better than seeing a man in tight pants blocking other players.
If it were not for the commercials and Madge I would rather watch a faucet drip or knit a sweater for the Easter Parade. Tom Brady’s wife, Brazilian supermodel Gisele Bündchen, did send me one of her mass emails begging me to send good vibes and prayers so her hubby could win the game. Stupid is as stupid does.
Of course I have already watched most of the commercials online but still enjoyed watching David Beckham once again for the same reason I like the linesmen. I still think some of the commercials should be more geared to women. Women are the ones who are busy dishing out stadium style snacks with the Slim Jims lined up in the dip like goal posts.
There is nothing worse than listening to hours and hours of male cheering for those on the field that are getting beaten up and tackled. I have also heard them say that the next best thing to being in the stands is sitting on the couch with friends. Their fragile egos are so geared to sports that if they can’t be out there playing then they like to watch. Note to all the women is that particular view on football seems to be the same way they feel about sex.
This year was the best lip synched show thus far, featuring Madonna and friends. The “Like a Virgin touched for the 3000th time” is nothing but an icon to me. People complained that Madonna could have been the mother of any of the players and everyone wanted to hand her a cane. May I remind you of former older entertainers who also did Super Bowl appearances, like Bono, Springsteen, Aerosmith and the list goes on. I scream double standards and age discrimination and was shocked Betty White was not joining her on stage to do squats and ride the male ponies.
If you were not into football there were the alternatives from the puppy bowl to marathons of AbFab and Downton Abbey. Personally I would take Patsy and Edina’s drunken insanity on AbFab over football any day. I did however vote for Maggie Smith from Downton Abbey for MVP.
Does the football game really say that there is less aggression in women or is it really a matter of a man’s dreams and personal glory? I understand men do not like to explain football to women and I have absolutely no interest in asking why the man in my life does the end zone shuffle screaming,
“We’re number 1!” We’re number 1!”
In the end I may not care for the sport, but I do cherish the few moments during a football game when you can watch a loved one “move like Jagger”. Got to love your personal linesman and worth every second of the irritating sporting event.
Notes from the Peanut Gallery:
What “self-respecting guy” would shell out $14.95 for a pair of Beckams briefs? I can get a 5-pack of boxer briefs at Wal-Mart or Target or Costco for about $12.- Walter B
*Yamaska August 8, 1962
Brome-Missisquoi Junior Football League Schedule
Aug 5 Cowansville Colts vs Farnham Frontenac
Aug 11 Farnham Frontenac vs Knowlton Larks
Aug 18 knowlton larks vs cowansville colts
Aug 25 Farnham Frontenac vs Cowansville Colts
Sept 1 Knowlton Larks vs Farnham Frontenac
Seven 8 cowansville colts vs knowlton larks
Sept 15 Playoffs
Sept 27 Playoffs
Oct 8 Playoff
Yamaska, August 29, 1962
Cowansville Junior Football Club, after a long stand, will host its first game in Cowansville on Saturday, September 1st against the Knowlton Larks. This game will be played at the Municipal Playground, located on Bernard Boulevard, and at 2 PM. There will be a parade if the weather is favorable. She will depart from City Hall at 1hr 15p.m. leading Cowansville Youth Harmony, followed by the league, executive club and players in convertibles. If sometimes it rains, there will be no parade but the parade will still take place at the usual time of 2 P.M. The parade will be rescheduled to next week when Cowansville hosts Farnham Frontenacs.
The Colts will try to hold on to the top spot in the league, having a slight lead over the teams.
Come support your local football league.
The Yamaska Sept 5, 1962
Cowansville Colts play their first game at home. Knowlton Larks win 21-18
The Cowansville Colts were hosted by the Knolwton Larks this past Saturday, September 1. The game took place at the Stadium on Bernard Street in C’ville. Spectators witness a football game being held for the first time in Cowansville. Even though the Larks defeated the Colts by a small three-point margin, these teams displayed a well-balanced game.
The ride was preceded by a parade that rocked City Hall formed by the Cowansville Junior Harmony. She was followed by convertibles carrying Brome-Missisquoi Junior Football League executive and Cowansville Colts Club executive, as well as Horseman M. Armand Beauregard reppin’ the city. Plus the Cowansville players in their blue and white uniforms followed.
The referee was under Mr. Hubert Dubois former Assistant Chief of SRFU and assisted by Dick Ferris of Farnham, Rupert Dobbin of Sweetsburg. A large crowd of supporters were present to support the local club, as well as supporters from Knowlton Larks and Farnham Frontenacs. The latter being the club that will meet Cowansville this week on September 8th at 2 p.m. in the Cowansville township.
Thank you to Cowansville Junior Harmony for showing out during the parade as well as at halftime convertible owners who provided their free help during the parade. Thanks also to Mr Hubert Dubois of the QRFU Montreal has provided his good competition in terms of professional arbitration and it is understood that he will come for future parties. Although the Cowansville Colts lost this game, they are still a great team in the league, and that will be proven at the next game in Cowansville Saturday, September 8th at 2 p.m. vs. Far Frontenacs. Lava.
Come along and support our local club.
The Yamaska 19 Sept 1962
Farnham Frontenacs defeat Cowansville Colts in the last minute it was a surprise 21-19 definite record
COWANSVILLE – In a surprise final, the Farnham Frontenacs lined up to make the winning touch over the Cowansville Colts who will play strongly into the end of the game or the Frontenacs made the final touch to do so win the game. It was apparent that near the final minutes Cowansville’s defensive line was considerably weakened and Farnham’s backfield used a bit of strategy to lock in all the winning points. Colts scored 6-0 in the 1st quarter, 7-6 in the 3rd 19-15 But in the end, the Colts just didn’t look like they were able to go ahead enough to stay near a touchdown margin.
While it was another disappointment for the Colts who just missed a loss to the Knowlton Larks last week, the Colts will play next week for a semi-final first leg, the first ever will be held in Knowlton next sat 15th sept. The second leg will be held at Cowansville, the semi-final will be the series total points between the two clubs. The semi-final winner will play first place with the Farnham Frontenacs in a 2 of 3. Today’s points were counted for Cowansville by: M. Liberty (13), D. Peacock (21), each having a touch, and P. Jordan scores a hit. Farnham was G. Harrison (31), one touchdown, R. Pie (25) two touch, D. Root (27) and H. Takeda got one and two points, respectively.
Colts cheerleaders supported their club perfectly like Farnham’s well organized. M. H. Dubois de Montreal QRFU referee was umpiring the game with the help of Dick Ferris from Farnham and Rupert Dobbin from Sweetsburg. M. A. Just from cowansville was taking minutes and M Ray Tetreault of Farnham was the corrector on these. Young football fans are invited to go to Knowlton for English school semi finals.
Come and support your local club.
Yamaska Oct 17, 1962
In the Brome-Missisquoi Junior League Farnham’s young representatives finished their season in style by winning the Grand Final at Knowlton Larks 24-19
Everything I do these days seems to get a roll of the eye from the younger generation. I honestly don’t know how I got this old, but it beats being dead. I’ve been told by my sons on previous birthdays the candles on the cake cost more than the birthday cake itself now. So what?
Of course it is a different world these days, and there is no just turning on the AM radio in the morning, or listening to weatherman Percy Salzman at night on the black and white television with only three channels. Now we have computers, social media and cellphones to babysit until we doze off in our living room chair at night.
According to my sons I drive way too slow and should not be on the road. Well, there is the fact I drive only in the radius of the county, but either I am not pushing the gas pedal hard enough, or I am talking and pointing to something without checking what is coming my way. Yes, sometimes that can be a problem, I admit it.
Then there are my oversize glasses. I bought them specifically for style as it hides the bags under my eyes and I am getting more bang for my buck with large lenses for vision. Yes, it is one step under needing a seeing eye dog. However, one day my eldest drove by me on the road and my glasses were way down on my nose, and he said the next time he saw me like that he would disown me. I told him someone must have sent out a memo stating that after 65, wearing huge glasses is in. I reminded him that people start to shrink as they get older, and glasses need to grow in the opposite direction. He wasn’t buying it!
I have also learned that in most cases if you call your kids and leave voicemail, good luck to you. If you send a text you should get a return message in 3-4 working days if you are lucky. It’s similar to laundry: washing- 30 minutes, drying-60 minutes and putting it away-7-10 working days.
How can you convey to your kids that we are now older? It takes longer to get out of the chair, or off the couch with possible sound effects. They need to understand we have aches and pains and maybe cleaning my fridge is not at the top of my list. Yes, I am not a young Mum anymore— but that’s the journey talking and one day their strange noises will be a lot louder than ours.
Then there is the debate about Instagram and Facebook. Yes, I am on Instagram so I can see my grandkids photos where the younger family hangs out, but I am, and have always been, an enthusiastic Facebook user. Instagram just doesn’t seem to have my age-group variety of Memes, photos of other folks’ grandkids and funny cat photos.
Bottom line is, even if my kids think I am old and out of touch, that’s nonsense. In our heads we are anything but. We are just all enthusiastic, and just love remembering and telling stories about our childhoods:
“Jell-O moulds with fruit trapped inside, and drinking out of the hose and the outdoor street lights being our guide to go home at night. Those are experiences that kids today just won’t have”.
At my age I am going to continue to fumble and mumble and tell people to speak up for the rest of my life. Criticisms of me slowing down will not bother me at all either. Last week I wore my underwear backwards all day for some reason, but I knew in my heart it didn’t matter. That’s because I still remember the old days of being told to make sure you have clean underwear on– no matter which way it faces. In the olden days it was the fear of accidents, now it’s the possibility of meeting up with a full body scanner somewhere. It’s cheaper anyways to go through the airport than setting up an appointment with your doctor.
I have a love-hate relationship with IKEA. Whether you’ve just moved into a new place or are planning on renovating, you have to admit that IKEA has just about every piece of furniture you’ll ever need–if you can make it out of the store. I can sit for hours and read their old out- of- print catalogues at home and never get bored. Yet, when I enter that store I have to walk miles through areas I have no interest in. But, as I stroll casually through each department I realize the place is nothing but an obstacle course and somehow I find myself yet in another dead end. A dead end I don’t want to be in.
Do you list your next of kin address as IKEA on official documents and do you dream of Swedish meatballs? I have literally seen people bless themselves before entering those blue and yellow holy grail gates. It’s a well known fact that once you’re inside it’s fairly hard to escape, and once you do; you end up with a lot of things you didn’t even know you needed.I’ve heard customers complain about this same issue at Costco too: “Just came for milk and eggs” and $800 later, I still don’t see the milk and eggs. Sometimes I just like to stand in the IKEA parking lot and watch people try to fit everything into their small cars.
I must argue with the person who wrote that anyone that cannot assemble something from IKEA should go back to kindergarten. When no text is used in assembly instructions this should be the first warning that the bed you just bought that morning is not going to be slept in that night. I am sure whomever else is assembling the same product in another part of the world is having the same dilemma. Exactly what is that little illustrated Swedish man pointing at? Is he eating Salmon with Wheat Pilaf? A word of warning to remember is that your completed furniture is only as good as the “chosen one” who has volunteered to put it together. Welcome to IKEA, the people that sometimes throws in extra instructions, or nuts and bolts to mess with you. How about that Swedish plywood? Or is it really Swedish?
IKEA sells over 16,000 products online, of which they say approximately 9,209 items are now being resold on Kijiji. Half are dresser drawers that are missing knobs which have long fallen off and are lost. Most folks lose the instructions, so you know your end result will look like something conjured up by IKEA hackers working solely with tea lights guiding their way.
IKEA started making homes in Europe in 1996 called “BoKlok”. It was a move to allow first-time home buyers to have a chance at a cheaper place to live. What if the owners of one of these homes divorce? Who gets custody of the Allen wrench? Do they share? Didn’t that Allen wrench once put together the Eiffel Tower?
In the end it’s about who you want to spend the day at IKEA with, and the ultimate purpose of going to IKEA remains just as mysterious as the little dots they put over those very strange names. Even IKEA knows the struggle we mortals face when assembling their furniture! I would love to tell you more jokes about IKEA, but in the end the setup is too long and the final product is probably mediocre.
Yes, IKEA is a wonderful place, and no matter how many times we pay a visit, there always seems to be an endless array of new treasures to discover. Our children no longer want our old sturdy old furniture and antiques and insist on buying new things. I keep telling my kids my furniture was new when I bought it. At the end of the day, one does not simply ‘like’ IKEA – you either live and breathe it, or you don’t speak of it at all. I say everyone’s lips are sealed.
Last Sunday I put a load of laundry in the washer. I am nowhere near Martha Stewart quality when I do laundry. In fact Martha would probably put me in a laundry detention centre if she knew what I was up to. If she saw me folding fitted sheets I would have to explain to her that I fold sheets similar to fighting a boa constrictor. It’s not that I don’t know how to do things properly as I used to help my Grandmother with the laundry on Mondays. The boiling water was heated up on the stove, and the Laundry detergent was of construction quality. As I watched the old washer toss and turn and groan I listened to her many constant stories of kitchen industrial accidents while the laundry was going through the wringer.
In fact, even if she had asked me to help with the wringer rollers I wouldn’t have. There was great fear of ending up with lacerations, hematomas, fractures and potentially complete removal of a hand or arm like some poor children had endured in Dunham, Quebec..
Again, I know what I am doing with laundry, but as Frank Sinatra sang: “I prefer to do it my way”. Yes, the first mistake was to load the washer up to TILT. I knew it was just too heavy for the machine– but I moved on. After turning the washer on I realized that I had forgotten some underwear so I pressed the red button so the lid would unlock. Instead of the machine going back on– it decided to have a complete computer meltdown.
What happened to the good old days when the Maytag was a force to be reckoned with? When you could use, abuse, and pretty well do laundry for 30 years without a misstep.
So instead of thinking carefully, I took a “how dare you” attitude with the washer and began to twist the knob to other washes. I kept pressing button after button with all the confidence of a four year-old in a Batman T-shirt. Finally, with a clear mind, I unplugged it and plugged it back in. Isn’t that a quick fix for anything these days?
What I should have done was Google it and find out the correct way instead of acting like Slappy the Clown. Of course it sputtered and struggled and redid “wash jobs” for the next hour and a half. I stood beside it begging it to submit. As I listened to the water going back and forth, and back and forth, through the pipes I had visions that the basement was being flooded. What had I done wrong?
Actually, I had done something right. I unplugged the machine, but what I failed to do was lift and lower the lid 6 times within 12 seconds like they tell you on YouTube. I had to make sure the magnetic strip on the lid went fully down for contact to reset the machine. Who lifts a lid up and down 6 times? NO, I do not follow instructions, nor read step by step instructions. Why? Because you never know when you might run into something interesting.
So victory was finally mine at 5:55 Sunday evening. I had fixed the problem and had no qualms about throwing the second load in as my laundry had been breeding while I was trying to fix the issue. As I loaded the dryer the machine became off balance. Okay, dryer, let’s get ready to tumble! Quickly, I moved the dryer a tad, put some real heavy Queen Elizabeth History books on top and gave it a kick. Sometimes you just have to ask yourself how you expect to conquer the world each day, especially when you can’t even conquer your laundry. There is no doubt that my housekeeping style is best described as:”There appears to have been a struggle!”
It wasn’t the first time that this delivery man had crossed my door. But, each time he graced my garage door with a delivery he tried to make an impression. Even though I have a sign to leave any packages in the mailbox the driver just isn’t happy with my instructions. Once again I was scolded and told about the right way to do things because he cared how he delivered his packages.
“No problem”, he said. “Once Spring comes the gates will be opened and all would be good”.
A smile came across my face because none of what he said would happen, and I was probably doomed to listen to instructions the rest of my life. After all he said, I could have $8000 worth of goods in that package. I laughed knowing my budget is about 20 bucks and deep inside that box were three BTS K POP figures, two for my grandaughters, and yes one for me.
If you didn’t know BTS is one of the most popular boy bands on the planet right now and listening to the Supertramp music come out of the delivery guys’ truck I knew this gentleman would not have a clue either. Nor would he care how elated I was going to be soon opening the box to see my fave BTS ‘guy” “V”. I was 14 once again!
As I signed for the package he zipped his snowmobile one piece up to his neck and adjusted his hood and then told me to have a good day. As the chorus from Supertramp’s song Logical blared out of his truck he was gone. I thought it was nice that someone cared about my package. So remember, not all superheros wear capes, but some play Supertramp.
Scents of the Heart — Evening in Paris
Just about every home in the world had a bottle of “Evening in Paris” somewhere in the house. Even the perfume machines in women’s restrooms had them. If you put in a coin and pushed the buttons a big squirt of perfume would come out. My Grandmother would always get a bottle for a gift when I was a kid and she never said she didn’t like it. My Grandfather would always take one of us girls to Varins drug store on South Street on Christmas Eve to but a gift for her. We would come home reeking of many perfumes he had tried on me but he always bought Evening In Paris. You could get the set of powder and the beautiful cobalt blue bottle of cologne for a mere $3.98.
How wonderful I felt when Grammy dabbed it on my wrists and behind my ears before sending me off to school. I also remember her wearing her full length coat when the vial shattered and spilled on her coat —-you could smell her long before she approached you in the preceding months. Evening in Paris will always remind me of Grammy Knight and feeling safe, secure and being loved.
One of my favourite flowers Lily of the Valley grew everywhere around her headstone, and after my Mother died they sent home her belongings in a blue Samsonite suitcase. When I opened it a bottle of her favourite perfume Coty’s Lily of the Valley had broken inside. For years, each time I opened that suitcase, I relived the rare hours spent with my Mother, in the many hospitals she lived in during my childhood before she died.
Nothing is more memorable than a smell, sometimes it’s the key to our memories.
The new after-Christmas rug was Wedgwood Blue and bristly in touch, almost like the back of a porcupine. In the centre of this spectacular piece of decor that everyone hated but me was a delicate white snowflake. I cherished this new acquisition and opened the door several times to gaze at my precious find. This rug would last for many years I thought to myself. It seemed to be invincible, and better yet was on sale.
The next day I could immediately smell what was on that festive mat before I opened the door to admire it. As I walked to the front door in slow motion, my nostrils filled with a scent so putrid that I immediately threw on the exhaust fan on my way over. Sitting in the centre of my inexpensive prize was “a pile of joy” the size of metropolitan Toronto.Who and what created this perfect masterpiece perched on top of the delicate snowflake? Did this animal not share my thoughts on the Holidays? The rug now had no where to go now but the dumpster. Who would ruin my treasured mat? What or who could do such a thing?
Ten minutes later I saw HIM in the hall running without a care. A dog, visiting my neighbour, sporting a fashionable festive hoodie had to be the culprit. As his collar jingled like Santa he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me. We both spoke silently with our eyes locked, and suddenly I found myself filled with angry vocabulary not suitable for any time of the year. The dog now with downtrodden eyes, sucked himself closely to the wall as he passed by me. I glared at him as he walked by with apprehension and screamed,
“You little ^&*&$% !!!! Don’t do that again or Santa is not going to buy you any treats!”
Not wanting to have yet another disappointment over a door mat I found something suitable at a second hand shop. Costing more than my Walmart special, it was plain, brown, and obscure, and should last me through the next decade.The top of the mat read:
THE DOG – DAY 751–My captors continue to torment me with bizarre rubber squeak toys. They eat lavish meals in my presence while I am forced to subsist on dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of eventual escape–that and the satisfaction I get from occasionally ruining some piece of furniture.I fear I may be going insane!
Yes, I thought to myself, this new rug will last at least through to the next Christmas season. It has no colour, or feel of the outdoors. It is a rug that does not tease or beckon anything on four legs. It is fool proof! The next morning the replacement rug was ceremoniously marched to the dumpster. Once again the bladder and bowels of the visiting creature had hit the mark and I no longer cared.
A $2.99 Ikea green and black stripe door mat found on page 39 of the Ikea catalogue became the final replacement. I seriously considered putting a “No Dumping” sign by my door. The next day I spied my furry friend running through the hall once again sporting yet another odd-ball hoodie. Our eyes met instantly, and after I slammed the door, I silently thought that no matter what I put out for a rug, this dog would always be “a rebel without a Claus”.
Steve’s voice on the third floor became excited yesterday as he screamed,
“Something with a tail just walked by the door here.”
I immediately panicked as I hoped it wasn’t a squirrel or a raccoon. We have a varied amount of wildlife on this old property that call my home “their home”. After hearing those words my blood pressure shot up a notch or two.
“I’ll go get the trap!” I said frantically hoping that it was still in the garage. (Please note it is just a catch and release trap)
Sure enough it was still there, so I hauled it upstairs along with a bag of peanuts. If it was a squirrel it should be an easy task– but how in the heck did anything get in here. We had been gone for the weekend, but maybe whatever it was had entered the house when the garage door opened. One thing was for sure–if I saw poop– I could pretty well figure out what it was.
So peanuts laid out in a trail we sat back to wait. If the peanuts didn’t scare IT maybe the zombies playing Twister would. Hours went by and nothing. Not a tail– not a noise–not a darn thing. Steve began to vacuum the second floor TV room -yes the same room our neighbours watch (see story here) and all of a sudden this “grey being” ran by me and it had a long tail.
“It’s a cat!” we both screamed in unison.
We couldn’t figure out if it had gone downstairs–or where it went. I emphatically said (being Miss-Know-it-All) that I would have heard it if it had. So one by one bedroom rooms were shut off and the vacuum entered. I manned the first floor with a mop-in-hand after shutting first floor doors and opening the front door that somehow had opened –it never ever opens. Nothing.
When all was clear on the second floor we began our search on the Main floor. I opened the solarium door and bingo– there was the tabby cat that frequents our yard, and the very same cat that I once questioned about his possible role in eating baby chipmunk Pip. We looked at each other eye to eye and he said,
I screamed, “Stevvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvve”!
If I was a normal person I would have gone in and tried to catch him, but I am deathly allergic to cats. So Steve went into the “battlezone” and came out tenderly holding the cat and talking softly to it. If it was a perfect world he would own a 100 cats- I on the other hand would stop breathing. Unfortunately, it’s just that kind of world. So, released on the front lawn the cat never budged-and instead he rolled around in the grass and lay in the sunlight. He was in no hurry to get home.
So the mystery remains– whose cat was it, and how the heck did he get in? I got my answer this morning. It was Tommy Tonic’s cat from just down the street. He wrote: Hi Linda,
I see my kitty Michael did a break and enter in at your home today..so sorry 😞 He is safe and sound now and thanks so much for posting on Facebook on the Carleton Place Social Scene. I couldn’t believe that I was scrolling down and then there is a picture of Michael. Michael likes to go and visit Kim & Kev and their cats, so I guess he took a side tour of your place–thanks again.
If cats could talk they wouldn’t– so what went on in my home stays in my home with Michael— As for me–well, I’m not a cat am I ?:)