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 =^.~=

Regards,

Slim

http://eventhecatwinks.blogspot.com/

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

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

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

Cats are not Hypochondriacs

Trygg isn't getting aggressive, he's just been a bit cranky lately. I think he has a cold. He sneezed a few times. That, and he keeps walking around in his robe and slippers with a thermometer in his mouth.

(Drama Queen)

I don't say anything. He doesn't like being ignored. He says to me, "It's not about how much life in your cat, it's about how much cat in your life."

Even the cat winks =^.~=

Regards,

Slim

Copyright (c) 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

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