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 =^.~=
Regards,
Slim
Mail: slimfairview@yahoo.com
Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview
Showing posts with label cats eating habits. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cats eating habits. Show all posts
Monday, May 2, 2011
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,
Slim
Male slimfairview@yahoo.com
Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview
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,
Slim
Male slimfairview@yahoo.com
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.)
"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
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
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."
"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
Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview
Friday, April 1, 2011
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
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
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Trygg Becomes a Consultant
There was a joke back in the 80s.
"What are you doing now?"
"I'm writing a screenplay."
"Everybody's writing a screenplay."
Trygg does not find that funny. He's decided to become a consultant. What upset him the most was not that I didn't take him seriously, but that I didn't understand the joke.
"You don't get it, do you? Everyone's becoming a consultant."
"Okay."
Trygg opens up his notebook and takes out the pen I'd given him as a gift. At first, I thought he just wanted to show his gratitude by using the pen to show me he likes it. He calls the notebook and pen his think pad and stylus.
"You've heard the expression, "It's like trying to herd cats?""
"Yes."
"Okay, here is the real problem. Say you decide you want to try to herd cats. So, you make a sackful of tuna sandwiches thinking that will attract the cats. Well, you're half right. What happens is this: One cat walks off looking for a jar of gherkins. Another cat goes rooting through the cupboard looking for the crisps. Another cat wants a napkin. Who wants whole wheat? Who wants it on a roll? Who's on a low-carb diet? You see? Now, instead of an organised herd of cats, you have chaos."
"A catastrophe."
Trygg doesn't smile. "May I?"
"This is like the story about who's going to hang the bell around the cat's neck. Simple solutions may work better than complex solutions; but simplistic solutions routinely don't work. That is why you need a consultant."
"To explain what?"
"Cats."
"I have you for that."
"True. However, there are many people who share space with cats yet have no idea what we're like. Hence, they have problems."
"Unintended consequences?"
"There is no such thing as unintended consequences. Only unwanted consequences."
"Which is why you've decided to become a consultant."
"Exactly. Case in point: Isn't it almost time for lunch?"
"I'm making tuna. Care to join me?"
"Hold the mayo."
Even the cat winks =^.~=
Regards,
Slim
Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview
"What are you doing now?"
"I'm writing a screenplay."
"Everybody's writing a screenplay."
Trygg does not find that funny. He's decided to become a consultant. What upset him the most was not that I didn't take him seriously, but that I didn't understand the joke.
"You don't get it, do you? Everyone's becoming a consultant."
"Okay."
Trygg opens up his notebook and takes out the pen I'd given him as a gift. At first, I thought he just wanted to show his gratitude by using the pen to show me he likes it. He calls the notebook and pen his think pad and stylus.
"You've heard the expression, "It's like trying to herd cats?""
"Yes."
"Okay, here is the real problem. Say you decide you want to try to herd cats. So, you make a sackful of tuna sandwiches thinking that will attract the cats. Well, you're half right. What happens is this: One cat walks off looking for a jar of gherkins. Another cat goes rooting through the cupboard looking for the crisps. Another cat wants a napkin. Who wants whole wheat? Who wants it on a roll? Who's on a low-carb diet? You see? Now, instead of an organised herd of cats, you have chaos."
"A catastrophe."
Trygg doesn't smile. "May I?"
"This is like the story about who's going to hang the bell around the cat's neck. Simple solutions may work better than complex solutions; but simplistic solutions routinely don't work. That is why you need a consultant."
"To explain what?"
"Cats."
"I have you for that."
"True. However, there are many people who share space with cats yet have no idea what we're like. Hence, they have problems."
"Unintended consequences?"
"There is no such thing as unintended consequences. Only unwanted consequences."
"Which is why you've decided to become a consultant."
"Exactly. Case in point: Isn't it almost time for lunch?"
"I'm making tuna. Care to join me?"
"Hold the mayo."
Even the cat winks =^.~=
Regards,
Slim
Copyright (c) 2011 Slim Fairview
Thursday, March 24, 2011
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
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
Monday, March 21, 2011
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
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
Saturday, March 19, 2011
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
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
Thursday, March 17, 2011
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
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
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
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 =^.~=
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 =^.~=
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