Rethinking My Love of Cats

How was your Fourth of July?  Here is how mine went:

1. I do not get to attend my friend's blowout, over-the-top, fantastic celebration because she lives on Lakeside Golf Course in Toluca Lake where they have a huge fireworks show, and I live 7 hours away in Rocklin. Not on a golf course.

2. I also do not get to attend the other phenomenal celebration of another friend of mine who actually lives just a few blocks away because St. Bob has to work all day. This family is famous for its smoker barbecue, killer steak rubs, and mounds of chocolate, all of which I miss. And not in that order.

3. It is a sizzling 112 degrees in Rocklin, so I do not barbecue so much as a hotdog.  Everything is already barbecuing anyway-- the plants, for example, right before my eyes.

4. But here's when it gets exciting.  At 9 pm, like everywhere, the fireworks begin.  Residents of our neighborhood thoughtfully chose the LOUDEST firecrackers they could find, ten times louder than the usual ones.  Mickey, of course, runs through the house barking, but this time Simon (our assassin cat, remember?)  loses it.  He runs through the house howling, hunching over, and scratching the carpet. I know what this means, so I chase him upstairs and down FOUR TIMES and put him outside each time, at which point he dashes back in through the doggie door even though it is a DOGGIE door, and even though I am trying to block the flap with my foot.

5.  Finally he rockets upstairs and dives under my bed. Still howling. I fall to my knees and pull up the dust ruffle to pull him out of there, but I am too late.  A HUMONGOUS pile of cat poop is under my side of the bed (of course), REEKING.  Bob's wrist is in a cast so he cannot help me move this heavy, cast iron, king-sized bed.  I am sweating from all this chasing around already, but now I have to move the bed alone, sweat even more, and then clean up the carpet, spray odor abatement stuff all over, and take the entire disaster scene out to the trash.  Simon is sitting a few feet away, watching like he had nothing to do with it.

  6. Bob makes a comment about the fireworks literally scaring the you-know-what out of Simon.  And I have to sit in front of a fan for fifteen minutes, just to cool off enough to get ready for bed.  Where I do not want to go, and where I will have nightmares now, and where Simon will undoubtedly revisit his scene of the crime soon.

And that's how my Fourth of July went, in six easy steps you can replicate to celebrate our nation's birth, anytime you wish.

Okay, I can understand if you don't want to be my house guest.  But you could at least subscribe to this blog, or buy one of my books.  Do it for America.