Writers Corner July 5, 2013
DE-CATTING FURNITURE
by LL Bolme, Post Falls
I was sure my cat secretly wanted to be a bird. That was the root of the problem. I noticed it when her favorite resting spots started looking like nests. It wasn't the hours she spent at the window, studying the finer points of landing and take-off. Or the jealous twitch at the tip of her tail when she watched a bird take flight. It wasn't that she slew robins and sparrows in such great numbers that after a while, even the sight of a Marshmallow Peep brought tears to my eyes. The thing that really got me was the cat hair, whorled like crop circles on chair cushions and bedspreads throughout the house.
I had to do something. I had to de-cat the furniture.
The question was how to manage the nesting habits of my hairy Harpy wannabe. I decided I needed a stimulus that would provide a new focus for her. It had to serve the dual purpose of reducing the appeal of her nesting sites, but to prevent a relapse, it also needed to be perpetual. So I considered some things I knew about cats: Cats are balloon-ish and solitary. Cats are planners and serious-minded. They want to see, but not be seen.
In contrast, a dog lives for the instant gratification of interacting with the world. He's focused on what's immediately before him. A dog sees a tree, not a forest - and he pees on each tree as he comes to it. He doesn't plan, he just pees.
With these things in mind, I acquired a dog. An orange Pomeranian puppy which, despite its resemblance to a fox, exhibited none of the sly thinking one might hope. The dog's age was a key consideration. I thought an older dog might be less than enthusiastic about cat management, likely having already experienced the downside of an upside down feline. Conversely, a pup would embody both the fun-loving attitude and zeal required for de-catting furniture. Moreover, a pup's ignorance of feline biases, would make him less apprehensive about the whole process.
Almost immediately the pup began to press the cat with the excitement of a six year old at an Easter egg hunt. His favorite forms of intimidation became rushing and shoulder bumping. Being a sappy-minded pup, I think he might have believed she wanted to be a duck because he initiated his own version of Duck, Duck, Goose, launching himself toward the south end of the cat and planting his nose squarely at the base of her upraised tail.
His antics emphasized the balloon-ish quality of the cat as she shot upward, followed by the sound of escaping air as she descended with a hiss. The perpetrator, standing at a safe distance, seemed pleased about helping the cat take to the air - an effort he's keen to repeat though the cat appears to have reconsidered her ideas about flying.
Subsequent to acquiring the dog, the cat developed a liking for one particularly high bed in the house. It's the only place she sleeps now, out of sight of the dog. In their mostly brief interactions, she tolerates the pup, giving him a bat on the nose occasionally as a reminder to watch his P's and Q's. The dog maintains his inclinations.
All in all, the results have been satisfactory and the amount of cat hair on the furniture is negligible. The cat has restricted herself to a singular place in the house where she can lay undisturbed and think cat thoughts. It's possible her ideas may now involve revenge on the dog - she doesn't seem to like him.
I'm not sure if she still thinks about birds so it's hard to say how she feels about robins or sparrows but one thing is clear - she doesn't like "gooses."
Book review: Tom Wolfe's 'Back to Blood'
By Steve Novak, Coeur d'Alene
The importance of this novel in illustrating the disintegration of American Culture cannot be overstated. Tom Wolfe's Miami is rushing forward in a mad rage charging headlong toward its own self-destruction; leading the way, as the entire nation evolves ever closer toward a multilingual tower of babble populated by an army of multicultural hate groups. Blacks, Anglos and Latinos, each with their own diametrically opposed cultural norms and rules of conduct, their own private animosities, and racist and ethnic prejudices against every other group, is put into a blender and spiced up with the vilest of hatred for those of their own kind who dare to break-bread with a member of any other of these groups.
Within this poisonous brew - WASPs, White Anglo Saxon Protestants, are essentially treated as an irrelevant species and seen as little more than a collection of immoral deviants and spineless bureaucrats, who seem totally unaware of their own impending doom and so are hardly worthy of any consideration whatsoever. The unspoken implication seems clear; once these other groups are in charge they are not going to be interested in working longer and harder and taxing themselves ever higher to provide all the world's most wonderful social services and civil rights for those in our nation who they have long despise.
This is absolutely a wicked story of traditional morals gone to hell and hate like you've never seen; nonetheless, the author does offer a glimmer of hope and a possible pathway out of this Armageddon with three heroes; one Black, one Cuban and one Anglo who put themselves in jeopardy by standing up to their own communities, and the novel's last line is a beautifully stinging bit of personal retribution. Still, after this blistering read I wouldn't drive through any Miami neighborhood in broad daylight without a nine millimeter and a bullet-proof bible.
ODE TO THE ICE CREAM TRUCK
Where is it, it's already June
It better be soon!
Hey, what's that I hear, cupping
my ear?! I actually tingle
hearing (that) jingle
He's near now, that tune the same
as last year
Let's see...What shall I choose...?
Well, for sure by far
that chocolate ice cream bar!
Virginia Garner,
Post Falls
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