The Race

There is a nightly event that occurs in our household. Lucy and Sasha take turns racing me to greet Latino at the door. It did not exactly start as a race, but over time Latino started commenting if either of the cats happened to get there before I did. ("Sasha's beating you!") I have a bit of a competitive streak; thus, it became my mission to win. You may question whether or not it should be considered a race when all parties involved may not understand the concept, but I assure you that it is.

The reason the cats take turns is that if Sasha arrives to the door first, she demands all the attention. She meows. She rubs up against Latino. She puts her best paws forward to ensure she is the sole recipient of every ounce of his attention. Lucy is a quiet bystander, so she will wait patiently but she does not stand a chance next to Sasha. Thus, when Sasha takes a break from her door greeting ritual, Lucy takes full advantage. She strides up next to Latino and politely waits for him to pet her with his foot. No joke. Recently she has gone a little bit crazy with her greetings, and she will barely let him walk without her being right under his feet. He will take a couple steps and she is right there, meowing loudly and begging for more of his foot. She did not used to be quite so loud; I think it is a habit she picked up from Sasha. Back and forth they walk together, stopping every so often so Lucy can get pet. It is ridiculous, but very amusing.

Lucy once again felt the need to remind me that in her eyes I am chopped liver compared to Latino. He was petting her with his foot and he asked me to take over the job to see if she would notice. He proceeded to walk away. Lucy stayed with me for a few foot pets, but when it dawned on her that HE was not the one petting her, she ran to him. There is no point anymore in reminding her that I am the one who has fed her and sheltered her for the last ten years. She stopped caring about that the second Latino entered her world.

Latino has a theory as to why Lucy prefers his feet over mine. He thinks my feet stink too much. And apparently his do not. In my humble opinion, I believe it is the exact opposite and for an unknown reason Lucy prefers the stench of his feet. Lucy had a couple small marks on her ear recently and Latino claimed it must have been an infection from my stinky feet. Clearly, nothing else could even remotely make sense.

Run, Lucy, Run!

In keeping with the spirit of the new year, Lucy has a resolution all her own. Well, in a way. She has begun a new exercise program, whether she likes it or not. It all began with her brush. To say that Lucy likes to be brushed is an understatement. She goes CRAZY at the sight of Latino or me reaching for what she seems to think is a magic massager. She even reacts to me saying "Brush!" It is a merely a rubber brush that fits over a hand like a mitt, and it has rubber bristles of varying sizes on either side.

Latino used to love watching me brush Lucy because she would act like she had died and gone to cat heaven. She makes little chirping noises. When I stop brushing her, she glances up at me as if to say, "You are not stopping yet." Latino says she doesn't want to believe the bliss could be over. He could only handle so much from the sidelines until he decided he needed to be a part of this game. He began holding up the brush just to see her reaction. He will start to brush her for a few seconds and then walk away. She follows at his heels and chirps like mad. He will brush her more and then turn around and walk back. This continues until Latino stops because I am certain Lucy would maintain this behavior all day if given the chance. This is entertaining to watch, but it also sparked an idea in my head.

Lucy's vet has indicated that she could use some additional physical activity to help with her tires (Latino's words, not the vet's). She recommended to find something that motivates Lucy to get her into shape. There does not exist in this world anything that motivates that cat as much as her brush. I began a daily activity of brushing her and then sprinting across the room to get her to run as well. This continues until I get tired because although I regularly jog 2-3 miles, I am not a sprinter. Ultimately, we all win. Lucy, Latino, and I all get more exercise. Latino just needs to pick up the pace.

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Scapecat

Lucy is guilty. Mostly because she does a terrible job of defending herself. You would think she would voice an occasional, "Who me? I didn't do that!" She does not even try to blame anything on Sasha, so ultimately she takes all the blame. 

Latino once destroyed a measuring spoon with the garbage disposal. He could have gotten rid of the evidence, but he proudly presented it to me and told me that Lucy had chewed it up. I scolded Lucy for a half second, until I realized that was some awfully hard plastic for her to take a bite out of. The sad thing is if he had blamed Sasha I never would have believed him. He has also displayed quite a large burn on his hand and said that Lucy bit him. My personal favorite is that whenever an unsettling noise comes from his posterior region, he claims it was Lucy. Purring. Sometimes he even says, "Wow, Lucy, you purr loud!" I couldn't make this stuff up.

 These are just a few examples, but they clearly illustrate that Lucy is the designated scapecat. It dawned on me the other day that I do the same exact thing! When I drop something I always call out Lucy's name like it was somehow her fault. Perhaps it is some form of classical conditioning that developed in her early years. She would wake me up, every night, by sitting on the nightstand and pushing things off of it until I jumped out of bed. Sometimes I would open my eyes and just watch her. Lucy would push an object a little bit, look at me, and then push it a little more until it fell to the floor. Now, years later, I guess I still associate hearing things drop with Lucy shoving them off the nightstand. I don't think I was her intentional Pavlov's dog, because it certainly backfired on her. Also, it took me longer than I care to admit to just remove the items from the nightstand, but I did so eventually. She soon discovered another way to wake me.

I'll admit I am guilty of blaming incidents on Lucy when it is not her fault. The difference between Latino and me is that, while he blames everything on the cats, he believes all is ultimately MY fault. Why, you ask? Because I brought the cats into our lives, so whatever they do is indirectly caused by my actions. That's like double-scapegoating, if there is such a thing. Maybe I can show him and get a couple more cats for him to blame.

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Donation for Sale

Latino is quite philanthropic. He drives a certain route where he knows there is a large population of homeless people so he can bring them some food and donate money. It's just a little bit here and a little bit there, but as the saying goes, "Small acts, when multiplied by millions of people, can change the world." ~Howard Zinn

Latino's main goal in bettering humanity involves none other than Lucy and Sasha. He really would like to donate them. He has been wanting to do so for years now, and I am a stumbling block in his plans. Latino tells the cats that we can find them a new home where they will be so happy. Every so often when I'm frustrated with Lucy jumping on the table or I'm vacuuming up cat hair, Latino will remind me of his idea. "Maybe there is a possibility you could reconsider donating them."

Lately he came up with a new plan. "We should give Lucy away. If someone gives us $2 million, then we'll give them the cat." I replied, "I love her, but even I'm not sure she would be worth that kind of money to someone. They might not even pay $10 for her. She's feisty as heck!" Latino explained that I was misunderstanding him. "No, they would not be paying $2 million for her. It's like if you donate $5 and you receive candy in appreciation for your donation. You know the candy is not worth that much, but it's about donating. She would be the appreciation gift for the donation." He then redirected his statement to the cat. "You're worth $2 million, Lucy. We just have to find the right candidate."

Now accepting: $2 million
Donator will receive an appreciation gift*
*not a cat

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Incognito

It has been said that a picture is worth a thousand words. This is a synopsis of what I said when I viewed this picture of myself:

"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT I LOOK LIKE  A SPACE ALIEN?!"

But mostly, I just shook my head in disbelief. Because when you realize your face has mutated into the configuration of a Star Trek character, words have a way of escaping you.

There is a story to accompany the picture, but there is sadly insufficient explanation. Latino and I joined some friends for a canoeing trip in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness in northern Minnesota. (Side note: If you get the chance, go there. It's a beautiful and unique experience. Just be sure to bring observant friends. And lots of Benadryl.) I left instructions for my friend who was taking care of Sasha and Lucy for the week. When we were halfway there, Latino said, "Shoot! I forgot to tell the cat sitter to leave the door open! You won't be mad at her if the cats escape."

The journey was a memorable one. There was beautiful scenery, multiple lakes to paddle across, campfires, the distinctive calls of loons, and quality time with Latino and our friends. The most memorable event happened on day four. I rubbed my eyes in the morning, and thought that my face felt a little strange. I had no mirror to see for myself what was going on, so I mentioned to Latino that the area around my eyes felt weird. He glanced at me and said I looked fine. I periodically would rub my eyes to try to ascertain what was going on. However, I was not too concerned because Latino said I did not look any different. Another male friend reaffirmed what Latino had said as well. This went on for a few hours as we were paddling and portaging back toward the car. I rubbed my eyes, asked my husband and our friend to look at my face, and was reassured there was nothing wrong.

Enter the only other female on the trip. She took one look at me and proceeded to yell to her husband, a doctor, that I was having an allergic reaction. FINALLY! Someone to verify that there was something wrong with my face! My doctor friend gave me Benadryl and Ibuprofen and continued making sure I took a dose every four hours. By the time we got back to a vehicle with a mirror, I had taken two doses. When I timidly peered into the side view mirror, I started freaking out. I could barely recognize myself!!! The bridge of my nose that had once been a mountain between my eyes had sunken into a valley of a swollen mess. It was like a glacier had formed right above my nose and was gliding across my face, protruding in front of my eyes. I was later told that before the Benadryl, my whole face, ears, and neck were also swollen. Thank heavens no one took a picture of that. The photographic evidence I have is plenty bad enough to haunt my dreams. Also, it took three days for me to look normal again, so it was really fun explaining to everyone what happened to my face.

More unbelievable than the fact that my face exploded was that Latino did not notice it. He said it was because I had my glasses on. Apparently my glasses provide a Clark Kent like disguise that can even help space aliens go incognito. I really need to be a spokesperson for these glasses!

It is a mystery to me what caused the allergic reaction. I thought I got a bug bite the night before on my forehead, but I was also sunburned. This was not the end of the story. I had a similar reaction in South America recently when I was sunburned. I noticed it pretty early on and asked Latino if my face was exploding like it did in the Boundary Waters. He confirmed that it was. I started taking Benadryl right away so the swelling did not get as bad that time.

At least he is learning. Or I must not have been wearing my Clark Kent glasses that time.

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Mopping Around

It took years for us to discover this, but it turns out that Sasha actually does want to extend a helping paw around the house. (The jury is still out on Lucy. I'm pretty sure she thinks she deserves the royal life, watching us humans bend to her every whim in humble servitude.) Sasha likes to mop the floor, though not via the standard method. Even though I am certain she has the best of intentions, what she brings forth in ambition she lacks in opposable thumbs.

In typical form, it was Latino who discovered her mopping ability. Sasha was meowing and begging for his attention on the kitchen floor. He began petting her and she flopped onto the floor. He then must have seen a look in her eye indicating that she wanted to help us. She stretched out her body and Latino began pushing her back and forth and in figure eights across the floor. She remained motionless, letting her body do the work. He is the handle to her mop head, and she is putty in his hands.They are quite a perfect match in cleaning partnership, or if nothing else, cheap entertainment. I mentioned to someone the use of Sasha to mop the floor, and she said Latino is practically a scientist for figuring that out. Latino's head is big enough; I don't want him to take the credit for Sasha's generosity.

Unfortunately, she only is proficient in dry mopping at this moment. As soon as Latino can convince the cats to shower perhaps we can move on to wet mopping. That is the subject for another day.

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Sasha Meme #1