Cat and Mouse Game--With a Twist

A sliding glass door off our bedroom leads to a screened-in deck area. In the late 80s we put in a hot tub and over the next 10 or so years used it often. I’m not sure when exactly we quit using it--probably about the time that I went back to college in 1995. We found that it was more work and expense than it was worth. So now it sits empty.

Well, not quite empty, rain water from a leaky skylight overhead along with rain that gets in through the surrounding screen accumulates in the bottom and it’s not always a pretty sight.

And this is not a pretty story—but one that may make you laugh and cringe as I unload a significant share of my dignity along the way.

There’s no easy way to say this so here it is: We have an ongoing problem with mice getting into the hot tub. And drowning. Not just one at a time either. From the looks of things, I can only think of a group of mice out in search of a good time and before you know it, things get out of hand and somebody ends up in the water. The other mice watch in horror and another one ends up jumping in thinking he’s going to save his buddy. Sometimes it ends there, other times, the scene resembles the grisly ending of a horror film massacre.

Protocol for cadaver removal involves a verbal report to Sam usually something along the lines of “We’ve got some floaters!” In a perfect world, they would be disposed of within minutes of said notification. End of story.

However, this is truly a case of out of sight, out of mind. Factor in a week or two (or three) of hot humid weather and, well, that’s as much as I can say about the situation. Eventually they are removed, but now there are large amounts of Clorox Clean-up and gagging involved.

Perhaps someday I will summon the courage to tell you what happens in the winter--but for now two words: Donner Party

This past fall, two feral cats started hanging around outside. We noticed a marked decrease in the mouse problem—inside and out—and embarked on a concerted effort to encourage the cats to stick around by putting out fresh food and water daily. The calico moved on but a handsome black male has taken up residence. I’ve been calling him Salem because he reminds me of the cat on Sabrina the Teenage Witch.

A few weeks ago, I noticed that there was a dead mouse in the hot tub again—the first in a really long time. I reminded Sam a couple times and even tried to talk Zac into getting it out. When I checked it the other day while in the porch putting some clothes on the rack to dry, it was gone and I assumed Sam had finally gotten around to dipping it out.

The following morning, I was making the bed and looked out the bedroom window overlooking the hot tub and noticed Salem sitting in the hot tub looking intently into the murky water. Something about the scene made me uneasy….surely he didn’t….did he??? And if so, how???

You know what I’m going to tell you now, don’t you. No, Sam did not remove the dead mouse. Zac did not remove the mouse. I did not remove the mouse.

Salem the cat's valuation has soared--and if I could ever capture his fishing technique on camera, Hollywood here we come. We may upgrade his brand of kibble. And I’m thinking about getting him his own little fishing pole and hat just like Fluffy’s.

Tomatozilla

I landed this big bad boy last week. It was a fight to the finish as I struggled to maneuver this warm juicy specimen through the small opening in the tomato cage. Sam and I took it along to the lake this past weekend but I didn’t have the heart to eat it until I’d shown it to Mom.

When we were all back home on Sunday night, I showed it to Mom. Even in its “must-go” condition, Tomatozilla wowed her. “It must weigh a pound,” she said.

“Oh, it has to be more than that,” I replied, “I’m thinking closer to two.” I took one more quick photo and then added it to my kettle of soup.

One of these days, I need to go back to garden and see if Tomatozilla has any competition lurking in the bush.

Ripening

I picked Mom up from her house late yesterday afternoon and we drove to Fairmont to pick up my prescriptions. Driving through this country at this time of year is about the best thing one can imagine. We took old Highway 16 there and the Huntley road home. Several fields of soybeans have already been harvested and the rest look ripe and ready.

Even though the leaves are only starting to turn, the rich auburn soybean fields offset by the still vivid green ditches and farmyards creates a striking contrast. In the absence of any significant moisture for the past month, the corn is rapidly drying also.

We stopped and grabbed a few more fresh ears of sweet corn from Curt’s field on the Springer place. I hadn’t really decided what to make for dinner, other than it had to involve a significant amount of the vegetables that had accumulated on the kitchen counter.

Mom sat in her chair and we visited over a glass of wine. I settled on a skillet pasta dish using whole wheat penne pasta, Italian sausage, garlic, onions, tomatoes and peppers topped off with mozzarella and parmesan cheese and fresh basil. Peeling the fresh tomatoes while the meat cooked was rather tedious but at the same time I wanted to savor every moment of the pleasure of cooking with such perfect ingredients.

I broke the large ears of corn in half to cook them and we enjoyed yet another feast from the garden—feeling thankful to live in an area of God’s creation that will grow just about anything anyone would ever want or need.

Learning curve

I'm not sure what happened but my Twitter update box was violated/spammed/whatever.
Disgusting. I removed it. Wondering who might have seen it.

So sorry.

Paging Dr. Oz

*In my best anchorwoman voice* "Now that the conversion from analog to digital is complete, more channels are available to the average television viewer."

What this means to me—a lowly rabbit ear antenna accessible viewer—is that I now have 5—sometimes 7-- channels to watch while I’m at the office.

Yes, that’s right, I watch tv at work. Sometimes I even watch Netflix movies on my laptop.

I live a sad little solitary life.

Made even worse by a daytime schedule consisting of Judge Joe Brown, The People’s Court, Divorce Court, Judge Judy, Judge Alex and Judge Hatchett. I remember reading an obituary once that mentioned how much the deceased loved watching her court shows on tv. It haunts me every time I watch.

I don’t want to be that person.

But wait, enter Dr. Oz. I loved him on Oprah. He made it cool to talk about poop, sweat, odors and other distasteful bodily functions. I guess in the same way Judge Marilyn Milian presides over a whole sackfull of crazy in her courtroom.

I tuned into his first show expectantly. Oh yeah baby, his first topic was sex. Excellent. I bit into a tomato (good for libido) and kept watching. Hmmm, fibroids, interesting. Mental note to buy some tofu.

Next he examined the purses and their contents of four women from the audience and went into a graphic description of the germs, bacteria and fungus growing on them. Holding up one embarrassed woman’s phone, he announced that they found traces of feces on it.

Now I don’t know a lot about television or the creative process associated with putting a show like this together, but for a moment visualize a roomful of people tossing out ideas,
“Hey, how about this, let's do an anatomy segment and have audience members come up and touch preserved human organs!"

Hello studio audience, welcome to the Dr. Oz show— Here hold this spleen while I look for an ovary.

Oh and you have poop on your blackberry…

A life, a death and daisies

The woman was walking across the lawn pushing a cart. Sam and I had just parked outside a St. Paul church to attend the funeral our son-in-law Tedd’s father, Chuck Cheney. At first glance, I assumed she was the janitor. The funeral director asked that Sam re-position the vehicle and as I stood on the sidewalk and waited, I took a closer look at my surroundings--the houses, cars and people on the street--and began to feel a bit uneasy.

I watched as the funeral director walked up to the woman with the cart and started a conversation. My attention was distracted for a moment as I turned away to watch Sam back onto the lawn. When I looked back, I saw the woman hug the man in the suit and continue across the lawn pushing her cart—and taking a closer look at the contents of her cart, realized that her cart did not contain cleaning supplies. It was filled with plastic bags containing probably everything she owned.

I was just beginning to tell Sam what I saw when the funeral director came over to thank Sam for moving his vehicle. He motioned towards the woman with the cart and said, “She is homeless and has been sleeping on the steps of the church for the past month. I gave her some money to get something to eat—she didn’t want to take it. She said she was fine.”

He continued to tell us about a recent conversation with a priest serving a parish nearby. The number of homeless women has risen exponentially—and even more heartbreaking is the number of them who are pregnant. He must have read my thoughts when he said, “It’s a beautiful day today. What will happen to these women in the winter?”

We continued into the church and joined a large group of people to mourn the loss and celebrate the life of a remarkable man. Sons Tedd, Paul and Jed all spoke lovingly and eloquently of their father. In her message Pastor Joy mentioned the woman living on the steps of the church saying, “She feels that Jesus lives here.”

I must admit that several times during the service, I wondered if the contents of our vehicle would be intact when we emerged from the service.

As we stood in the cemetery after the committal service, I related incident with the homeless woman to Tedd and Addie. Tedd remarked that his dad would have done the same thing as the funeral director but as a CPA would probably have asked for a receipt. We all laughed and I felt some of the heaviness of grief lift for a few moments.

Family and friends then gathered at Kozlak’s Royal Oaks Restaurant for lunch and a time of sharing stories about Chuck. Coincidentally this was the place where Sam and I were first introduced to Chuck and his wife Arta.

Arta picked up a microphone and explained that the room was filled with daisies, Chuck's favorite flower. They reminded him of the outdoors and the splendor of nature. He was a man saw common beauty in an extraordinary way. She then encouraged anyone to take the take the mic during the meal and share stories and memories of Chuck

There was much laughter and many stories of adventures with Chuck—with the common theme of a man who lived his life to the fullest and cared deeply and passionately for his family, friends, neighbors and co-workers. We all left with a small bouquet of daises.

A sense of humor and a love of adventure combined with compassion—Chuck’s legacy. And for me, an unforgettable encounter with a woman whose life briefly intersected with mine.

To read his obituary written by Tedd, go to http://www.holcombhenryboom.com/index.cfm

Forced Relaxation

Last night as we were getting ready for bed, I asked Sam what his plans were for the weekend. "It's going to be nice so I'd like to go for a boat ride--but I also want to get some more painting done." We decided to try to head for the lake in the late morning.

But first I wanted to freeze some corn. Sam ran to Curt's field and brought me 3 dozen ears. While he painted, I froze 16 pts of corn and had the kitchen cleaned up-- by 11:30. We were on the road shortly after noon and on the lake before 3:00. It was 80 degrees, sunny, warm and perfect. We anchored in Miller's Bay.

After about an hour, I developed a severe case of what my niece Ingrid refers to as AIP (Ants In Pants) Kind of like what happens to kids confined in a car too long.

Should relaxing be this hard? I had my computer, the new Pat Conroy novel and two past issues of Mother Earth News. It just didn't work for me today.

We went out to dinner with Dick and Marlys--always fun.

And I do believe I might have felt relaxed.

It's been a busy week--I'm working on a couple new posts that hopefully will be ready tomorrow.