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.)

"Agreed."

"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 =^.~=

Regards,

Slim

Mail slimfairview@yahoo.com

Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

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."

"Right."

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. =^.~=

Regards,

Slim

Mail slimfairview@yahoo.com

Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

In the Bean Bag

Trygg can be predictable. He is not wearing his glasses. I still owe him a lunch, and he still drops pencils in my lap every time I do the crossword puzzle.

On the upside, he does make his bed without asking and agreed not to use my email address.

Then comes this morning.

I'm up early to put on the coffee and I see him skulking out of the house. He has a bag full of sandwiches and he's carrying a thermos. I figured out the part about the sandwiches from the empty tuna cans in the recycle bin. However, I was a bit concerned about the thermos. Then I saw the coffee filtre with the grounds in the trash. (All I had to do was to follow the bits of coffee grounds along the floor.) Then I realised, Trygg doesn't have thermos. Mine is still in the cupboard, so I check the recycle bin again. There, under the back issues of cat magazines and crossword puzzle books (done in pencil) is an empty box from L. L. Bean.

I don't say a word about the thermos when Trygg gets back later.

"Have a nice day?"

"It was okay."

"Do anything special?"

"No."

Trygg settles down next to the sofa to freshen up. (I wish he'd do that in the bathroom, but as he says, "I'm a cat.")

"It's Friday. We're having fish for dinner. "

Trygg is quiet. Then...

"I went fishing, okay?"

"Did I say anything?"

"No. And that's how I know you know I'm guilty. Whenever you don't say anything it's because I'm guilty of something."

"What are you guilty of doing. Or not doing?"

"I wanted to surprise you, so I went fishing. I thought I'd catch tonight's supper."

"You already told me that."

"And I bought a thermos. Oh, yeah, and I made tuna sandwiches for my friends."

"No a problem. I like your friends."

"You knew about the thermos."

"Just bring it in and wash it out."

Trygg gets the thermos, washes it out, and puts it in the drain board.

"Aren't you going to start cooking?"

"I made gravlax."

"Can you make some gravlaxsås?"

"Okay."

Trygg goes to wash up. It's my turn to set the table. Even the cat winks. =^.~=


Regards,

Slim


Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

slimfairview@yahoo.com

Trygg's Eye Exam

Trygg wanted me to schedule him for an eye-exam. I asked him why. He said he wanted to have his vision checked.

I said, "I never saw a cat wearing glasses."

He said, "Slim, let me let you in on a big secret. Cats are vain."

I don't take the bait.

That was a couple of weeks ago. I thought he was just looking for attention. Then I get an email reminding me of his appointment. Now I'm upset.

"I thought I told you I don't want you using my email account."

"That seemed to me to be the only way to get your attention."

"You're serious about this, aren't you?"

He nodded. (Now I feel really bad.)

"I still have to say, I've never seen a cat with glasses. What do they do, wear contacts?"

He looks away. Guilt!

Anyway, I take him to have his eyes checked. The doctor said, "Slim, Trygg's vision is fine." We leave.

The next day, he comes back from roaming around and he goes straight to his supper dish as usual. Then he skulks into the bedroom. I follow him.

"All right. What are you hiding?"

He's wearing a pair of those drug-store readers. They're kind of a half-lens perched down on his nose.

"Did you spend your allowance on glasses you don't need?"

"I needed glasses."

He walks out.

When I pass through the living room to start supper, I see Trygg sitting at the table reading. I know it's wrong, but I look over his shoulder. He's reading the pet column. He's looking over the top of his glasses. Then I get it. I wear glasses. He's trying to copy me. Just like that tie thing. Now I really feel bad.

I open up a can of tuna and ask him if he'd like a snack. He appreciates the gesture, takes his glasses off, looks up at me, and smiles. I give him the tuna.

"What is it, Trygg? Really."

"I just noticed that when you have your glasses on you looked more distinguished. Intelligent."

I give him a pat on the head and go back to fixing dinner. Then I get the subtle nuance of his comment.

I go into the bedroom and stand in front of the mirror. I look at myself in front of the mirror with my glasses on. I look at myself in front of the mirror with my glasses off. I think I looked better without my glasses.

I go back into the kitchen to continue making dinner. Trygg already put the paper away. He's setting the table. I just smile. Trygg starts folding the napkins. I go back to what I was doing. Even the cat winks. =^.~=

Regards,

Slim


Copyright © 2011 Slim Fairview

Cats are not Pedantic

"Cats are not pedantic," or so Trygg said to me the other morning. This is what happened.

I am planning to make sausage with biscuits and gravy. Trygg has seen me do this before. He asks me why I use skim milk instead of whole milk for the béchamel. Apparently he was watching Tyler Florence and Mr. Florence used whole milk.

I go to the kitchen and there on the counter is a pint of whole milk.

"I just thought you should try it with whole milk," Trygg said. "It's only a pint."

"It would have been cheaper to buy it by the quart."

"And have you give me that martyred look?"

"All right," I said, "I'll make one batch with skimmed milk and you can make the other batch with whole milk."

"Slim, I'm a cat. I can't cook."

"No problem," I say, keeping the conversation light. "I'll make two batches and you can tell me which one you prefer."

Trygg gives me that "bewildered cat" look. "I'm a cat. I don't eat biscuits and gravy. I only eat the sausage."

"And I accused you of being pedantic."

The nice thing about cats is that they don't believe in protracted conversation. I make the sausage with biscuits and gravy using the skimmed milk for the béchamel. I use cream for the biscuits because I saw the recipe for it in Relish magazine.

We eat breakfast.

This isn't the first time Trygg has done this. I've tried mentioning it, but Trygg gets defensive at times. I point this out to him.

"When?" he asks.

"The other day. When you were pacing the floor and biting your nails."

"I don't bite my nails."

"The other day you were."

"Because you were driving me crazy."

"How?"

"You made pulled pork sandwiches for dinner...in a slow cooker!"

"That was the recipe. Besides, I made pulled pork sandwiches and coleslaw because you like pulled pork sandwiches and coleslaw and you'd been dropping hints for two weeks."

"Thank you. Still, did you have to use one of those Sandra Lee 49¢ dinner recipes?"

"I am trying to keep within a budget here; and besides, this wasn't from one of her cheap dinner shows, it was from her semi-homemade show."

"I'm sorry. I know, you try to make interesting meals, and keep within a budget. I just thought it wouldn't hurt to dialogue about it."

Trygg is contrite. He offers to help with the dishes. Not thinking, I agree. He hops up onto the counter next to the sink and begins licking the plates clean. I thank him but tell him I'd rather he do something else. Like make his bed. He agrees. I wash the dishes.

Even the cat winks. =^.~=

Regards,

Slim


Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

Cats do listen when we open up to them.

The other day, I was telling Trygg about a trip my wife and I took to Quebec a few years back.

We stayed at a romantic hotel in a centuries old home. Madame, the concierge, had switched us to a larger room in the front, overlooking a park, and the water.

Early in the morning, as my wife made the coffee, I ventured out to la patisserie to buy croissant, and au marche acheter des fruit.

When I returned, we opened the large window and sat on the window sill, drinking coffee, eating croissant and listening as the horse-drawn caleches rolled up the cobblestone street beneath our window. We were not on holiday in another country. We were on holiday in another century.

But you never know about cats. Just when you think it all falls on deaf ears, something happens.

When my wife and I returned home from Church the other night, the lights were out, a candle was lit on the coffee table in the parlour, a fire was burning (In the fireplace), and there was a plate out with a warm baguette, sweet butter and jam, a bottle of good claret, and some pastries. The bread was warm. (I knew Trygg couldn't have baked the bread himself. He hadn't had enough time. I figured he simply warmed it up in the oven.)

As my wife went to powder her nose, I just looked at Trygg and said. "Thank you."

"Not a problem."

I went over and rubbed my head on his. He, in turn, gave me a quick hug.

"I remembered that story you told me about Quebec."

"Oh."

When my wife came back into the room, Trygg smiled and said, "You two have a nice evening. I'll be out late. Very late."

I just smiled.

Then, just before he left, he turned and said, "Oh, by the way. I have a confession to make. I ate the camembert."

I just smiled.

Trygg left. I poured the wine.

Even the cat winks =^.~=

Slim

Trygg Celebrates St. Patrick's Day

I wake up a bit later than usual. On my own. Without benefit of Trygg.

I head to the bathroom. The door is closed. I knock. No answer. I knock again. Trygg opens the door. He's standing there in his bathrobe holding his toothbrush.

"Sorry."

"Isn't it always the way?" he says. "You always complain that I wake you early. Today I let you lie in and I can't even have a few moments to myself."

He leaves. I feel guilty.

I brush my teeth. The door opens. Trygg comes in, gets his dental floss out of the cupboard and leaves.

I go into the kitchen to get my coffee. I see him watching the parade. He's ignoring me. I go to pour my coffee. I see a shamrock and a note by my cup. "Happy St. Patrick's Day." I see a muffin with a slice of ham on it. The muffin is green. So is the ham. (It's the thought that counts.) None-the-less, I go in to thank Trygg and to apologise.

I put my arm around him.

"Happy St. Patrick's Day, Trygg."

He doesn't respond.

"I'm sorry. Thanks for the shamrock. And the green muffin and ham."

He looks up at me. (He looks up to me, too. He just won't admit it.)

"I wanted to make things nice for you. I saved the ham from St. Valentine's Day."

He sees the doubt.

"You're not supposed to eat the ham. It's the thought that counts."

I give him a hug. The pipers come on. He meows. Soon, I hear more meows. His friends are waiting for him outside. I let him out. I know I will see him later. Much later.

Even the Cat Winks. =^.~=

Regards,

Slim

Lunch with Trygg

Trygg invites me to have lunch with him. I already know this is a byob. Well, I go with a ham sandwich. Trygg has a few different things out to pick on. The same different things I've put down for him to eat.

I sit down, he samples my sandwich. I try to make small talk. He meows. Lunch, as you would imagine is very short and uneventful. Trygg signals that lunch is over when he starts to lick himself clean. I thank him for inviting me. He rubs his head on mine. I don't want to seem ungracious, so I rub my head on his.

Now, of course, I am obligated to return the invitation.

There is a lot to learn about the social life of cats.

even the cat winks =^.~=