From
the window of "Purrrfect Grooming", Gretta groaned as Mrs. Hick lugged
a heavy animal carrier containing Pfffit to her store to be groomed.
Gretta was not happy.
At the previousgrooming, Pfffit had attacked her when Gretta tried to clip Pfffit's claws. Even though the harness had been tied securely to the table, Gretta was scratched severely which required stitches. Gretta shivered at the memory. Mrs. Hick had covered the cost of the injury and work time lost, of course. Mortified, Mrs. Hick made many promises. When the door opened, Gretta greeted Mrs. Hick kindly. Mrs. Hick anxiously assured her that Pfffit had eaten all the medicated meal served at lunch time. At that, Gretta lifted a woozy Pfffit, which weakly batted a paw at Gretta. Ah, my nemesis...we meet again on a field of battle. In
fifteen minutes flat, Pfffit was back in the cage and driven away. Mrs.
Hick had paid a three figures for the grooming, but it was worth every
single penny.
Gretta whistled as she counted out the bills.
Pet groomers are to be admired. We had to take our son's cat Scuba to be groomed, and there were 3 monstrous dogs (really big) in their large dog set up. Placed on a high shelf and secured, Scuba did the cat thing, relaxed and purred. No problem.
Cats are incredible creatures. Not all that fun to be around until they get older, but they are incredible.
My son had a big tom named Scuba, who lived to be 17 yrs. old. After Scuba stopped attacking us as we walked by or leaping from the stairs for some reason, he was a fun cat to have around.
But, are people crazy?
I named my blogging site "thecontemplativecat" because we had Scuba.
Scuba had fleas, and they were everywhere in the house. Sooo, we arranged for a pest control person to come and spray. We had to do a tremendous amount of work to prepare, one of which involved Scuba. I took him to a pet grooming place and check him in to be scrubbed, etc.
He was placed up and secured on a high shelf. Meanwhile, down in the rest of the grooming shop were three immense dogs. Immense, bigger than any of the groomers. These dogs would have found Scuba to be an afternoon snack.
Meanwhile, Scuba became a Sphinx, in the pose and peaceful face. He closed his eyes and breathed easily.
I came back in an hour and there he was, groomed and lovely, in his Sphinx pose. Dogs were mostly done, and were relaxing after the spa.
I took him home after the pest control person finished and the house had been vacuumed. Scuba went to my son's room and curled up to sleep.
Scuba's Sphinx mode became the title of this blog.
Who's in charge here? I have heard that question in so many voices, situations.
Sometimes I am in charge, good or bad. I gladly ceded that responsibility now that I am retired. For twenty years and six-hundred students, I was in charge.
Parents, we were/are in charge. For feeding, clothing, and all sorts responsibilities for our children, we were/are in charge.
Paying bills, having the oil changed, finding lost items, etc.--we adults: we're in charge.
Given all that, some of the most amazing I'm in charge here people are children. They have no power, no reason to believe that they are in charge. Even though you and I know that a child should not be in charge in critical areas, they are in the sweetest and most amazing ways.
(The longest video is the last one. The others are less than a minute )
A three-year old taking charge here, maybe
Expressing himself to one he loves
Helping mommy
Who in charge here? Both.
There are many elements in all lives when exasperation leads to a real question: Who is in charge of me?
My favorite: Captain Kangaroo, who was an affable fellow who did very little except talk to us---the kids watching the show. He read books to us, showing pages as he read. Ingenious!
The book I best remember is Millions of Cats, written and illustrated by Wanda Gág in 1928 and the oldest American picture book still in print. The text was hand-lettered by her brother. This book won the Newbery Honor award in 1929, one of the very few picture books achieving this honor.
Enough. The story is about an elderly couple who discover they are lonely and think having a cat would help. The husband heads out to find the most beautiful cat possible for his wife.
He travels far from home, until he comes upon a hill covered with in cats. “Cats here, cats there, Cats and kittens everywhere. Hundreds of cats, thousands of cats. Millions and billions and trillions of cats…” This phrase repeats all through the book.
NOTE: The man cannot decide, so he walks back home with all the cats trailing after him. His wife is upset with him, since he doesn't seem to realize how impossible it would be to feed and care for all these cats. Wouldn't we all?? Wise wife told the cats that they could decide which one should stay by asking “Which one of you is the prettiest?”
All hell breaks loose as the cats erupt in an incredible cat fight. The couple lock themselves up in the house. When there is silence outside, they emerge to see no cats. They had apparently eaten each other up in their jealous fury!
They find a skinny scraggly cat hiding in tall grass—safe because it didn’t think it was pretty. They took the cat home and all were happy.
Now, isn't that this the most amazing story to read to a four or five year old youngster sitting in front of the television? Then, no child would think or question about the blood and guts that would be lying around. But still, I have never forgotten it. This post was from Feb. 5, 2014. This book is firmly imprinted on my brain. This re-posting is to bring such a deligh
Having pets is part of family life. We had a dog named ‘Midnight’, another dog ‘Buddy’. Then we had a cat, also ‘Midnight’, and then another one ‘Scuba’. My daughter had a hamster called ‘Romeo’. Wanting another pet and being an entomologist, my son decided upon the perfect pet for anyone: Mr. Bustamante.
The spider is molting. Really cool!
Mr. Bustamante was a rose tarantula, quite pricey as spiders go. It was huge, bigger than my splayed out hand. It had long spider legs, which moved slowly and gracefully over its web covered tank. It was blind, as all of its species are, so it operated totally on the feeling of vibrations. When a cricket was dropped into its enclosure, Mr. B. was on that thing with lightening speed. The cricket never had a chance, since every place it moved was laced with webbing, and that webbing lead Mr. B. to its unfortunate dinner.
He is not poisonous.
In the initial weeks of Mr. Bustamante’s moving in with us, fascination reined. We learned that it could crawl up our arm, and move onto another surface without pause or fear, since it couldn’t see. It wasn’t much fun when it came to the rolling around on the ground, but it was entertaining anyway. After doing much research and consulting with the pet store, my son decided to give Mr. Bustamante a real treat.
The pet store guy said that a fetal mouse would be a ‘treat’ for the spider, and something different from the crickets that we regularly tossed into the tank. So my son came home with a wriggling hairless blind pink baby mouse. He held it in the palm of his hand and we both stared down at this helpless and slightly disgusting mouse. It stretched and wiggled; it turned its blind eyes and mouth in search of food; and, it reminded me of a newborn baby, so much so that I had to leave the room.
With me out of the room, my son placed the mouse near Mr. Bustamante. Then my son waited for the joyous spider to discover his present. The thing never moved, even though the mouse was wiggling and turning over. My son nudged the mouse closer, using a ruler. Nothing happened. I came in the check on the mouse’s demise, and found my son staring quizzically at the two life forms in the tank. We both decided to let the two work things out overnight, and see the result in the morning.
No! They are not cute!
In the morning, Mr. Bustamante was clinging to the screening that covered the top of its tank, while the mouse lay in its original spot, still wriggling and squirming helplessly. My son decided that perhaps the tank was too large for them to meet up. So he took Mr. Bustamante and ‘Fred-the-mouse’ out and put them into a deep bowl with steeply sloping sides. Surely this new positioning would force Mr. B. to dive right in with his fangs. Nothing happened.
Hours passed and Mr. Bustamante was motionless on top of ‘Fred’. This became too much for both of us. My son called the pet store guy, who expressed regret about this treat not working out, but he couldn’t take the mouse back. He told my son to kill the mouse and throw it away. My son turned ashen, as he has a sensitive soul, and asked how to do that painlessly. “Put it in a baggie, and then in the freezer. The thing will go to sleep, and then freeze to death.” My son reluctantly followed these directions, and after many hours, buried ‘Fred’ in the backyard next to the late hamster Romeo.
Neither of us ever really recovered from this experience, and we don’t talk of it much. Some things are just too painful.
Many thanks to Arlee Bird, Jeffrey Beesler, Alex J. Cavanaugh, Jen Daiker, Candace Ganger, Karen J. Gowen, Talli Roland, and Stephen Tremp. You are all brave people. Link to the following link to check out other entries!
This posting is for the Second Crusader Challenge, being hosted by the AWESOME Rachael Harrie! Write something that starts with "The goldfish bowl teetered..." in 100 words or less, including those first 4 words. Hope you like this one!
The goldfish bowl teetered on the bookcase. Scuba crouched beside the glass globe and waited. Waiting for disaster? Waiting for a free meal? His golden eyes watched the bowl rock back and forth, with the golden prize inside.
Just a little more and momentum would take over. Wobble, wobble. Water rose higher on the sides each time.
A black and white paw reached out, batting the bowl just a little more. Keep the motion going, keep it going. A pink tongue flicked out to lick whiskers.
Over it went, water and fish. Claws came out and Scuba leaped down.
