Monday, October 14, 2013

His Excellency, Tryggvasson Ten Eyck

For those of you who've been wondering,

"What has Trygg been up to?" 

Here it is.

Trygg, traveled to Brussels to file Amicus Felidae Briefs with the World Court. 

This is what happened.

I wake up early to the smell of coffee.  This hasn't happened since Trygg left for Europe. 

I go out, and there his is, at the table. He made the coffee, he's reading the paper, he looks a bit tired.

"You could have told me you were coming home."

"I'm not smiling...."

"What happened?"

"Simple.  I decided that this whole EuroCrisis was having a bad effect on the feline population of Europe, so I go to Europe to the World Court to file Amicus Felidae briefs."

"Amicus Curiae?"

"That's friend of the court briefs.  I file friend of the cat briefs."

"I see.  And?"

"I spoke to the Judges in Chambers and the Judge told me I didn't have any standing to file Amicus Felidae briefs with the court.  And I said, as a cat, I have four legs, you only have two. Therefore, I have twice as much standing to file the papers as you do to dismiss them.  And he said, "On an individual basis you are correct. However, there are more of us than you, and collectively, we have more legs to stand on than you do."  And I said, so your going to throw my case out? And he said, "No. We're not throwing your case out, we're throwing you out."

"I see.  Now this begs the question, how did you get to Europe in the first place?"

"I travelled in the Diplomatic Couch."


"I mean pouch.  I travelled in the Diplomatic Pouch."


"All right. Look.  The Australian Ambassador to the UK wanted to bring a gift to the Brits on behalf of Australia. And, he decided to bring a pair of Kangaroos.  And--"

"And you travelled in the Diplomatic Pouch."


"Which doesn't explain the long absence."

"Well, to increase my standing, I managed to become appointed Diplocat to the European Union."




"And, I've been fanny-packing through Europe looking for support to bring a class action."

"Not backpacking?"

"Slim, I weight about 5 kilos."


"This is about the European Union, not Western Union.  Anyway, I sleep in backpacks.  I just poured some Kitten Kaboodle into a fanny pack and went on the road."

"I see.  How did it work out for you?"

"I'm back, n'est-ce pas?"


"Yes.  We indeed. it is nice to be back.  Enjoy your coffee.  I'm going to take a nap.  I'll fill you in on the details later."

Trygg went off to bed.

I poured my coffee.

Even the Cat Winks.

Warmest regards,


Copyright (c) 2013 Slim Fairview
All rights reserved.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Tik-tak-tik-tak-tik-tik-tik-tak, ding. Click. Zip. Thunk

Tik-tak-tik-tak-tik-tik-tik-tak, ding. Click. Zip. Thunk. Tik-tak-tik-tak-tik-tik-tik-tak, ding. Click. Zip. Thunk.

Do you know that feeling you get when you are in a light stage of sleep, early in the morning, very early, and you hear something that sounds familiar but you don’t know what it is and you ignore it?

This is what happened.

I’m lying in bed, on the verge of waking up.  Trygg did not wake me up for breakfast in the middle of the night as usual.  As I am lying there, I begin to hear it again.  Tik-tak-tik-tak-tik-tik-tik-tak, ding. Click. Zip. Thunk. Tik-tak-tik-tak-tik-tik-tik-tak, ding. Click. Zip. Thunk.

I’ve heard this sound before.  However, from where, I don’t remember.  I get up and head for the kitchen.  Trygg made the coffee. To hear him tell it. (Actually, he doesn’t make the coffee. I set it up the night before he just plugs it in.)

I hear the sound again. Tik-tak-tik-tak-tik-tik-tik-tak, ding. Click. Zip. Thunk.
Tik-tak-tik-tak-tik-tik-tik-tak, ding. Click. Zip. Thunk.

It is coming from beyond the sofa.  I peek over the arm.  There’s Trygg, sitting on the floor, in front of a Smith-Corona portable typewriter.  I go pour my coffee.  I return, sit down on the sofa, sip my coffee, and then lean over.

“Good morning.”



Trygg looks up.  He gives me that bewildered cat look.  “Give me a moment.”

Tik-tak-tik-tak-tik-tik-tik-tak, ding. Click. Zip. Thunk. Tik-tak-tik-tak-tik-tik-tik-tak, ding. Click. Zip. Thunk.  Tik-tak-tik-tak-tik-tik-tik-tak, ding. Click. Zip. Thunk.


“Okay, what?”

“I’m finished.”

“Trygg, why are you typing on a Smith-Corona portable typewriter?”

“Because I found a Smith-Corona portable typewriter in a recycling bucket out at the curb on the next block on recycling day.”

“So you lugged it home.”


Trygg is still being evasive.

“Are you going to tell me what this is all about?”

“Well, you’ve done a pretty good job of editing my blog; however, I thought, now that I’m starting to sell books, it’s bad form for me to have you do so much of the work editing.  Therefore, I decided I would sit down and type out my monographs for you to post on my blog.”

“I see.”

“Are you okay with that?”

“Sure.  No problem.”

Trygg hands me the hard copy.

“Now what?”

“What do you mean, now what?  I want you to look it over before I uploaded it to my blog.  By the way, this relic is before my time.  You might have to show me how it works. What do I do to upload my posting?”

“Trygg, it doesn’t work that way.”


“You can’t upload what you typed to your blog.”

“Why not?  I have the password—I mean; you have the password.  If you don’t want to do it, fine.  I’ll do it.  Which buttons do I push?”

“Trygg, It’s a typewriter.  Typewriters don’t hook up to the internet.”

“They don’t?”


“Then what did people do with them?”
 “Type stuff.”

“Directly to a print out?”

“Sort of.”

“Then what?”

“Then, you either put it in an envelope and mail it, or put in a file.”

“Mail. I heard of that.”

“If you want to upload your monograph to your blog, you have to retype it into your computer or your iPad, or scan it, edit it, and upload it.”

Trygg looks down at the typewriter.  He looks back up at me.  He looks back at the typewriter. He looks back up at me.

“I just want to know one thing.  Why did people ever use these things?”

“Because that is all we had before Steve Jobs invented personal computers.  Now I want to know just one thing.  Whatever possessed you to drag that thing all the way home from the next block?”

“All right.  I’ll tell you.  On one condition.”


“You tell me why you keep a box of carbon paper in your desk drawer?”

“Are you hungry?”


“Let’s go.  You were nice enough to plug in the coffee, I’ll make breakfast.”

Even the Cat Winks =^.~=



Copyright © 2011 Slim Fairview

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Trygg is Grounded

This is what happened.
About two weeks ago, Trygg came to me to ask if he and his friends could go camping over the weekend.

It turns out; this was supposed to be a back yard thing. I’m thinking, a rope between two trees, and a blanket over the rope, some ghost stories, sandwiches, snipe hunt for the kittens. I give him permission.
It turns out the tent is a pup tent. I know this because Trygg asked me to help him set it up, not because I found the box from L. L. Bean
(He brought the ruler so that put him in charge.)
Well, after packing a few things to eat, off they go.
I give it a day or two then go out to check up on them. No Trygg. No cats. The kittens run to hide whenever I go outside so that is no help.
My wife starts to worry. I tried covering for Trygg the first day or two, but now we have to go out walking to look for him. My wife is starting to think we won’t see him again. The way I see it, the longer he stays away the more afraid he is to come home.
(I was his age once. The longest I stayed away was an afternoon. However, as Trygg points out, I am not a cat.)
The weekend comes and goes. A neighbor did report seeing him on the table on the front porch when we were away, but left.
Four days later, he returns.
I hear the “thump”, his thump, early—very early—one morning. I recognise Trygg’s thump. I get up to let him in. He skulks over to his food dish. I don’t say a word. I go back to bed.
“What is it?”
“He’s back. I let him in.”

My wife is beside herself with tears.
“After my wife goes out, I tell Trygg he’s grounded until further notice.”
He says nothing. He skulks off to his bed. He stops.
“Aren’t you going to take away my iPad privileges?”
“No. Being responsible is your responsibility. I am not going to be your nanny.”
A few days go by. Trygg seems to be under the weather. (We did have the big thunderstorm.) He sneezes a bit. He knows not to play the sympathy card.
I know he’s not well because he comes out in his robe and slippers with the ear thermometer hanging out of his ear. Normally I would find this funny. Not now.
Now I am starting to become concerned. He is starting to act like a house-guest instead of a house-cat.
His modus operandi is simple. He wants to eat, he comes in, wakes me up, I follow him into the kitchen, sit on the floor, and watch him eat. If I am up, he comes over to the sofa, meows; I get up, follow him into the kitchen, sit on the floor, and watch him eat.
Now, things are different. He lies on the floor, instead of the back of the sofa, and doesn’t say anything. If I get up to go into the kitchen to get something, he follows me in to eat. He seems too embarrassed or uncomfortable to eat unless I go into the kitchen first. (He’s a good house-guest, but that is not the point. He is supposed to be a part of the family.)
He isn’t coming in at night to sleep on the bed. He started using his litter box instead of asking me to let him out. He still uses his napkin, puts his dishes in the sink, and makes his bed, but I get the impression something is bothering him beyond simply being grounded.
Yes, I did try talking to him about it. He just says he and his friends decided to go off exploring and lost track of the time.
That’s his story and he’s sticking to it.
Even the cat winks =^.~=



Copyright © 2011 Slim Fairview
All rights reserved.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Trygg Milks It

"Want hammy? Want hammy?"

(Want hammy?)

I go into the kitchen and there's Trygg lying on the floor, on his back.



My wife is getting a deli bag out of the fridge.

Trygg looks over at me. "Meow."

My wife is feeding Trygg. Trygg is playing up this whole CAT thing big-time. My wife? My wife is going crazy over it. Okay, no harm done. That was the other day. Last night?

"Who want chickie? Want chickie? You my Chickie Boy? Hmmm?"

Trygg is sitting upright, in front of the sofa, by my wife. My wife has bits of chicken from the roast chicken the other night.

"See! He knows."

(I do not correct my wife on the use of pronouns. Still, it makes it difficult for me to teach Trygg, but I digress.)

"I taught him, hammy and chickie and out. And tweepy." (Sleep.)

Trygg is downing the chicken like he's never seen a meal. Then, too, this is in the parlour. Rules? Out the window.

After dinner Trygg is up on the back of the sofa taking a bath in the window. (I really do have to teach him something about modesty.)

The situation has become complicated. It seems that a mother and her three kittens have appeared. Now, Pood and Friend are letting the kittens crash in their pad: It has carpeting, use of the patio, the picnic table, step service. (Meals twice a day, fresh water, and the snacks.)

I am starting to wonder if Trygg knew they were coming. He eats Kit n Kaboodle. Lately, he's been calling it kitten kaboodoo. That, I know, he learned from my wife.

"That is so cuuuuuute," he'd said.

"That is what my wife says about you."

"It works both ways. What? Don't you think you do things that I think are cute?"

"Like what?"

"Like, uh, oops. Uh,"

"Like when my wife says, 'kitten kaboodoo?"

"Yeah. Nice save."

"Never mind."

None-the-less, I tell him about Jennifer and the kittens. He suggests the consulting thing.

"We could have discussed this last night. I could have worked up some preliminary figures."

"You were too busy dining on chickie. Chickie Boy."

"You talk to Jennifer. I'll be working on the kitten thing."


"Please what."


"Please talk to Jennifer. I'll put together some ideas for the kittens."

"Custom consulting on spec?"

"The same information can be used over again."

I get ready to leave. All of a sudden, I see all this tying together. Trygg's disappeared. I am not surprise.

Even the cat winks =^.~=



Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

de Trygg: Eminence Grise or Enfant Terrible

This introduces the conversation I am having with Trygg at 4:15 am.

"L'Enfant Terrible or Eminence Grise? That is the question," Trygg says.

"That is Shakespeare, and it's misquoted."

"Don't change the subject. I am at a crucial point in my life."

"As Yogi Berra said, 'When you come to a fork in the road, take it.'"

"And who am I supposed to be? Boo Boo?

(Let it go.)

"What is this crucial crisis in self you are tormenting yourself with at 4:15 in the morning."

"I am not in mourning. I am facing up to the challenge. I am seeking my identity."

"And all this time you've been telling me you're a cat, I believed you."

"Cat's are the quintessential existentialists."

"When do you ever determine your own development through sheer acts of will."

"When I decided to go for my G.E.D."

"Touche. Which brings me to the next question. After months of acting like Andy Capp, why this emphasis on the Gallic? And, please, spare me the pun.:

"My Latin. Imperium Galliarum. And it wouldn't hurt you to posh things up a bit. Croissant instead of biscuits. Cafe instead of coffee. Filet de Boeuf en Croûte with a duxelle filling."

At this point I notice Trygg is drinking his water from a demitasse. I also notice he separate his chicken and cheese onto two plates.

"And here I am having a cup of coffee and a piece of toast." I regretted the words as soon as I said them.

"Not French Toast?"

"Ran out of maple syrup."

"That's French-Canadian."

I have a feeling this is not going to get better.

"I'll clean up. You go read your paper."

I go into the parlour to read the paper. Trygg is quietly moving things about in the kitchen.

Trygg comes in dragging a book.

(A book?)

"No iPad this morning?'


"On-line dictionary."

"This is the la Rousse."

"Anything like the sauraus."

"Nothing to do with dinosaurs, mon ami."

(How did I know that was coming?)

"Though a dictionary, hmph, I mean, sérieuse-ment."

I see Trygg has his notebook out again. The good one I bought him after he moved in. I am about to ask him what this is all about, but I am not up to a litany on etiquette at this hour. And, too, he remembered the rule: No fountain pen on the sofa.

Trygg closes his eyes and smiles. I am beginning to suspect something. While he's smiling with his eyes closed is a good time to find out.

"How is Kelly, bon ami?"

"Mmm, ooh la la."

"Is Kelly French?"

"On her Mother's side."

"Don't forget iris."

"Iris? Whom is Iris?"


"When you go to see Kelly. Aller à visiter. Bring Kelly some irides. Flowers."

"Ah! Iris latifolia."

"Of course."

"Great idea. Je vous remercie! May I leave now?

I get up to let Trygg out. I imagine I shall have to weather the storm. Still, if it helps him to improve his manners....

Even the cat winks =^.~=



Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Petty Fours and Galoshes

"Cat's don't wear galoshes."

"It was a petty four."

(Petty four?)

"Do you mean, metaphor?"

"Pardon my French. Metaphor. I dragged out that booster seat you call a dictionary."

"You mean that dictionary you call a booster seat."

"Whatever. I was looking up Simon the Beaver.

(Simon the Beaver?)

"The French existentialist."

"Do you mean, Simone de Beauvoir?"

"You complain when I say things in French, you complain when I say things in English."

"The burden of the existentialist, Trygg. Now, what does this have to do with galoshes?"

"Simone de Beauvoir is French. Simone de Beauvoir is an existentialist. I am not French. I am a cat. Ipso facto, I am a catalyst.

(A catalyst?)

"Which brings us back to petty fours."

I don't know why, but I get a bad feeling about this.

"Does this have anything to do with your rattling about in the kitchen in the middle of the night?"

"Middle of the night is comparative."

"Never mind."

"I made you petty fours. Come on. Let's go eat."

I follow Trygg into the kitchen. There I open up the fridge to find sandwiches on a plate covered in a napkin. Actually, it's one sandwich, crusts removed, cut into four. I take it out."

"Chicken salad and cress petty fours."

"Two each?"

I get that bewildered cat look.

"I am a cat. I don't eat sandwiches."

I serve Trygg the chicken on a plate. Hold the mayo. I pour myself a cup of tea.

"Would you like some tea?"

"I don't drink tea. I'm a cat.

I pour Trygg's water into one of the tea cups. I put his lunch down on the floor. I sit beside him. Trygg starts to unroll his napkin.



"We say grace."

I'm sitting there eating the petty fours when my wife comes in. (In French it's petit fours, cakes not sandwiches, but I'm not going to split hairs with Trygg after his gracious gesture.)

"Aw...that is so precious."

My wife looks at us all gooey.

"I'm going out." She gives me a kiss. "This is so, so, you. Maybe I'll pick up something special for dinner. Just for the two of us--and Trygg.

My wife leaves.

Trygg looks at me.

"See? I'm a catalyst."

I still don't know what this has to do with galoshes. However, the chicken and cress sandwiches are delicious; and Trygg did cut the crusts off. He's not allowed to use the sharp knives so I don't know how he managed it. But I'm not complaining. I offer Trygg more chicken then pour myself another cup of tea and join Trygg back on the floor.

Even the cat winks =^.~=



Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Trygg Visits his Mom for Mother's Day

I took off a few days. From keeping you up to date on Trygg. That is because Trygg took off for a few days. He went to see his mom for Mother's Day.

He came back late yesterday. No problem.

"How did it go? Was your Mom surprised to see you?"

"Oh, yeah. It was a big get-together," Trygg said. "My brothers and sisters, that's about 20, then there were my aunts, another 4, plus cousins....I guess it was all tolled about 100 or so."

(100 or so?)

Trygg says this in his matter of fact way.

"Glad you had a good time."

Trygg hops up on the sofa and sits close to me. He looks up at me.


"Promise you won't think this is silly?"

"Of course not."

"I got my mom something for Mother's Day. I just wanted to tell you about it. I want to know what you think."

"Okay." (Oh, Lord.) "What did you get your Mom?"

"Well, first, I gave her a feather on a string. Then, a jingle bell. Then..."


"Well, I gave her the toy you made for me. I hope you're not hurt or insulted, or--"

"No, Trygg. In fact, I am very proud that you thought the toy I made for you was good enough to give to your Mom. And the other presents were great too. I specially like the jingle bell."

"Mom used to play with me when I was a kitten. She'd bat the jingle bell around and I'd chase it. That seems so long ago. It got lost, I guess. You know how it is when you have all those kittens around."

"I think it was a very touching gift. And I want to thank you for sharing. That is so special. It means so much to me."

"I didn't mean for you to get all mushy."

"Sorry. So, anything else happen?"

"My Grandmother came."

"Really? That must have been great."

"It was. Still, speaking of great, Grandma couldn't stay long. She went to visit her mother."

"Your Great-grandmother?"

"It sometimes works that way."

"Of course."

"Great Grandma was going to come too, but then, with all the aunts and cousins and all, we would have had more than 200 for Mother's Day. Not a really cool present for Mom."

"Well, I am glad you had a good time."

I noticed Trygg start to get misty. That is so unlike Trygg. We just sat there quietly for a few minutes and then he got up.

"It's getting late. I think I'll take a nap before bed-time."

Trygg went and pulled his blanket from under his chair and crawled up onto the back of the sofa to take a nap. I went to pour a cup of tea and read the paper.

Even the cat winks =^.~=




Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

Monday, May 2, 2011

What's Normal?

What's Normal?

Normal: Of and or pertaining to the norms.

Norms: Prevalent characteristics of a demographic subset.

This subject came up the other day after Trygg found my old dictionary. He dragged it out and began flipping through the pages.

"This is so cool," he said. "You can look words up in this thing just like a real dictionary."

"It is a real dictionary."

"No, but, I mean, there aren't any links, no hotspots, I can't copy paste anything into an email. How dull is this?"

I went back to reading and ignored him. He continued flipping though the book.

This is how it really started.

See, I have no problem with Trygg doing things around the house that I consider normal. Like flossing. However, Trygg and I do have a few grey areas. For example, the other day he was going to see his girlfriend, Kelly. I got out his dental floss.

"Your breath smells like tuna fish."

"Thank you. What's the floss for?"

"To floss before you go out."

"Can I use yours?"

"May I use yours."

"You don't like mine, it's minty."

(I don't pursue this.)

"Why do you want to use my dental floss?"

"I don't want the minty stuff to kill the smell of the tuna fish."

I hand Trygg my floss. For a moment, I forgot he is a cat. And therein lies the problem. I mean, putting his dishes in the sink, making his bed, fine. Then he goes and does something totally off the wall and I have trouble understanding him. For example:

Last night, and again this morning, he kept walking around and through my legs, rubbing up against me, going over to his food dish, taking a bite or two, coming back, rubbing my leg, walking back to his food dish, eating a few bites, and so on. This, I don't understand. I just don't see this as normal behaviour. Why does he do this? He woke me up twice last night to watch him eat. Then, again, this morning.

Is Trygg insecure all of a sudden? He seems normal. He still uses his napkin. He licks up any spills around his water dish. He remembers to lick his paws before coming into the house. Why, all of a sudden, is he putting on a real performance at meal time? Or whatever he considers meal time. There, however, I have no grounds for dispute. I eat at off times as well.

I can even understand and allow for his getting excited over Arsenals loss and toilet-papering the bathroom and soaping up the mirror. I mean, let's be real here. Cat's do play with toilet paper.

If all goes along as normal, we will man up and move on. It will pass. Still, I don't understand it. Perhaps someone could explain it. Trygg is too reticent on these issues and it would be rude for me to ask.

Even the cat winks =^.~=




Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

Monday, April 25, 2011

Trygg's Paradox

We know what bothers cats. We know what to do about it. Why do we keep bothering cats?

This is what Trygg and I were discussing early this morning. It hearkens to when we discussed making pulled pork sandwiches and coleslaw using a slow cooker. Also, to Trygg's plan to become a consultant.

Trygg's motto: Find a need and fill it. People need cats. I'm a cat. I fill a need.

That and his admonition: Do you want me to tell you how to sell what you make or how to make what will sell?

"What does this have to do with Trygg's Paradox," I ask?

"I like ham. You know I like ham. People make ham for Easter. You made pork loin."

Trygg is miffed about dinner Sunday. He was really looking forward to it. He paced the floor for an hour. (Better than the five hours for pulled pork sandwiches, still.)

"You made bacon for breakfast. Then, you cut it up and try to get me to eat it by cutting it up into small pieces. This is why people need consultants. To help them to understand their cats. Now, if you'd consulted with me first, I would have suggested ham and eggs for breakfast, then you could have had left-over ham for dinner, then ham sandwiches for a snack later on, and finally, ham and eggs for breakfast again."

"And you would, of course, have ham."

"Consulting fee."

"I see."

Actually, what is see is a pattern. Trygg does not disappoint me. Trygg gets out his graphs and charts. In some ways he is a very cutting edge cat. In other ways, he is very traditional. He did the graphs and charts on 25 column accounting paper instead of on a PowerPoint presentation.

"Now, chicken. You can make fried chicken and have dinner once. However, if you roast a chicken, you can have chicken dinner for several nights. Then, simmer what's left and make chicken broth. Meanwhile, I could share the parts of the chicken you don't like. For example, the wings, the legs, and the thighs. Much more economical. My consulting fee is actually included in the savings. For even more savings."

"Thank you, Trygg"

"You're the one always talking about watching your budget. This is just another way I've come up with to help you."

"I see. Then if I had two cats, I would save twice as much money."

Trygg thinks that one over for a minute. I see him looking through his graphs and charts. I know he doesn't have an answer for that one. And I know what he will do. He will do what he always does. He will either ad lib or stall. He decides to stall.

"Let's discuss this when lunch is over."

"Don't you mean, discuss this over lunch?"

"No, when lunch is over."

Trygg goes over to his lunch tray to eat his dry food. He has dry food in a tray and canned food in a dish. I usually have two kinds of canned food down because Trygg likes a choice. He's not finicky, I'm just considerate. At least that's the way Trygg explained it.

I put the dry food in a small pile on the left side of the tray. Trygg moves some of it to the right side to eat it a little at a time.

"Something for Miss Manners," he says.

I know he has that backwards, but I don't say anything. I think it's important that he tries to cultivate good table manners and I am happy he is thinking along those lines. Still, as we sit having lunch together, I somehow, know what's coming. Trygg eats Kit n Kaboodle. Trygg calls his dry food, kitten kaboodle. This gives him an idea. Here it comes. He looks up from his lunch.

"Let's talk about about "Kitten Theory".

(Kitten theory?)

"If you have a kitten you have a kitten. Two kittens, cute. Three kittens, confusion. Four kitten, chaos. Five kittens, calamity. This is why people should concentrate on two kittens or on one cat at a time."

"The way I have you to concentrate on?"

"Exactly. Now, if someone wants to add a cat, start with two kittens. They're cute. Wait until they get a little older, then add two more kittens. Sort of like folding eggs into a batter. Wait until the first two are incorporated into the family before adding another two."

"From what you've said, I'm guessing that we should adopt two kittens."

Trygg's thinking this one over.

"I'll have to do more research. We'll schedule another meeting. I'll be in touch."

Trygg goes off to lick himself clean. I go in to wash up. Why were we having lunch at six o'clock in the morning? Because we had breakfast at three o'clock in the morning. But that is a topic for another day.

Even the cat winks =^.~=




Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

Friday, April 22, 2011

Trygg Finds His Inner Kitten

I wake up on my own. I go into the kitchen to pour my coffee. Trygg is not around. Not in any obvious way. His dish is in the sink, so I know he ate. The newspaper is still folded up on the table by the sofa, so I just assume he went out early.

It’s a bit chilly. Instead of turning up the thermostat, I go back to bed. Trygg is adamant about conservation. I turn the thermostat up Trygg turns it down. My wife turns the thermostat up Trygg turns it down. The only time Trygg turns up the thermostat is when he isn’t feeling well. That much, though, I can figure out from his skulking about in his bathrobe and slippers with the thermometer poking out of his mouth.

I had some safety concerns about that so I bought an ear thermometer. Then, one day, I see Trygg waving it about.

“Why are you waving the thermometer about?”

“I’m not feeling well. This is an air thermometer. I’m taking my temperature.”

“Ear thermometer. You stick it in your ear.”

“I know that. I’m just shaking it down.”

Trygg is a bit embarrassed, but I digress.

As I’m drinking my coffee, I hear paper rustling. At first, I think Trygg is reading the paper. Then I realise that that is not the sound of a newspaper. In addition, Trygg doesn’t rustle the newspaper when he reads. He pointed that out to me directly one day when we were reading the newspaper together.

I turned the page. I see Trygg glaring at me.

“Is something wrong?”

“Do I rustle the paper when I read? Do I?”


“Then why do you feel it necessary to teach me an object lesson by rustling the newspaper?”

Sometimes Trygg can be diplomatic. I’m not certain if this is one of those times or not. Trygg goes back to reading. I start turning the pages quietly. Thus, I know Trygg is not reading the paper. I get up to investigate. I follow the sound to the kitchen. Trygg is rooting around in a paper shopping bag. He sees me. I smile.

“Now that’s the way I like to think of you. My cat, playing about with a paper bag.”

“I’m not playing in a paper bag. Cats don’t play in paper bags. Kittens play in paper bags. I am not a kitten I am a cat. I am not playing in a paper bag. I just can’t find my keys. That’s all. I thought I might have accidentally dropped them into this bag. You can go back to your coffee now—and don’t turn up the thermostat.”

(Trygg sometimes gets embarrassed when caught being a cat. He won’t admit it, but he thinks he’s too old to play these games.)

I go back to bed. When I come back out, I pour another cup of coffee and sit down to read the paper. Soon, I realise I hear breathing. I look around. Then I see Trygg asleep in a paper bag under the side table by the sofa. It is then that I realise that the thermostat is up.

Poor Trygg. He won’t admit it, but he’s not feeling well. I’ll let him rest. I want him to be well for Easter. I haven’t told him what we’re having for dinner yet. I want it to be a surprise. Of course, he will probably be able to smell what it is before I get it into the house; but he will pretend to be surprised. He’s kind that way. I get up to get ready to leave. I let him sleep.

Even the cat winks =^.~=




Copyright © 2011 Slim Fairview

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Trygg, FfD. (Felidae felis domesticus)

Things have been relatively uneventful. Trygg is serious about getting his G.E.D. However, it’s more than that. This effort is spring boarding him to further his education in other areas.

The other day, Trygg was working hard on his vocabulary. (I think his having heard Gloria Borger use the word “prebuttal” motivated him.)

“How are you doing with your vocabulary list?”

“Veni vidi vici.”

(Veni, vidi, vici?)

“You’re studying Latin?”

“Felidae, felis, domesticus.” Trygg holds up, Latin Made Simple. “Of course, there is nothing simple about Latin, he explains.

“Then, why Latin?”

“It is the basis for the five romance languages. French, Spanish, Romanian, Italian, Portuguese.”

“Keep up the good work.”

I have an uneasy feeling about this. Trygg seems to be overly sensitive about missing an education. He told me he wants to be the first cat in his family to graduate from High School. He is good at Scrabble, and I remind him of that.

“It is not about becoming pedantic. It’s about becoming a more cultured and refined cat.”

At this point I realise I will have to do something in the way of positive feedback. Positive reinforcement. Just buying him a leather-bound notebook and a nice pen won’t do it.

I decide to buy him something nice. Something special. Something wrapped in paper and a ribbon.

When I arrive home, I give to Trygg. He looks at it with suspicion.

“Is something wrong?”

“Why did you buy this for me? Is this some sort of palliative? Something to ameliorate my negative feelings about my education?

“Positive reinforcement of negative behaviour is a disincentive to motivation.”

That quieted him down for a moment. He opened the gift. He smiled.

Trygg got up, put the CD of The Brandenburg Concertos into the slot of our laptop, and listened quietly to the music. Then he came over and gave me a hug.

“I’m sorry I was so abrasive.”

“I want what’s best for you, Trygg.”

Trygg put his books away and began folding the napkins. I went to start dinner. After dinner, Trygg began playing with the wrapping paper and ribbons. No matter how far he is planning to go in life, he is still my Trygg.

Even the cat winks =^.~=




Copyright © 2011 Slim Fairview

Monday, April 18, 2011

Trygg Pays it Forward

Trygg the Social Worker

Trygg was away for the weekend. This time, he didn’t just go missing. He told me he’d be away. Because he was caught getting ready to leave.

I get up early Saturday on the off chance there would be soccer on television. I go into the kitchen to pour my coffee. Trygg plugged the pot in as usual; warmed up some of the biscuits I’d made the night before, and had the butter out to soften. Call me a flawed human being, but I’m suspicious.

I see Trygg in the pantry putting a few cans of cat food into one of those Mountain Heather Day Packs. I don’t even bother looking for the discarded box from L. L. Bean.

“Hi, he says,” as if he were not up to something.

“Running away from home?”

“Uh, no. Can I borrow your ruler?”

“May I borrow your ruler?”

“I don’t have a ruler. That’s why I –“

“It’s on my desk.”

“Not that one. The one that folds up.”

“Why do you need a ruler?”

“I’m just going on a hike with some of my buddies.”

“Why do you need a ruler to go on a hike?”

“To see how far we went.”

Now, I don’t buy this one bit. Still, I go to the cupboard to get out the ruler. I remind him to be careful with it. He promises he’ll be careful. He slings his daypack onto his back and off he goes. I go in to drink my coffee. By now, I have learned not to worry. Trygg can take care of himself, he will be with his friends, and he can’t be going too far. I force myself to believe the story about the ruler. Still, how much trouble can a cat get into with a folding ruler?

The weekend is uneventful. Trygg surprises me by coming home early on Sunday afternoon.

“You’re back early,” I say. “What happened? Couldn’t you get the ruler unfolded all the way?”

Trygg drops his day pack and hops up on the sofa next to me.

“When giving alms, never let your left hand’s lawyer know what your right hand’s lawyer is doing.”


“Whatever. Besides, I didn’t want you to feel embarrassed into helping. We wanted to do it ourselves.”

“Do what?”

“Feel like going for a walk?”

I get up, get my jacket, (it is still a bit breezy) and stop to look at Trygg.

“Will I need to take a ruler?

“Just put your jacket on and let’s go; but be quiet. I know you’re not a cat but that’s no excuse to go stomping around like a bull in a litter box.”

We head out, through the yard, into the woods, through to a clearing, and just beyond are some bushes. Trygg shushes me.

We peer through the bushes.

I see two picnic table benches, on their sides, facing each other. On top is a picnic table turned upside down. I see a few cats milling about, eating straight out of a can, and drinking from a puddle. I look at Trygg. He’s beaming up at me. I can see he’s proud. I think I even see a tear.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s very nice. What do you call it? Not to mention, why did you build it?

“It’s a habit for cats. See? We turned the table over. Now, the legs can be used as scratching posts. The benches are like walls. It’s low enough and large enough for Click and Sally to sprawl about in the Sun, but if it gets too hot, they can move to the other end in the shade. And it’s large enough for entertaining.”

Now I think I feel tears in my eyes.

“Who are Click and Sally?”

“A couple of free-range cats. Like some of the others. We all got together to build them this, sort-of, home. If you go past those trees and bushes over there, you get to a picnic area; and if they can’t find anything to eat in the trash there, they can always go down the road. There’s a restaurant there and the dumpster is always full of great stuff. See, they already have company.”

“This is very nice, Trygg. I really am proud of you.”

“I want you to be. I want you to think of this as my way of giving back. For taking me in; and for giving Pood and Friend somewhere to stay; and for feeding Chumley and Tuck, and Buddy’s kids. I guess we just wanted to pay it forward.”

“Now I wish I’d have brought something. For the housewarming.”

“No. Don’t embarrass them. That isn’t what this is all about, really. It’s really about cats helping cats. Come on, let’s go home.”

Trygg and I walk back to the house in silence. Once back, Trygg puts away his daypack and goes to wash up. I fix us both a snack. He gets chicken and tuna. I make a tuna and egg salad sandwich and grab a bag of chips—and a couple of gherkins.

We go into the parlour and hop on the sofa. Usually, no eating in the parlour. This, however, is a special occasion.

“By the way, what did you need the ruler for, really?

Trygg looks up at me with that bewildered cat look.

“Cats don’t have tools because cats don’t use tools. That’s why I brought the ruler.”

I give Trygg that bewildered person look.”

“You see, it’s like this. If nobody has any tools, the cat who shows up with the ruler is usually the one put in charge. I knew Click and Sally didn’t want anything special. Just a simple place that was comfortable, yet large enough to entertain or have friends stay with them. So, I brought the ruler.”

“I see.” (I didn’t, but I didn’t want to spoil the moment.)

I give Trygg a hug.

“Thanks,” he says. “I’ll do the dishes.”

I know that means he’s going to lick them clean and I’ll have to rewash them, but I don’t say anything. I’m just too proud of him.

After lunch, Trygg goes outside to lie about in the Sun with his friends.

I rewash the dishes.

Even the cat winks =^.~=



ps. You can visit

Something I found on Google after Trygg told me one of his friends was going to the Vet to get tutored.


Copyright © 2011 Slim Fairview

Friday, April 15, 2011

Trygg in Love

It was, for the most part, an uneventful morning.

Trygg is out of his sulk. The weather warmed up and Trygg put away is jim-jams for the season.

The coffee was made, Trygg was up early, had breakfast, and put his dishes in the sink. His bed was made, and he didn't leave the paper in a shambles. Why do I then, as I drink my coffee, begin to get that feeling?

Trygg is in his drawer rooting around. I gave him the top drawer in my dresser. At first, I gave him the bottom drawer. I thought it would be easier. It wasn't. Trygg likes the top drawer because he can sit on the dresser and peer down into it, root around, and find what he wants.

I have to admire this: he keeps his drawer very neat. He keeps half of it empty so he can pull the drawer out and sit in it.

"All cats do things like this. I'm a cat. Therefore, I do things like this."

It is very hard to argue with Trygg when he uses logic.

Today, as I'm sipping my coffee, I see Trygg trying to act casual. He has his notebook.


"Going out?"

"For a while?"

"I see you have your notebook."

"To take notes."

"Not your iPad?"

Trygg looks guilty.

"No. Just in case I want to jot down some ideas. Maybe do a sketch."

I get up to open the door. However, instead of crowding the door, Trygg moves away. Then I catch the whiff of a familiar scent.

"Are you wearing my aftershave?"


"My cologne?"

Trygg looks away.

"Why are you wearing my cologne?"

"No reason. I'm a cat. Cats do things for no reason. I do things for no reason, therefore, I'm a cat."

That's it. Now I know he's guilty. He got his argument backwards.

"If you don't want to tell me, fine. Next time, ask before you go through my drawer."


"Okay, what?"

"Okay, I'll tell you."

Trygg goes over to the couch, hops up, and opens his notebook. I sit next to him.

"Promise me you won't laugh."

"I promise."


He shows me an envelope. I open it. I read the note inside.

Red Salmon is red,
Blue-fin Tuna is blue,
I want to be
The only Tom Cat for you.

I see now. Trygg is in love.

"Think she'll like it?"

"She will love it. But what about your crush on Gloria Borger?"

"She's not interested in me. Besides, she's a big shot news person. What could she see in a stray cat like me? I'm better off with Kelly."

"Is that her name? Kelly?"

Trygg nods.

"Well, don't put it like that to your new girlfriend."

"It was her idea. She's the one who told me to give up on Gloria Borger and find someone who really cares about me. Like her."

"I see."

Kelly set her cap for Trygg.

"She's right."



"We talked about pronouns. Specially referring to others as he and she.

"Oh, yeah. Well, she--Kelly really likes me, so...."

"I understand. Well, you have a nice day. I'll see you later."

Trygg smiles.

He puts his note back into the envelope, slips it into his notebook and leaves.

I go to get dressed.

Even the cat winks =^.~=




Copyright(c) Slim Fairview

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Breakfast on the Floor

I am sitting on the floor in the kitchen, leaning up against the cabinet, drinking my coffee. Trygg is eating breakfast. This is what led up to this new arrangement.

I wake up this morning, reasonably early. No Trygg. I go out to the kitchen to pour my coffee. I see Trygg sitting in the parlour in his bathrobe, sulking. He's sitting in my spot.

I go into the kitchen. The coffee pot hasn't been plugged in. I plug it in. I can see that Trygg hasn't had breakfast yet. He's scrupulous about putting his dishes in the sink when he's finished and there are no dishes in the sink. Also he's scrupulous about plugging in the coffee. I don't say anything. I think I know what this is all about.

Last night, I sat in Trygg's chair. Trygg's chair is an overstuffed armchair in the parlour. It used to be my chair. But that was before Trygg came along. I switched to the sofa. Also before Trygg came along.

After Trygg moved in, he started to feel his way around. At one point he started taking his evening nap on the chair before going to bed. Then he started sitting on the back of the chair during the afternoons. Lately, he hasn't been using the chair at all.

I thought nothing of sitting in this comfortable, stuffed, armchair early yesterday evening. After I did, Trygg jumped up onto the back of the chair. I thought he was being friendly. So, I turned to start to pet him. He made a gesture as if he were about to nip me. I scolded him. "No biting." He swiped at me with his paw. Well, I said to myself, if that's the way you want to be, fine. I went to sit on the sofa.

Trygg got up and went to the door. I figured he wanted to make a statement. I was tempted not to let him out. But I decided to be the better person. I opened the door and let him out. Later, when he returned, everything sort of blew over.

This morning, I thought he was miffed about last night. He sometimes accuses me of over reacting. I sometimes accuse him of letting things fester. But it never gets out of hand. I mean, we're guys. When we have a little tiff, we just man up and move on. But this had nothing to do with the incident on the chair.

After I pour my coffee I sit down at the table to have my coffee. Trygg looks up.

"That's right. Sit at the table. It always has to be your way, doesn't it?"

I get up, go into the parlour, and sit next to Trygg on the sofa and look right at him.

"Okay, Trygg. What's bothering you?"

"Don't I always plug in the coffee pot every morning so you can have your coffee when you get up?"

"Yes. And I always thank you. And sometimes I return the favour by doing your dinner plates, and helping you make your bed, even though those are some of your chores. You do get an allowance."

"It's not about the money."

"What's it about?"

"When it's time for dinner, don't I always join you?"

"Yes, you do. And we're happy for the company."

"And when you have dinner, don't you always have dinner at the table?"

"Yes. No eating in the parlour. Except on special occasions."

I pause. I am beginning to see what this is all about.

"Go on," I say.

"Did you ever think that some mornings it would be nice if your joined me for breakfast on the floor?"

Now I see what has Trygg in his sulky mood.

"All right, let's go."

Trygg looks up and gives me a big smile. He takes off his bathrobe--

"First let me hang this up."

"That's okay. I'll hang it up when I go in to shave."

"Thank you."

I get up and go into the kitchen bringing my coffee with me. Trygg walks along next to me. He's looking up at me, beaming. I keep forgetting that, even though he doesn't say it, he does look up to me.

In the kitchen, I open up Trygg's breakfast, put it on his plate, and put his plate on the floor. I sit down next to him to have my coffee as he eats breakfast.

When we're through he says, "I'll get the dishes."

"That's okay. I'll do them later. You can lick yourself and go out to meet your friends."

"Thank you. And thanks for having breakfast with me on the floor."

"Actually, I enjoyed it."

After letting Trygg out, I pour another coffee and go into the parlour to watch the news.

Even the cat winks =^.~=

Sincerest regards,



Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Trygg Learns a New Word...and uses it.

I get up early this morning. Today, without prompting from Trygg. I go out to the kitchen. Trygg provides the conundrum. Trygg had already made the coffee. On the other hand, he's sitting at the table in his bathrobe reading the paper. He looks sulky. Again.

We have a rule. No reading at the dinner table--or, in this case, the breakfast table. Still, I don't say anything. I pour my my coffee.

"I know what your going to say. No reading at the table. I just didn't think you'd be up this early. I let you sleep in. And I did make the coffee."

(Actually, he didn't make it. I set it up the coffee pot the night before, but he plugged it in.)

"Did I say anything?" I ask.

"It was a prebuttal."

(A prebuttal?)

Then I remember. We were watching John King USA the night before. (I think Trygg has a crush on Gloria Borger but I don't say anything. He's still young and still gets embarrassed talking about things like that.) But I digress.

Anyway, last night Gloria Borger used the word, prebuttal. Trygg got up and went to his iPad. I didn't think anything of it because after John King we watched Arsenal beat Blackpool. (Trygg is an Arsenal supporter. He cheered for Wolverhampton for me the other day, so I returned the favour and rooted for Arsenal last night. So, I thought Trygg was just checking the sports fixtures.)

Now, it's prebuttal.

I ask him if he'd like me to fix breakfast. He said he already had something to hold him til later. I take my coffee inside and turn on the television. I flip through the paper.

"Where's the business section?"

"On the table next to you."

I see it, pick it up and start reading. Trygg is reading the sports section. Now I know why he's sulky.

"I am a cat. I eat fish. I like eating fish. Specially when you cook it en papillote, with lemon slices and dry, white wine--it's delicious. And I do hunt fish. Thus, I am not opposed to hunting for fish in general principle. Agreed?"

(Actually, Trygg doesn't hunt for fish. He catches fish. And, since he did buy his fishing gear with the money he saved up from his allowance and doing extra chores, I don't say anything.)


"Now, what I don't understand is how anyone can call catch and release good sportsmanship. I mean, I do catch fish. I do eat fish. But I catch what I can eat and I eat what I catch. Why would anyone torment and torture a fish, catch it, and throw it back? If you are going to eat it, catch it. No problem. However, if you're going to catch it, eat it."

I try to give Trygg a reassuring pat on the back.

Maybe there is something to this whole prebuttal concept.

Even the cat winks =^.~=




Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Trygg's New Adage

Trygg taped this to the refrigerator late last night. I don't know if it's his new adage or a bit of satire:

"I really do know what I know. How do I know what I know? That I don't know. But I never claimed that I did." Trygg

I had scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast. Trygg wasn't talking. Did you ever try to remove the sheets from a bed without waking the cat still sleeping on the bed?

In the community where we live, we have laundry service. I decide to strip the bed for housekeeping. (They used to make the bed, I asked them to just drop off the sheets so I can do it. It may seem to work out better for Trygg than for me, but it works out well for me in the long run.)

Trygg went back to sleep. I decided to wait for later to make the bed. I left. Even the cat winks =^.~=



Monday, April 11, 2011

Trygg's Secret Social Life

Yesterday was a quiet Sunday. (Once my wife and I reconciled ourselves to Trygg's schedule.)

I don't have a problem with Trygg getting up early. Okay, very early. My wife, however, is seldom amused.

None-the-less, as a gracious turn, my wife put on the coffee and let me go back to sleep for another hour. I went for the papers, Trygg made his own breakfast, and all was quiet.

Outside, Pood and Friend were lying alternately on the picnic table or in the grass. Buddy's two spent the day. The boy in the grass, the little one under the bush. Cali came by for breakfast, but left early.

Now, the Penguin was by very early. Or very late. It all depends on how you define 3:30. I still don't know if Trygg considers that 3:30 am or 3:30 pm. He would, however, have to wait. Trygg wasn't about, and I am not running a diner. I told Trygg to pass the word on to his friends.

Now, it is usually considered rude to abandon your guests, but as the patio looked like a Frat-house the morning after, everyone sleeping about, I guess Trygg disappearing wasn't the worst thing. He ate about 1:30 then left. (In the afternoon.) The problem was, he didn't come back for supper. Or later that evening. And my wife was very upset.

We decided to go to bed about 10 but my wife decided to stay up another half an hour. When my wife came to bed, still no Trygg.

I didn't say anything to my wife, but I saw that when Trygg left, he didn't take his wallet or his cell phone. Now, I know if he wants to call me, he can always borrow someone's phone, but what if everyone decided to chip in for something? In addition to his allowance, I usually make sure that he has a few extra dollars for emergencies.

Trygg didn't come home til about 6 this morning. My wife was happy to see him. He knew I was miffed. Neither of us discussed the matter.

I don't know what I'm going home to, but I do expect an explanation. We're having sausage and mash with peas. If he has any sense, he'll come clean.

The only thing my wife said was that he must have slept somewhere because usually when he's gone a long time, the first thing he does is jump onto the bed and go to sleep. This morning he ate and went back out.

There will be a discussion.

Even the cat winks =^.~=



Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

Saturday, April 9, 2011

Trygg Likes Miranda. How do I know?

Miranda has a cat. How do I know this? I am watching Sex and the City. Why? This is what happened.

I'm channel surfing. It is my night for the remote. Trygg walks by. He sees me pass Sex and the City. He asks me for the remote. We both know it's my night for the remote. However, he let me have one of his nights last week so I can hardly say, no. I give him the remote.

He clicks back to Sex and the City. He thought it was Sex and the Kitty. Still, that is not what really caught his attention. What really caught his attention was the fact that Miranda has a cat lying in her bed. Trygg is very big on the issue of cats in the media. Specially on television.
As Trygg put it:

"Did you ever see a sofa in a movie theatre?"


"That's why you never see cats in movie theatres."

We watch Sex and the City. Carrie walks her boyfriend's dog. Trygg gives me back the remote. I start to set up the coffee for the morning. Trygg sees me starting to turn out the lights and knows that bedtime is scant seconds away. He sits by the door to go out. Very nonchalant. He doesn't really expect this trick to work. It doesn't. Off we go, to bed. And to sleep. Me, straight away. Trygg, goes to lie on the back of the sofa. I don't really know what time he went to bed.

This morning, Trygg sees me watching football. Wolverhampton v. Everton. Trygg is still feeling guilty about what happened two weeks ago. I'm a Wolverhampton supporter. Trygg is an Arsenal supporter. My team is in the bottom three. Trygg's team is in the top three.

Bragging rights are one thing. Trygg was a bit mean spirited about it. What bothers him the most is that I decided to just man up and take it. That made Trygg feel worse. Then I felt guilty because I knew that it would. Detente.

This morning he comes in and sits beside me on the sofa. The Wolves--0, lose to Everton--3.

Trygg is rooting for the Wolves. I don't say a word. He looks up at me, and pokes me.


"I'm rooting for the Wolves."


"The Wolves are in gold.


"Well, after all, I am a "golden" Tabby." (Officially, he's an orange Tabby. Still, his words, not mine. And I do appreciate the sentiment.)

My Wolves lose. Trygg is sympathetic. I get up to get dressed to leave. By the time I leave Trygg is already gone. Even the cat winks =^.~=



Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

Friday, April 8, 2011

Trygg Shows His True Character

At 8:30 this morning I am sitting on the kitchen floor playing with Trygg. Sounds okay. Here's the rest of the story.

Last night we went to bed early. Trygg decides to sleep on the bed. (Not his.) He is on my wife's side. My wife doesn't want to move because she is afraid she will wake him up. Good idea, except that she forgot to tell Trygg.

1:30 am (Another time that comes twice a day.) Trygg wakes up. He wakes me up. He wants to go out. I let him out and go back to sleep.

What happens between 1:30 and 5:30 is vague. He was in and out. My wife and I took turns. The last thing I remember is my wife telling me to turn off the alarm when got back to bed at 5:30. I go to turn off the alarm. Trygg already switched it off.

My wife got up next. She started the coffee. She came back to report that Trygg wanted to be petted while he was eating. My wife points out that this is a relatively new problem. I think Trygg is starting to feel insecure about something. After all, this is about the time of year just before we first saw him skulking about. It would be a couple of months before he felt comfortable enough to come close enough for us to feed him.

He is out again. Then he comes back. I'm finishing my coffee and two English muffins. I put my things in the sink. I go to shave.

Trygg comes to watch me shave. I don't see him. My wife comes in to tell me he's been sitting there watching me. I follow him out. He leads me to the kitchen. He eats his dry food, he eats his canned food. I sit on the floor to pet him. He starts rolling around like he's having a deep rub massage.

I ask my wife to get Trygg's toy. This is when I remembered how Trygg revealed his true character.

After he started living with us I made him a toy. I sprinkled some catnip on a napkin, rolled it up, and tied it into a knot. Sometimes we play with it together. Sometimes he plays with it by himself. He seems to have a great imagination. He just never tells me what he imagines this toy to be. But I digress.

After Trygg and I played with the toy the first couple of times, he came to me and said,

"Do you know what I really like about you?"


"This." He holds up the toy.

"It's nothing special, Trygg."

"It is to me. You see, anyone else would have just gone to the cheap store and bought a toy with no thought. Other people would have filled the place with a lot of fancy stuff. But not you. You took the time and trouble to make something special for me. You put thought into it. And you take the time to play with me. That means a lot to a cat. A lot."

I started to get misty. So much for the aloof cat thing. Trygg really opened up. He not only appreciates the toy, he actually opened up to share his feelings with me.

The bonding time this morning was special for both of us. I went off to shower and get dressed. Trygg started to lick himself clean. By the time I was ready to leave, he was already out with his friends. He'd put his toy away. I left for work. Even the cat winks =^.~=



Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

Trygg Tries the Guilt Trip--it worked.

I had to go out yesterday. Early. I tricked Trygg into coming back into the house. I wouldn't let him out. I felt guilty. I bought some shaved ham. Trygg loved it.

I fed his friends last night as well. Not the shaved ham.
This morning he had me up at 3:34 am. Another time that apparently comes twice a day.

He chowed down on the dry food. Then the canned food then went out, then came back and went through the routine again. I asked him when is he going to follow me to the table and rub my head when I eat?

He did.

Big mistake.

He kept walking in and out of the bedroom waiting for me to leave this morning. Sitting on the bed watching me. I pet him good-bye.

Even the cat winks =^.~=


Copyright © 2011 Slim Fairview

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

I Know I've Discussed This With Trygg Before

Trygg decides to invite his friends over for a brunch. An early morning breakfast actually.

"That is not the problem," I said. "I like your friends. I don't mind your inviting them. I just like to be given some advance notice, that's all."

Did you know that 2:30 comes twice a day?

Trygg wakes me up at 2:30. Not for the breakfast, but to go out. He goes out, I go back to bed. Trygg comes back at 4:30. I go back to bed. Trygg wakes me up at 5:00 to watch him eat. So far, so good.

"Oh, by the way, I invited a few friends for breakfast."

There I am, 5:30 in the morning, pouring out the dry food into little buffet trays, sorting through the canned food, preparing an assortment. I put some of the dry food on the front porch because it is raining and I don't want Trygg's friends to get wet. Soon it stops. I set up the buffet on the back porch.

Pood and friend show up. Friend likes canned food. Pood likes dry food. Buddy's two are there. The older one eats friend's food. The younger one sits off to the side. Cali couldn't make it.

The Penguin came but he had to leave early. (It seems to be a cat thing. Normally, getting at it with a friend is not sociable. For Trygg, this seems to be the custom.) Trygg and The Penguin go running off together. (Actually, The Penguin goes running off--Trygg goes running after him.)

All in all, it was pretty nice. I was invited, but I preferred to sit on the sofa and drink coffee. After they leave, I help Trygg clean up. I collect the cans and the trays, Trygg fills the sink, I do the dishes, and Trygg dries.

"You're not planning to use paper napkins," I'd said to Trygg that morning.

"We're cats, Slim. We lick ourselves clean."


Sometimes I think cats do that just to cut down on the laundry. I won't say anything to Trygg, though, because I don't want to hurt his feelings. Also, I don't care much for ironing napkins and Trygg does a good job of it. Also, it lets him feel not only like he's contributing, but also that he truly is a part of the family.

After everything is put away, Trygg goes out, again. I go to make a cream-cheese sandwich on toast and have another cup of coffee. Later, Trygg comes back, hops on the bed and goes to sleep. I leave. Even the cat winks. =^.~=




Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

Monday, April 4, 2011

Trygg Signs Up For His G.E.D.

I'm sitting on the sofa reading the newspaper. Trygg hops up on the far end. I can see he has a notebook and two pencils. One is tucked behind his ear. They are both sharp. I assume he is going to do the crossword puzzle. (We still have this thing about whether to do it in pen or pencil.)

I can also see a copy of Cat Fancy magazine tucked into his notebook. I gave him the subscription because I assumed he'd like it. At first there was a problem.

"Why would I want that? I am not a fancy cat."

"It's Cat Fancy not Fancy Cat. It's basically a magazine for..." I pause. Trygg gives me that knowing look. It's a magazine for people who fancy (like) cats.

"Okay, I'll try it. Thanks."

It turns out he likes it. It's also a marketing tool. He circles articles and leaves the magazine around where I can see them.

Today, however, Trygg is neither reading the magazine nor doing the crossword. He is looking furtive, if not guilty.

"Doing anything special?"

"No. No, no. Just flipping through a few things."

I don't say anything. Then he asks,

"What's our zip code?"


"No reason."


"All right. I'm just filling out a form."

"What for?"

Trygg looks away. I realise then that it's not guilt. It's embarrassment. I slide over next to him.

"What is it, Trygg? You know you can tell me anything. And you usually do."

"Well, when I first moved in, there was something I didn't tell you about me."


"I never got my High School Diploma." He looks down. "So, I'm signing up for my G.E.D. I just didn't want you to know, that's all. I figured I'd tell you about it when I got it. If I get it."

"Trygg. That's nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, I'm really quite proud of you. Not only are you going for your G.E.D. but you took the initiative to get the information. I really am proud of you, Trygg."

Trygg looked up at me and smiled.


"Yes, really."

"Will you help me?"


"Yes. You know. You told me you started out in life as an English majored. Then you switched to Finance. I figured maybe you could help me with the English and the Math part."

"All right. But I won't do your work for you. You have to do your own work."

"Okay. And you'll help me with the History part too, right? I mean after all--"

"After all, what?"

"Well, I mean, when you were at school you had current events, didn't you?"


"Then you can help me with the History part too."

"Okay, I'll help with the History part too."

Trygg smiled. We filled out the application, I got an envelope and stamps and we walked to the Post Office together. After, I bought two ice-cream sodas sodas and we sat in one of the back booths for a little bonding time.

I am so proud of Trygg.

Even the cat winks =^.~=



Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview