Until We Meet Again

           I’ve told you quite a bit about our amazing cat, Simon. But now I have sad news. We lost him this week. He passed peacefully in his sleep, on a bench at the foot of our bed. We’re grateful that our church teaches we’ll have our pets again in heaven. I can only imagine the ruckus he’s stirring up there.

          This is the blog I was going to post about him today, and it still brings a smile to my face:

          I think Simon pities me. In fact, I think all cats pity their owners. First of all, no claws. Second of all, no tail. Third of all, a weird affection for dogs. The list goes on and on.

          But I think Simon most pities my lack of hunting ability. Whenever he sees me outside, I seem to be digging in the dirt. Don’t I know there won’t be a mouse under there, let alone a bird?

          And not once has he seen me climb a tree to raid a nest. Yet, you can see these nests with your bare eyes.

          Further, I never keep up my hunting skills. I do not fall on my side to wrestle with a small ball, nor do I pounce on a piece of string. I don’t suddenly dash through the house like a rocket, then hide behind the sofa. And I certainly don’t lick my coat to pretend I’m not watching a string.

          Maybe that’s why he curls up on my lap and purrs. He’s trying to comfort his poor, inept owner and let me know I’m lovable anyway.

          Thanks, Simon. I miss you.

          Be sure to subscribe to my Youtube Mom videos—you’ll occasionally see Simon wandering by.

They All Ran After the Farmer's Wife

         Here’s what you expect when you host an evening for the teenagers in your church: You expect them to gather in your twinkle-lit backyard and hear spiritual messages.

          Here is what you do not expect: A gathering of mice darting in and out of the honeysuckle, across the patio beams, and up and down the posts.

          It was like a dang Greek chorus, I’m telling you.

          Needless to say, it is difficult for any speaker to compete with a complete line of the Rockettes, as impersonated by pink-nosed little rodents.                   

          We had no idea our honeysuckle vines had become a housing project, and now we wonder if there could be more of these little varmints nesting in there.  NO WONDER OUR CAT KEEPS BRINGING THEM IN!

          What we need is a colony of cats to catch and dine upon the colony of mice. But not in front of guests. We’ve had enough theatre to give us a questionable hosting reputation.

          We called an exterminator, but until he arrives I couldn’t help thinking what other animals might like to eat mice. Snakes came to mind, but then... perhaps not.

Nature just doesn’t get it. So stay inside, I’m telling you. Read my books and watch my videos.

Three Blind Mice?

          I get it; everyone loves St. Bob. But why does this focus group have to include our cat, Simon? We got that wingnut out of a box of free kittens and he turned out to be a Chartreux, a cat bred in France to be a champion mouser.

          However, nobody said, “By the way, he’ll be bringing those mice into your bedroom at night.”  Or, “I hope you can do math, because if you can divide three into two, that’s how often he’ll be doing this.”

          Yes, over the last two nights he has brought in THREE mice, and has wailed at the top of his lungs to let us know.  Also, he’s been drenched because he doesn’t have the sense to come in out of the rain. He also brings in birds. And evidently dreams of them:

          But he will come in to present his gifts to Bob, his favorite human.  (I am just the Plus One who scrubs white carpeting with hydrogen peroxide to clean up after the murder.)

          “Just marry him and get it over with,” I muttered to Bob last night, after the third hideous episode.

          Richie, our eldest, says cats do this because they think we can’t hunt.  Really.  And what genius determined this? Did they interview cats to see how they think?  Did my tax dollars pay for a grant to talk to cats? Do hunters receive no little gifts of prey from their cats? I’ll bet you a gray Chartreux that cats do this just because they want to, and are not analyzing our weaponry skills or the meat we haul home.

          But if Richie’s right, and Simon knows we’re now vegan, we are in major trouble.

But here's the perfect thing to do when your cat wakes you up in the night: Read one of my books! And, dare I say, they make wonderful Christmas gifts.