Currently, we have one rabbit (Suzy), three banty hens, three worthless but loving dogs (Sheba, Yukon and Baxter) who love to be underfoot and sleep in doorways and three cats, Uff Da, Diablo and more about the third a bit further down. We have also had, for brief periods, frogs, turtles, raccoons and possums. These last two types were caught in a live trap we kept in the back by the chicken yard as a safety protection. When my two legged trials were younger, I would keep the varmints for a few days so the children could see them before releasing them a few miles away – I don’t like to kill anything. Stephen continues that practice for the same reason. 

Two or three weeks ago, Stephen came in and said, “You’ll never believe what I’ve caught this time.” Bored (we’ve caught our own cats and our own rabbit at various time), I asked “What?”

He brought the trap to show me. Inside was a white kitten with tan ears and tail, barely past the stage of opening its eyes. Backed as far from Stephen as it could get, that tidbit of a cat was hissing and showing its teeth. 

Where that thing came from, I haven’t the foggiest idea. I know it did not come from any of the three nearby houses, and the next house is at least a quarter of a mile away. Perhaps it was dumped, even so it is a long up-hill climb through brush and woods from the road to our chicken house.

Continuing a stupid practice we have followed for years with stray kittens, we brought the little beast into the house, trap and all. The way it was hissing, we didn’t try to get it out of the cage, but slipped some food and water into the cage for it. It would have none of that! It was not until the next day that the tiny terror decided the food might be better than starvation, but it still backed away and refused to eat if we approached.

Finally, we decided it was safe to open the cage and introduce it to friendly handling, a litter box and other in-house amenities – food and water dishes placed in convenient (for the kitten) spots. 

That kitten became a holy terror, a streak of lightning. It dashed from one place of safety, such as under a book shelf to another – under something else. On the way it would attack dangerous objects, such as bare feet and the tails of our disinterested dogs. With time, it became more courageous, dashing over and under things, from under the bookshelf to on top of a chair to under the computer table. It found hanging wires, such as the telephone cord, and those beloved dog tails particularly fascinating. One of my favorite incidents occurred while she was attacking Yukon’s tail. Finally, Yukon, trying to sleep, tired of having her tail batted about and raised it over her body. Like a flash this several ounce dynamo of cat leapt after it, only to land in the center of Yukon’s stomach. This aroused Yukon. With unexpected energy, she raised her head and looked at the kitten as it scampered off.

I named this newest member of the menagerie, with her white fur and tan tail and ears, after  Skitter, a pure bred Siamese and my pet for seventeen years (also the meanest cat I’ve ever owned). Stephen and Sheila have other names. Stephen’s name for her is Mayhem, Sheila’s prefers “Ferocious Engine of Destruction” as her name. Certainly both fit.

As my bride prepared lunch the other day, I settled in the family room to set up a movie for us to watch while eating. I looked forward to lunch that day. She had purchased a frozen diet meal of shrimp and rice which is a favorite of mine. To my surprise she came in with cheese and crackers. She had dropped my shrimp and rice. It turns out I’m not the only one in the house who enjoys shrimp and rice. Baxter and Yukon, our pure-bred mongrel shepherds, had cleaned the floor beautifully.

I fear I might have black fly disease. For the unsophisticated: black flies attack deer. Deer, who catch the disease black flies carry, die a slow death; tired and starving. Black fly disease is not supposed to affect humans.  I have been assured that even infected venison is safe to eat. When walking last year, I received numerous black fly bites. These only annoyed me at the time, but now I find myself tired a lot of the time. The medical profession is making a fortune off of me, with operations and treatments. But they are overlooking the real culprit, my problems have nothing to do with a broken chest, bad arteries or age. I have black fly disease. After all, I am a dear human.  Ask Sheila.

For some reason my son Eric brought four sets of colorful cotton pants for me on his last visit. They were for night wear. Either he saw me walking about on an earlier visit in the long underwear pants, slightly worn, that I purchased in 1982, or my bride had made disparaging comments about them to him. Anyway, Sheila has appropriated two of these. This morning, a cold one, she was walking about in them when we were preparing to go to the Cardiac Club. I got dressed, or undressed, to go (I don’t believe in excessive or heavy clothing when I have to weigh in every time) when I noticed my bride had changed into her jeans. Driving to the hospital, I asked why she changed. “Because they are pajamas, not outer wear.” “Why did you tell me to wear them yesterday when you refuse to wear them today” I asked? “Well if I went in there in pajamas, Mary Ann and Tammy (the nurses in charge) would check me for a fever and then send me to a psychiatrist, but if you wore them they would only say, “That’s Bill,” and forget it.

Mary Ann likes to write advice, especially diet advice on the blackboards. This morning one board was empty so I decided to help her out when she was distracted by business. I wrote, “Every one knows that cream is very light. It floats to the top in milk bottles, so, if you wish to lose weight, pour whipping cream over everything you eat. You’ll float on the scale.”

I saw Mary Ann read it, look at me, and shrug.  Why she looked at me, I don’t know.