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.

Worst Game in the Universe

          What were you doing at 2:30 in the morning last night? Sleeping? Gee, that must be nice.

          I WAS UP TRYING TO CATCH THE STUPID LIVE MOUSE OUR CAT BROUGHT IN.

          Yes, Simon still thinks he’s training us to catch mice, thus he brings in LIVE ones and LETS THEM GO.  In our bedroom. In the middle of the night. Look at this hunter's focus:

         Naturally the mouse ran under our bed. Then Simon ran under our bed. Then we heard Simon ricocheting off the bed frame for ten minutes. Then the mouse zoomed over to our love seat and Simon chose to lie down and forget all about the mouse. Probably giving us an “F” in mouse-catching, and putting it on our permanent record.

          I picture this mouse outside, waiting on the curb with a little suitcase, saying, “Oh, here’s my Uber,” and jumping into Simon’s mouth. Then he gets a free ride into a free house with free food.  Sure, there’s a workout program involving a cat, but really that’s just a fitness perk.

So if you’re planning to visit the Hiltons anytime soon, we’ll be happy to let you stay in our bedroom.

But I’d stay home and read my books until the coast is clear.

Alexa Lays an Egg

            I just read an article in Consumer Reports that said bird songs can lift your mood, according to a study done of 655 hikers in Colorado.

Well, hot-diggity dove! I immediately asked Alexa to play some, to see if it worked. It started with a soft squawk.

No sooner had I opened this Pandora’s Box than Mickey, our Terrier/Chihuahua. came racing into the kitchen, hackles up, barking like the maniac she is. I could just imagine the wheels turning in her little grape-sized brain.

Then our cat, Simon, charged in, eyes the size of hubcaps, fur puffed out. He kept kept staring out the back door, on high alert for a bird foolish enough to rest on our patio. I had to wonder—are these recordings of injured birds who are easy to catch?

Mickey continued carrying on until I told Alexa to stop the bird songs. Did this lift my mood?  You tell me.

BUT… my books will definitely lift your mood. Fine them all right here.

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.