A Day In The Life Of A Cat

7:01 AM. Waking up at home. Strange dreams. I was in a field of catnip, but instead of tasting like catnip, it all tasted like candy canes.

7:04 AM. An examination of the exterior from the back of the couch indicates flying lunches out around the feeders. It also indicates fresh snow in the night. Well, we can’t have that delaying our staff from getting out to work. After all, we’re nearly out of milk.

7:12 AM. Waiting on the staff to get downstairs and start on my breakfast. Fortunately I hear her up and about upstairs, which is a good thing. She hasn’t ignored her alarm clock today. I shall bide my time and be patient with all the elegance and grace one expects of a higher being like myself. Because I am a higher being. 

7:18 AM. Pacing back and forth on the living room floor. Come on, staff, what’s taking you so long?

7:23 AM. The staff finally comes downstairs. It’s about time, staff, I was about to send a search party after you. And by search party I mean me.

7:24 AM. Explaining to the staff my requirements for a substantial breakfast. Now then, as I have told you many times before, I really do not require field rations. And yet you keep pouring them into a bowl for me. It is entirely sufficient to have milk and meat set out for me. And honestly, would it kill you to wake up a half hour earlier so that you could put my plate in the fridge? I’ve also explained to you that the ideal dining experience is to have my meat on a slightly chilled plate. And despite what you might be thinking, I am not a high maintenance cat. I just like having things the way I like having them.

7:26 AM. The staff puts my breakfast down on the floor. The milk and plate of tuna meet with my approval. The bowl of field rations do not. I pass on the field rations and get to work on the milk and tuna.

7:29 AM. Finished my breakfast. I shall leave my staff to have hers in peace.

7:36 AM. Sitting on the back of the couch, staring out into the day. Distant barking starting up. It’s that foul hound from down the road. 

He sounds agitated. 

Good.

7:39 AM. The staff is on her way out to that place she calls work. I remind her to pick up some milk on the way home. 

7:41 AM. Watching the staff depart in her car for the day. Musing on how to spend the day. Obviously naps are in order. As I always say, you can never have too many naps.

7:47 AM. The barking continues from off in the woods. Yes, that idiot mutt does sound annoyed.

7:58 AM. The barking seems to have abated. Maybe the hapless dog has figured out that whatever it is he chased is out of his reach and he’s giving up. Just as long as he doesn’t show up around here. Because if he does, I will be quite displeased.

8:07 AM. Watching the weather channel. At least they’ve gotten rid of that forecaster who would panic every time a snowflake fell. But now they’re talking about how in a few days it’ll be time for the Santa tracker from NORAD. Come on, you’re adults. You know and I know and everyone else knows that Santa isn’t real. Why are you wasting time going on about Santa trackers? And doesn’t NORAD have more important things to do?

10:39 AM. Waking up from a nap. Taking a big stretch. Debating whether or not I should get up. On second thought, maybe more napping is in order.

12:15 PM. Waking up again. Heading over to the kitchen as I’m feeling a bit hungry. Coming face to face with the only food that’s out in the open. That bowl of field rations.

12:16 PM. After much reluctance, I help myself to some of the field rations.

1:28 PM. Hearing the distant barking of that foul hound from down the road. I take it the mailman is on time as usual.

2:03 PM. I do some of my routine sharpening of claws at the scratching pole. In doing so, I release some residual scent of catnip from the carpet… and with that, I find myself descending into a catnip frenzy, during which I cannot be held accountable for what I’ve done.

4:13 PM. Waking up from a nap. Looking around. Well, it appears I’ve murdered a Christmas ornament on the tree, have upended two scatter rugs, and have knocked over three nutcrackers. Why my staff likes nutcrackers is beyond me. I mean, the things look creepy as hell…

A catnip frenzy makes a cat do strange things.

5:27 PM. The staff arrives home. She’s carrying a bag of milk and another bag of groceries. This meets with my approval. She notices the things I’ve done during my catnip frenzy. In my defense, staff, it was the catnip. Don’t narc on me.

I walk up and give her a head bonk on the legs and start purring. She responds by giving me a scratch behind the ears. Works every time.

5:32 PM. The staff is setting the nutcrackers back up while I watch. I’ll say this for my staff. She may have a fondness for nutcrackers, which I don’t get. But at least she has better taste than to buy one of those Elf on a Shelf things.

6:07 PM. The staff is preparing dinner. It appears to be pancakes tonight. With bacon.

6:28 PM. Dinner with the staff. She’s cut up a couple of pancakes for me. The bacon is particularly appreciated. You know, staff, all we have to do is get you to stop feeding me field rations and I’d rate your cuisine skills as higher.

8:33 PM. Sitting in the living room, staring at the Christmas tree. Wondering why human beings put things like this up in the house, things that we are naturally given to climb, and then protest when we start climbing them.

11:29 PM. The staff is off to bed. Very well, staff. Good night. Sleep well. I’ll be down here, knocking nutcrackers over again from time to time. And for the record, it will be in self defense.

Truly The King Of The Blues: The Thrill Is Gone

"Thrill is gone

The thrill is gone away

The thrill is gone, baby

The thrill is gone away

You know you done me wrong, baby

And you'll be sorry someday

The thrill is gone

It's gone away from me

The thrill is gone, baby

The thrill is gone from me

Although, I'll still live on

But so lonely I'll be

The thrill is gone

It's gone away for good

The thrill is gone, baby

It's gone away for good

Someday I know I'll be open armed, baby

Just like I know a good man should

You know I'm free, free now, baby

I'm free from your spell

Oh, I'm free, free, free now

I'm free from your spell

And now that it's over

All I can do is wish you well."

"As long as people have problems, the blues can never die." ~ B.B. King

It wasn't unexpected, but the best blues musician of all time passed away on Thursday evening at the age of eighty nine. A lifetime of performing the blues, well into the late years of his life, connecting with audiences, the influence he had on blues and rock and roll, the music he leaves behind. I never met him, but when I heard the news yesterday morning, it was as if I'd lost a friend.

B.B. came into the world as Riley B. King in the Mississippi Delta in 1925. His early life was hard and rural. Music first seriously came into the picture during Army days in the Second World War, listening and being influenced by jazz and the blues. Professionally he started out in gospel before shifting into the blues, picking up the nickname along the way. From the 1950s on, he was on the road, rarely letting up, building a following, becoming a giant in the industry, playing with a wealth of other musicians through the decades, his own style influencing their own. U2, The Rolling Stones, Eric Clapton, Buddy Guy, and many more learned from his playing style.

He played a Gibson guitar he called Lucille, and man, could he play. He sang and played- though rarely at the same time, moving from lyrics into bars with that guitar, improvising and bringing out a sound that was all his own. Rolling Stone designated him the third greatest guitarist of all time behind Jimi Hendrix and Duane Allman; I would place him at first, but that's personal opinion. He could hypnotize an audience with his music, particularly that signature song The Thrill Is Gone. There were times he was perfectly happy to let Lucille speak for him.

He was acclaimed critically and commercially through his life. B.B. would acknowledge that the blues came out of despair, but he could bring many moods into the music. Over the course of his career he won fifteen Grammys, sold over forty million records worldwide, was inducted into the Blues Foundation Hall of Fame and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and had one of his albums of particular historical significance, 'Live At The Regal' preserved in the Library of Congress. 

As strong as his music was, he a gentleman and a humanitarian in person. He would encourage young people to make positive choices. In the early Eighties he donated over eight thousand recordings to the University of Mississippi, an archive of blues music for scholars. A museum bearing his name can be found in his childhood home town, telling not only his story but the story of the Delta blues. And in 2005, the Mississippi House and Senate designated a day in his honour. The great musician had never stepped into the state Capitol until then. He described it later as his proudest moment, saying, "I was in Heaven. I was so happy I that I cried."

I've loved listening to this great musician, and regret that I never did get the chance to see him live. The blues might be best heard when you're feeling down, because it lifts you up, and that's what B.B. did. Even late in life, he was on the road, performing, getting in front of audiences, playing for President Obama, drawing in his listeners, telling stories, playing the blues, raising spirits. His impact on music and culture is huge. The world's a lesser place with this great man gone.

I leave off with three of my favourite songs by the great man:  Lucille, The Thrill Is Gone, and a live rendition of  Love Rescue Me with U2.

Rest in peace, B.B., you were the best.

A Wound In The Heart

"Who's to say where the wind will take you

Who's to say what it is will break you

I don't know which way the wind will blow

Who's to know when the time has come around

Don't wanna see you cry

I know that this is not goodbye" ~ U2, Kite

The song Kite is from the album All That You Can't Leave Behind. It's a song that can be interpreted in a number of ways, but when the band was writing the song, Bono's father Bob Hewson was dying of cancer. It's a song about saying goodbye when you don't know the words. In the concert DVD Go Home Live From Slane Castle, the song is used. The band did two concerts at the Irish castle in 2001, a few days apart. One of those concerts was recorded for the DVD, and both concerts were at the time around the death of his father. Bono dedicated the song to his father in the concert, and it really does speak to those who are grieving. Here's the song from that concert, and the entire concert can be found just by entering U2 Go Home at Youtube. I'd argue that it's the best concert they've ever done.

A couple of blogs back, I mentioned that I'd been away on some family related things. It was a visit to my mother. Back in February she was diagnosed with cancer. And it progressed much faster than we could have expected. She was hospitalized, and it was clear early on that she wouldn't be leaving, that time was running out. I went back last weekend to see her. My father has been dealing with this as well as he could. There have been a lot of visitors to her at the hospital, and one of their friends said something that stuck with me: that my mother was like a saint.

 

She seemed so frail in that hospital bed. She'd lost weight, and I suspect the cancer had spread into her brain. It was hard at times for her to find the words, which frustrated her. And yet she was at peace with it all. Her faith seemed to sustain her. She needed to see her children. I spent time with her, and told her the things that I needed to say.  I told her that I loved her, that I was proud to be her son, thanking her for being my mother. 

On Saturday evening, my mother passed away. She was in hospice care by that point, and one of my brothers was with her at the end. She did get the chance to have all of her children come to see her. She's the kindest and most generous person I ever knew, a constant for all of us. And now she's gone. It's hard to believe. I feel numb right now, in shock about it. And I already miss her. That light has gone out in the world.

It's going to be awhile before I get back to any kind of routine. Losing Mom is like a thunderbolt. She was the best of us... and nothing will ever be the same again.