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 wanted to be the first kitten 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 go to start dinner. After dinner, Trygg begins 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 =^.~=

Regards,

Slim

Mail slimfairview@yahoo.com

Copyright © 2011 Robert Asken
All rights reserved.

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?"

"Why?"

"No reason."

"Trygg?"

"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."

"What?"

"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.

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Will you help me?"

"Help?"

"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?"

"Yes."

"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 =^.~=


Regards,

Slim

Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview

Trygg's Buddies and the Adjustment

Trygg seems to be adjusting well to domestic life (feline domesticus adoptus). The problem has been the other cats in the group. (The collective noun for the cats pretty much depends on Trygg's mood:

"When I first starting coming around there was this glaring of cats...."

"All I did was stop by for something to eat and I was confronted by a pounce of cats."

When he's feeling off, it's a dout of cats. (Doubt? A private joke between us.)

I suggested a nuisance of cats. Trygg agreed. Then he sort of gave me this look.....

Trygg and I are comfortable with a clouder of cats....

None-the-less, he's had a sort of mésalliance with Buddy. I always thought it was because Buddy was aggressive with Trygg when Trygg first started coming around. Then I found out it was jealousy. Trygg knew that Buddy was my first...well...buddy. Buddy left, then came back a few months later. That didn't go down well with Trygg.

Then there's Pood and Friend. They share a small studio they set up under a small back porch. There's no kitchen, so they usually come by for breakfast and dinner. This, long before Trygg started coming around. Still, I know that Trygg doesn't like it, but I have pointed out that he has the inside, his own bed, his own Smörgåsbord, use of the remote all afternoon and most nights, he should not be unkind, uncharitable, or ungracious. He was contrite. (I'm still waiting to find a dead mouse on the doorstep, but I'm not going to say anything. If it doesn't come from the heart then I don't want it.)

For a while it was rough on us both. He was very insecure. I believe Trygg was what we never refer to as "a throw-away". Perhaps the person he used to live with died. Still, he was in sad shape when he first came around. Physically and emotionally. He would go by the door to go out, then come back, hop on the table on the front porch to be let in, check his food, sit on the back of the couch, then get up to go out again. Some times he'd be gone for hours. Christmas he was out all night and did not come back until the following afternoon. The only thing I could do was to show him I still loved him and was happy to have him back.

Now, Trygg is getting better. He sleeps most of the day and almost all night. I am happy to see him adjust. (Happy not to have to wait up until midnight or 1 am for him to return.)

I think the blog helps too. Trygg didn't say anything about it when I first started writing it, but then, one day, he said to me, "I think writing this blog is really helping you. It seems to be a good thing for you to put your feelings down."

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

Cats' Reading Habits. A guy thing?

Trygg is reading A Sportsman's Sketches by Ivan Turgenev. I'm reading The Paris Wife by Paula McLain. I see Trygg give me a look. He shakes his head. I say, "What? There's a cat in the story." (Actually, there isn't. It's just a pet name Hemingway and Hadley had.)

Trygg holds up his iPad. I go back to my book. We continue reading in silence. Trygg leaves the room. I figure I should see what he's up to. He's sitting on the dresser. He has one of my ties. One that's identical to the one I'm wearing. I figure this is some kind of bonding thing.

Trygg can't tie a tie. Well, he can, but not very well. So I go over to help him tie his tie. My tie, actually. Trygg likes a half-Windsor. He wears narrow collars so I imagine he would. As Trygg likes to say, "Why does someone who wears a shirt with a collar the width of my paw tie his tie into a knot the size of my head?" I agree.

I straighten his tie, I straighten my tie, and there we are. Side by side looking into the mirror. Guy stuff. Almost.

"I am a cat. Don't you think I look silly wearing a tie?"

Okay, guy stuff.

"Yes," I agree, "but I don't get your point."

"I just want you to know how silly you look reading a book." He takes off his tie and goes back to his iPad.

I go back to my book. I have to admit, he's right.

Even the cat winks.


Sincerely,

Slim