Beware of the Attack Cats...

I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but I have two cats, Moe and Murphy, a male and a female. Up until we moved to California, they were pretty normal cats. In fact, they were very friendly to anyone that came over to visit. They would jump up on a chair or a table to sniff the hand of the person that was visiting. People would comment about how cool my cats were. I couldn't agree more. They weren't like a lot of cats that I've know, mean.

Well all of that changed once we moved to California. We started to see subtle and not-so-subtle changes in the cats. I would walk out of our California apartment and Murphy would mew pitifully until I walked back inside. Moe, on the other hand, was worse. He started to become very clingy. Moe would often and by often I mean every freaking night, sit out in the hallway of our tiny apartment and just meow over and over until we either played with him or came to show him some attention. Sometimes, Laura would have to sleep on the couch with her arm on him to keep him quiet.

She remarked with much disdain, "Moe had to be near his Mommy!"

Laura called the local vet and asked her if there was anything that we could do. The vet listened to the situation and was clueless. She remarked that it sounded like Moe suffered from separation anxiety, which usually only occurs in dogs. The vet also suggested that we send Moe to a pet therapist at UC Davis for further study if we wanted some help with the situation. A cat with separation anxiety?

Laura wasn't that happy with the situation, but what could we do? Usually, playing with him and Murphy, but mainly Moe, would suffice. Laura would often ask while working her night shift if I played with the cats, which I usually didn't forget. The nights I did would be hell as Moe would revert to his meowing. In our tiny apartment, there was no place to put him when he's been bad. Now we just throw him out in our sunroom and let him out in the morning. Problem solved.

There is a problem we do have with the cats that we may never solve. They've gotten very vicious when it comes to strangers, friend and relatives. Usually, it's someone that they can tell is a dog lover.

We'll have parties and Moe will station himself on a chair or a table so that when people have to walk by him to go to the bathroom, he'll hiss and bare his fangs, which usually scares the shit out of the people walking by.

A few years ago, we went to visit some old friends in San Francisco and we asked our friend Jeff to come over every other day to give the cats food and water. He said no problem. I called him up and asked him if he'd been watching the cats.

He remarked, "Not so good. I had to have Angela (his wife at the time) come over and help me."

"What? You're kidding."

"No, I'm not kidding," Jeff said. "From the moment I walked in the door, they started to chase me around the apartment. The more I moved away from them, the more they chased me. I was really scared and freaked out so I ran out of the house and returned with Angela. I'm jumping everytime they hissed and me and she's like 'Come on! They're just cats you freak!'"

Since then, we've known that we've had a problem with the cats. We were a little aware of their disdain for strangers, which is why we had a screen door on Julia's room for the first three years of her life. It didn't take long for the cats to warm up to Julia. Now Moe follows her around like a puppy, but we were worried he would have a problem with the new member of the household and then we'd have to get rid of him.

Currently, we're having a problem with the cats because we're trying to sell our house.

When you have pets and you're trying to see your home, it's common practice that you put the pets in a cage or just out of the way. We do have that large pet carrier that will fit both of them comfortably, but it's a nightmare to use. I usually have to turn the carrier on it's end so the door is in the air, then I have to grab Moe, the least docile of the two cats, and put him in the carrier first. Then I grab Murphy, the cat that is very likely to scratch the living shit out of you by her flailing hind legs and shove her in the carrier. It works, but we think it's a little cruel to expect them to be there for a two-hour period while we're waiting for house lookers to come through, so we ended up putting them in the garage.

Laura put up a note explaining to the realtors and house lookers that the cats were in the garage on the front door. It worked well for a few days, but then Laura got an unexpected call after she had gone to work. A realtor had wanted to show the house to some clients, but the cats were not put away. Laura warned them that the cats were out, but the realtor decided to take her chances.

I come home and the following note is posted on the door:

"We came through your house and the cats were not in the garage as your note said. They followed us around the house until we were cornered in the basement. :-) After they showed us their fangs and charged at us, we decided not to risk it and we left through your garage. Great guard cats! :-) Sorry if we left any of your lights on."

I had to laugh when I read that note because I could just imagine them being all fierce and intimidating. Keep in mind, these cats have no front claws so the worst they could do is to bite you, which they sometimes do, but it's just a nip.

Julia will sometimes come downstairs after bedtime to express her disapproval with Moe. It usually goes like, "Daddy, Moe bit me (shows me an invisible mark on her arm which probably was the result of her being too rough with Moe). I want him out of my room!"

I follow her upstairs to her room. Moe is usually lying on the end of the bed.

"Moe is fine." I tell her. "He's calmed down and he's resting."

"No. I want him out!" Julia defiantly says while pointing towards her door. So I grab the protesting Moe and through his ass out, which makes Julia happy.

The next day after the fiasco with the realtor, we had another fiasco with our realtor open house. I had taken down the note that the cats were in the garage because of the note written on the other side, but I forgot to leave another note telling people not to let the cats in. Of course, one of the realtors opened the garage screen door and let the cats into the house. They were enraged that strangers were in the house and the realtors fled in horror, thereby canceling the open house.

Now, we have put a lock on the garage screen door so that people can look out and the cats can't be let out.

Still, I sometimes wish my cats were back to the way they used to be, when they actively liked any strangers. While any burglars that makes the mistake of breaking in my house will be surprised by attacking cats, it's far less annoying to have cats that don't attack.

If you use something you pay for, then that's being cheap dammit...

Sunday was Father's Day, which is a holiday that always gets the shaft.

Someone told me that they read that Father's Day has about 2 billion dollars less purchases than Mother's Day does, which I suppose makes sense. After all, Moms are more apt to get flowers on their holiday than Dads. It's kind of hard to find a manly bouquet that would say "I love you Dad, but not in that way." I suppose it could be a manly plant like a cactus with some tools stuff all around it, but I digress...

Back to yesterday...

Laura was home from work on a small vacation, so we decided that we were going to use our YMCA membership and go swimming. Rather, Julia and I would go swimming while Laura works out.

Last week, I had invited Bill and his daughter, Tess, to swim with Julia and I. Tess seemed to really have fun so I thought I'd invite him again.

Bill said that he's think about it, but that he'd rather go to Star City Shores, the big public water park because Tess had fun when she went the day before with Bill's wife, Audrey. (I needed to mention why he wanted to go to Star City Shores since Bill often accuses me of writing one sided pieces about him)

Near the end of the conversation, Bill asks me why I want to go to the YMCA pool.

"Because we pay for it and we don't have to pay anything extra to go swimming."

Bill replies, "And because you're cheap."

"No, because I pay for the membership anyway, so I feel I need to use it."

Bill said that he'd think about it, but him calling me cheap really got me steamed. Yes, it's true that I am little thrifty with my money, but I think he's really exaggerating the point. It's not like I'm buying generic pop or non-Heinz ketchup. I don't. I have digital cable with DVR capability and I gladly pay for it. It's not like I'm like Laura's grandparents who never had pop in their house, who never stop to eat lunch when they go on a trip (they pack sandwiches). However, if they do stop for lunch, they split the meal. This is from when they grew up in the Great Depression, so of course they have the habit to be thrifty.

I suppose you could argue that I am cheap when it comes to spontaneously doing something. That's probably because I have a certain amount of money allocated for a certain pay period that I keep track of in my head and if I've already gone over that or am near it, I may not want to shell out more money. Is that so wrong?

Well, if you want me to be fair, I HAVE been known to be very late on paying people back, but then demanding immediate payment when people have to pay me back.

And I SUPPOSE you could say that when I have to pay people back that I have been known to pay them in payments of lunches here and there to repay my debt.

I mean, who among us hasn't been cheap every now and then?

And if digging through a garbage dumpster for a federal tax return check that my wife threw away because she thought it was junkmail makes me cheap, then I guess I am cheap (I didn't even find that stupid check anyway. Thanks, Laura).

So Bill calls me back a little while later to tell me that he's still thinking about it.

"So you called me to tell me that you're still thinking about it?"

"Yeah, because I'd rather go to Star City Shores."

"That's fine," I say, "but we've already planned on going to the Y."

"Look, if it's because you're a cheap ass, I could pay for you to get into Star City Shores."

I begin to get a little irritated at this point. Bill wanted me to point that out since he's usually the one mad in my stories.

He tells me how much it costs to get in for an adult and a child, but I can't let the cheap comment go.

"Bill, let me ask you. You have HBO right? (which I already know that he does.)."

"Right."

"What's on this month?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what movies are on this month?"

"I don't know."

"Okay, then what's the last movie you remember watching on HBO."

"Umm, I don't know. 'Surviving Christmas'. Why?"

"Well, why didn't you rent it you cheap ass?"

"That is totally not even the same thing?"

"That is so the same thing!" I exclaim.

"How so?"

"Well, you pay for HBO, but if you rented it on DVD you'd see it in wide screen anytime you want, but on HBO you have to wait for it and it's full screen. My point is that you're being cheap because you watched something that you pay for."

"Wow, you are really taking this personally," Bill says.

"Of course I am. Using a membership that you pay for is not being cheap. We pay for a family membership and we're going to use it."

"Fine."

I get off the phone. Laura looks up from the Sunday paper and says, "Your mothers right. Why do you guys have to argue about everything?"

I'm not exactly sure why we always have to argue about everything, but we just do. It's always been in our nature to argue with each other.

I wasn't quite sure how to end this story, but then Bill called yesterday. Laura, Julia and I were coming back from our dinner at Chili's to celebrate Laura and I's eighth wedding anniversary. My meal was pretty good (shrimp, chicken and steak skewers), but Laura was less than enthusiastic about her chicken quesadillas.

So Bill calls and I answer it. We start to reminisce about the Family Guy like we always do when he asks what I was doing.

"We're on our way back from Chili's."

"Oh, any good?"

"Well," I say matter-of-factly, "I had the corn dog kids meal. It was okay."

"Really?" he says a little disbelieving.

"Yeah. Then Laura and I shared a drink."

"Are you... are you serious?" he asks in disbelief.

"Yeah, I'm serious."

"OH! Because you're cheap!" he exclaims while laughing.

"Ri-ight!"

Try explaining the Internet to someone who has never seen it...

I'm reading a new book called "Earlybird: A Memoir of Premature Retirement" by Rodney Rothman.


It's an okay book. There are lots of reviews on the back about how hilarious it is, but mostly it's kind of whimsical and sad. In the book, Rodney retires to a Florida retirement community when he's only 29. He attempts to see what it will be like when he retires. There are a few funny chapters here and there, but mostly I get caught up in the depressing existence of his roommate, who has a parrot that immitates everything and several cats, none of which she's supposed to have.

In the retirement community, he runs into shuffleboard enthusiasts, a 93-year-old retired comedian, WWII vets, volunteer policemen and others. It's kind of sad that he spent this much time kind of pretending to be interested in them when he clearly wasn't. That kind of bothered me.

The book got me thinking about when I was in my second round of college in 97 or 98, I was taking a photojournalism course for my Journalism Graduate Studies program with an emphasis in news editorial. One of our projects was that we were assigned a project for one of the magazines the department put out. This particular magazine dealt with the issue of aging, so my assignment was to follow around a band that goes to nursing homes and plays shows for them.

Naturally, I was very curious about this band. They called themselves Milo and the Clefs. Milo was a 70+ year-old-man who played several instruments (mainly the saxophone). Playing with him were a rag-tag group of musicians who played the accordian, the Clarinet, the keyboards and the drums. They mainly played abbreviated versions of such standards like "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" and "Little Brown Jug" among others.

Long story short, I took pictures of them on two separate occasions. I thought the pictures were going to turn out well. I mentioned to Milo that these pictures were going to be used in a class project that will be published in the fall. In the meantime, I was going to be putting these pictures on the web.

Milo stopped listening, paused and confusedly asked, "The web?"

I kind of smiled and said, "Yes, on the world wide web."

"World wide web? What's that?"

"That's where you type in a web address (blank stare) into a browser (blanker stare). Then a web page comes up (even blanker stare)."

"A browser you said?"

"Right. A browser. You see, there are Internet browsers on computers (I'm seeing the blank stare again.) in which you can access the world wide web."

"What's on it?"

"Well, when you get to a web page... Let me back up... A web page is a... page... that has words (still with the blank stare) and pictures... on it."

"Why is it on a page?"

"Umm... Well... We can put these on a web page... That way, anyone can see these photos... if they have Internet access and a web browser."

(Milo looks utterly confused)

"Look," I say. "I could write down the web address of the project for you. I already have a lot of pictures on it already. The address is http... colon... backslash... backslash...(I pause because Milo stops looking confused. He looks like he's given up trying to figure out what I'm talking about).

"Umm... I could tell you how to get online if you want."

Milo laughs, "That's okay. We'll see them if we see them."

It was like when my Dad had to take a computer class for his job. Here he was, a 60+ year-old-man, who had never touched a computer in his life, and he was expected to learn this new piece of software. He didn't know how to use a mouse. He didn't know how to open folders. He didn't know how to open documents. How do you explain that to someone who has never seen it?

Bill and I have a healthy relationship built on mutual mockery and respect...

I honestly was just thinking of a topic to write for this week when I got an unexpected phone call. I swear that I was thinking of writing about me quitting my job, selling the house, trying to find a new one, my Phantom Menace diatribe that I was thinking about finishing, or the fact that I am very accident prone as evidenced by me almost cutting off the tip of my index finger with scissors this morning when I got the phone call.

"Hello?"

"You are a F&*(ing jerk!!!" (It was Bill)

"What?"

"You heard me. You're a f&*(ing jerk!!"

"What did I do?"

"What did you DO?! What did you DO?! You posted two stories about me that weren't exactly fair."

Oh, that's what I did. I did post a story in which I purposely messed with Bill. I was debating on whether or not to run with it, but Laura and Joe thought it was hilarious so I ran with it. Bill, on the other hand, thought that it was rather misleading, unfair and one-sided.

My Mom likes my writing, but she usually comments about the Bill stories.

"Why are you guys always fighting?"

My wife said when I told her this, "Has your mother ever heard you two talk before?"

Maybe we're civil when we're around our parents or maybe some people just tune it out, but yes, we tend to argue a lot. It's not that we don't like each other. We do. He's my twin brother and I wouldn't change any of our growing up experiences for the world. I truly feel blessed to have had Bill as a twin. He was always around and was a constant companion. On the other hand, when you have a twin, it is somewhat like a marriage. You're the same type of person, but not exactly the same type of person. You get to know someone really well, but then you know that person too well, so little things that this person does tend to get on your nerves, so you call them on it.

Now a normal person would probably tell you to go to hell and you'd never see them again. Not a twin. I believe most twins would tell you that criticism and arguments tend to roll off you and are not held as grudges for very long. My wife always marveled that one minute we'd be yelling at each other and the next minute we'd be going, "Hey, remember on the Simpsons when..."

So as twins we tend to argue a lot probably because we can argue and not hold a grudge. Just this Saturday, I was calling Bill to see if he had a tarp to cover a load I was taking to the dump (I had borrowed Joe's pickup) because all loads that go to the dump have to be covered or you get fined.

He said that he did and asked me if I could also dump off a grill that he melted when the fuel line burst and set fire to the knobs. I said, "Sure."

I asked him if he had any bungees to strap down the tarp.

"No, I don't have any bungees."

"No bungees? OK. What about that strap ratchet set you had with your truck?"

"No, I don't have that anymore. I gave that to the guy that bought my truck."

"Oh, well then do you have any rope?"

"Oh yeah. I have rope."

"Then why didn't you mention it in the first place since I was asking about tying down the tarp?"

"Because you didn't ask if I had rope."

Damn him! Caught me with a technicality.

He eventually asked me if I was going to stop by to pick up the grill, the tarp and the rope soon. I told him that I wasn't sure. He said that he would be leaving around 11:30 to go to a golf tournament. I told him that I'd keep that in mind, but I wasn't sure how long it was going to take me to load the truck.

"Make sure that you stop by my house before you go to the dump so you get that grill, OK?"

"Bill, didn't I mention that I needed to cover the load?"

"Yes."

"Then why in the hell would I come over your house AFTER I went to the dump? If I need the stupid tarp to cover the load, wouldn't it make sense that I would have to stop by your house sometime BEFORE I went to the dump?"

He chuckled a bit and said, "I guess that would make sense."

I get off the phone and Laura is waking up.

"Were you just talking to Bill?"

She knows our conversations so well.

Sometimes in our conversations, we offer helpful information. For example, today I was telling Bill about some strange circumstances with Joe's borrowed truck. I had put some little boy clothes into the cab of the truck to give back to Joe's wife, Jackie, who had borrowed them from a neighbor when Julia, who Jackie was watching at the time, had wet herself.

I pull up to the house this afternoon to find the clothes I had put in the cab by our mailbox near the sidewalk. I pick them up and put them back in the cab of the truck and lock the doors. I come back later and find that someone had tried opening the door because the door was slightly ajar, but not open. This made me feel a little paranoid about why someone would steal little kid's clothes, why they would bring them back and whether or not any cars I park are vulnerable.

I tell Bill this and jokingly say something about a pedophile nearby that stole them and returned them, which got me on another tangent.

"Hey, that reminds me," I say. "You need to check out the Nebraska listing of sex offenders because you have quite a few in your area." (Bill has a 18-month old at home)

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, you have two of them that live on the same floor of (that apartment complex two four blocks away from his actual address). You know the one by the gas station?"

"Well, that's good to hear. As if I didn't have enough to worry about in my area, now you've given me more to worry about. Thanks for that."

"Just trying to help."

So, it's not all arguing. Sometimes, they're conversations centered around pointing out insecurities.

I run with the Bill stories because they seem to be the favorite stories, but also, they are pretty easy to write. I can usually remember what Bill has said and add my own flair for good measure. It's a subject that I know well. Writing about them allows me to chuckle at them and helps me remember the ridiculous conversations that we have. Bill often complains that my stories are one-sided, but that's to be expected. After all, I am the one writing them, so of course I'll end up looking better.

Whenever I tell my wife about the latest story, she'll say, "You guys have such a healthy relationship."

It is a healthy relationship. You can be pissed at the person, but the unconditional love that comes with being a twin is hard to break.

If you call, I'll bleeping kill you...

I had a message on my voice mail the other day that went exactly like this:

“Bob, this is Bill. Hey. I.. am calling you ‘cause uh ah I’m like really run down and I’m going home to take a nap. And if you CALL, I’ll fucking kill you. All right? Because you have knack for doing that. All right. I’ll talk to you later. Bye Bye.”

I took that as a challenge. I had no intention on calling him at all this morning, but since he called and told me not to, I decided to call him anyway. The message was sent at 9:23 am. When I heard the message it was only 9:40. I figured I could still get in touch with him before he took his name. So of course I called.

The phone rings at his house number.

Audrey answers, “Hello?”

I immediately felt bad because I didn’t know she was home, so I quickly asked, “Is Bill there?”

“I’m sorry. He’s taking a nap.”

“Oh. Sorry,” I quickly say. “I’ll try him later. Sorry.”

Later, I get the expected call from Bill at about 11:00 am.

“Why in the fuck did you call me?”

“Well, I thought that since you were going home that I could catch you before you went to bed. I got the message at 10:25. I called you at 10:40.”

“Do you think that it takes me 15 minutes to get home from work?”

“No,” I said. “I just thought that I might get you before you went to bed because I was going to ask you something.”

“What did you want to ask me?”

“I was going to get the new Gorillaz CD and I was just checking if you were going to get it.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Do you want a copy of it?” I asked.

“Umm.. Sure. Is that it?”

“Basically,” I said. “I’m sorry that I woke you up. I actually wasn’t going to call you, but your nasty message prompted me to call. You should have just left a message like, ‘I’m going to take a nap with Audrey. Please don’t call.’ That’s all you had to do. You just kind of asked for it.”

“Sorry I asked for it.”

“No, I’m sorry that I woke you up.”

“It’s okay. I got three different calls after you called so the nap was a wash anyway.”

“Why didn’t you turn off your ringer,” I asked.

“All three of them?”

“Yeah.”

“Look I got to go ,” he mutters. “I don’t want to burn up my minutes on my cell.”

“Ohh… I’m… sorry… I didn’t … mean… to… take… so… long… on the… phone….”

Bill sighs. “Are you about done?”

I laugh. “Yeah, I’m done.”

Bill hangs up. Just when I was thinking that this was over and that any hopes of messing with Bill would continue were slim, I get a surprise.

Bill calls back in the afternoon.

“You know who’s funny?

“Who?” I asked with a chuckle.

“Bob. He is fun-neee. So funny. I tell you. Ho boy. He is hysterical.”

I start to laugh, “What are you talking about? What did I do?”

“Oh, you know. I told you that I wanted to get off my phone because I don’t want to burn my minutes and you go, ‘Oh. I’m…sorry… about… that…. I… don’t… mean… to…’ and you keep me on the phone and go ‘blah blah blah’ and ‘I’m so funny’ and whoop-dee-doo and la-dee-dee.”

I laugh and say, “I’m sorry.”

“When you say that you want to get off the phone because you don’t want to burn your minutes, don’t I let you go?”

“Well, yes.”

“Well, stop it! It’s not funny.”

“Oh, come on! It’s a little funny. Get a sense of humor.”

“Get a sense of humor! You all of people don’t have a sense of humor about this!”

I laugh again.

“Look. I was speaking slow because it was a reference to the Simpson’s episode where Homer calls a football betting line and they go ‘in… the… game… between… Denver… and… Cin… (Cincinatti) ci… Cincinatti) natt… (Cincinati)… ti…’ I figured that you of all people would get the reference and find it funny.”

“I’m just laughing,” I say, “because I was just writing up something about this today.”

He fumes, “I knew it! Great, another one-sided blog story!”

I defend myself by saying, “I had no intention of calling you today, but you kind of asked for it when you sent your message. I had to write it down verbatim.”

I read him the message in the same tone and cadence that he used. Bill hangs up.