Boo’s Uninvited Playmate!

Over a year ago, before we clipped her wings and turned her into a furry, four-legged, “jailbird”, our cat, Boo, was what you might call a free range cat.

She had total access to the neighborhood and enjoyed life “on the lamb’’.

To our dismay, though, her previous free life style gifted us with many a furry creature, both winged and 4-legged, and cost us thousands of dollars in vet bills, due to her indiscriminate and highly unhealthy eating habits.

Rather than get a second mortgage on the house, in order to maintain her lustful lifestyle, the Princess and I decided to permanently “ground her”.

Unfortunately for us, before we had the chance to implement “said new grounding policy”, one evening, the little bugger decided to introduce us to one of her more unhospitable, rat friends.

True to our loopy lives, the “introduction” had to be with a LIVE, slightly comatose rat, during a rather frustrating conversation that we were having with our inept (rarely accessible, now EX) cable company.

Ms. Delilah Dinwiddie, customer service representative of our illustrious, local cable company, was not comprehending (for the third attempt by me that evening) why our costly (rarely functioning), cable service wasn’t working on that particular evening.

As I was patiently attempting, for the fourth time that night, to reach some level of comprehension with the dull-witted Ms. Dinwiddie, I heard the Princess jump out of our Lazy Boy rocking chair and commence to using expletives that even I, with my colorful repertoire of descriptive adjectives, found utterly unfamiliar.

Being thoroughly preoccupied with my phone conversation, with the delightful Ms. Delilah, I saw Boo casually drop a fury, inert object onto our living room floor, and indifferently assumed that it was one of her toys, or some other play thing that she regularly found entertaining.

I really didn’t understand what the Princess had her knickers in a knot over, at the time, and I continued my ditzy dialogue with the ever daft Ms. Dinwiddie.

Suddenly, I noticed what I mistakenly thought was a toy, take on a life of its own, and regain consciousness, only to scurry across our wooden floors; adroitly disappearing into our home’s entryway area, in front of the closet.

At that point, the Princess had become even more descriptive and animated in her oral depiction of what was happening, and I aptly decided that maybe we needed to continue the conversation with the didactic Ms. Dinwiddie at a later time that week and forego the palatable pleasures of watching cable tv for the remainder of the evening.

“After all,” I calmly assured myself, “my reading habits had become atrocious, lately, and missing one evening of reruns might actually be beneficial.”

“Who knows? I reasoned further, “I might even dust off my copy of Tolstoy’s, “War and Peace” and take another stab at it.”

I then deftly ended my conversation with Ms. Delilah and turned my undivided attention to the situation at hand.

In the meantime, the Princess had procured one of our garden rakes and was banging around in the closet, presumably to entice the rat to find another more hospitable establishment.

Shrewdly deciding that we needed another plan of action, I relieved Princess Leia of her lightsaber (lest she do any further damage to our recently painted closet), bent over, and stuck my head in, to methodically inspect the closet.

The wily, wiry-tailed, Willard, who was actually behind us the entire time, suddenly appears from out of the blue, and makes a mad dash for the closet between our legs!

This, in turn, frightened the bejesus out of me, and caused me to unexpectedly lurch, at the already wobbly Princess.

Totally losing her balance, she tumbled backwards, and unbeknownst to us, precariously on top of the front doorbell.

Upset with the rat’s presence in our home, and slightly agitated with the doorbell’s earsplitting rendition of the Westminster’s bells, I eye-balled the fallen Princess and accusingly remarked,

“We don’t have enough uninvited guests tonight, we need MORE!?”

Benevolently ignoring my sarcasm and blatant disregard for her well-being, the Princess astutely concludes that it was her fall that created the chiming doorbell, and then suddenly observed Willard’s wiry tail scrambling up my favorite winter jacket and across the top of the coat rack.

As the vertically challenged Princess quickly attempted to corral the little bugger into one of our shoe boxes, I  decided (just as quickly) to relinquish the “relocation of said creature” to Princess Leia and her lightsaber; and auspiciously chose to retire to the comforts of my boudoir, to get a jump start on Tolstoy, and soothe my otherwise unsettled nerves.

“After all”, I reasoned, “I handled the simple-minded Ms. Dinwiddie, and this rat invasion has me totally out of my bubble and thoroughly wigged out!”

Twenty minutes later, the Princess stoically informed me that “Willard was gone”, and was pathetically soliciting my impartial assistance with “the little mess on the patio deck”.



I reluctantly opened the bedroom blinds of my patio door, and ostensibly noticed the Lazy Boy, along with a number of other  living room furniture pieces, was precariously perched on the outside deck.

It was then, that I inherently knew, that Tolstoy’s “War and Peace” would be dutifully waiting another 30 years or more, before I had another awe-inspiring opportunity to read it.

Oh well…..

Remember, People: at one time or another, we all end up with “rats” in our life.

Unfortunately, some of them just may come in the two-legged variety, and require more than a gentle nudge of a lightsaber to handle.

Have a great day!

And I’ll catch ya next adventure, looking at life from my shoes!


Boo gets the Gun and Lucie gets Snubbed!



For those of you that are “regular readers of my silliness”, you know the Princess and I have two certifiably wacked cats, named Molly and Boo.

Both cats have various “health issues,” which unfortunately, on more occasions than I care to admit, have indirectly caused  us to prematurely gray and acquire fluffy midriffs.

(Work with me here, People! You don’t expect me to blame the chocolate chip cookies for our fluffy midriffs, do you?! Stress can cause a myriad of health maladies! Among them, fluffy midriffs.)

Boo has a condition called “malabsorption syndrome” that causes her to constantly be hungry and “on the prowl for food.”

Like a newborn baby, my Siamese needs to eat regularly and howls (quite loudly) when she feels underfed – no matter what time of the day or night it is!

What drives me even more bonkers, though, is the fact that she jumps up onto our kitchen counter to prowl for food.

We’ve read all the latest info on what to do for this behavior, and have purchased more damn gizmos, than I care to admit, to try to change her behavior.

Ultimately, the cat deterrents caused us a great deal of pain and sent Boo merrily on her way with a smirk on her little face that basically said, “You dumb broads don’t have a clue what to do. Just meet my demands and everyone will be a happy camper.”




Last summer, we started using a squirt gun on her and discovered that the little bugger doesn’t like the squirt gun.


Great, me thinks!


We’ll just use the gun from now on and we’ll be good to go.


Yeah, right!


If you know anything about Siamese, they’re smart.


Some smarter than their owners, and Boo is no exception to that rule.


On the other hand, Molly is cute, but a few fries short of a happy meal, as my Uncle Tony likes to say.


At least, though, with Molly, you know if you frequently feed her, periodically pat her head, and methodically make sure she has fresh water every day to dunk her paws into (so she can drink), she’ll leave you alone.


As long as you let her sleep wherever (and whenever)  she wants to, and leave her to hell alone for most of the day, she’ll let you share her air space.


God forbid, though, you pet her when she’s lookin’ cute and approachable, and DOESN’T want to be petted!


She bites.


Leaves your hand intact and doesn’t draw blood, mind you, but damn well lets you know to get to hell away from her!


Molly’s the Princess’s cat.


They totally “get each other” and eerily have the same disposition.


Boo, on the other hand, is my cat.


High maintenance, but a love-bug.


You can grab her by her tail and hold her upside down and she’ll just stare at you like, “Seriously? WTS are you doing?”


Doesn’t have a mean bone in her body, but can drive a sober person to drink, when she’s hungry.


Kind of like me when my Buddha belly is hungry and my BP drops.


So, the “squirt gun solution” seemed just the answer to our little problem, except “the gun”, as we now refer to it, always seems to be missing or inevitably someplace not easily accessible when Boo is being a naughty girl.


One day, when the gun was missing and we were yelling to each other, “Where’s the gun? Where’s the gun? Get the gun!” we coincidently noticed Boo’s slight interest in what we were yelling and happened to observe that she jumped OFF the counter onto the floor, saving us the trouble of finding the “blasted gun”.


Being the discerning cat owners that we are, we aptly decided that we’d start yelling this question/command on those many occasions that we couldn’t easily locate it, and have done so now, for quite some time, with a moderate rate of success.


By pure happenstance this week, I mentioned to my Tuesday Tea Ladies Group, that I’d noticed our new neighbors scooting themselves and their baby carriage to the other side of the street, when they spotted me out walking in the morning, and that it was a tad disconcerting to me.

I was relatively confident that I was free of lotion goobers, nose drool, face zits, ratty sweatshirts, and not sporting any odd looking blue rubber rain suits.

And I was definitely feeling unsettled by their perceived snubbing, and didn’t have a clue as to why they’d intentionally try to avoid me.

So, Ada, one of my more direct friends, flippantly comments, “WTF! You and the Princess yell, ‘Where’s the gun? Where’s the gun? Get the gun!’, on a regular basis, and you wonder why your new neighbors are trying to avoid you?!”

“I KNOW you (very well, I might add) and I’d run like hell if I heard you saying that every night!”


Well, guess that little mystery is solved.

Be kind to each other, People! And if you’ve got a neighbor who’s a bit of a character and a “little different”, remember: Different is just different.

We’re all a bit odd, at times – some of us just a tad more than others.

I’ll catch ya next time, looking at life from my shoes.