Cat Chronicles: Never Turn Your Back On A Cat In The Kitchen 2:08 PM

Please note large cat sized hole through plastic used to "Hoover" the meat out.

My back was turned for the time required to reach for a ziploc bag. The slurping sound alerted me. The cat has a cloaking device and is capable of stealth mode.

Cat Chronicles: No Harry! Not now! 3:02 PM

Flailing Cat-Cam

Starting Week Three.

In addition to adjusting to the constant lack of sleep, I've had to adjust to cat playtime. Those of you with dogs know that you are invited to play. Panting, whining, scratching, getting a ball roughly shoved into your leg or crotch are all ways you are asked to play. 

A cat's invitation to play is as subtle as a drive by shooting. In most cases I don't know we are playing until we are deep into the heat of battle. This week there is a strong similarity to Cato in the Pink Panther Movies and my charge Harry. As you can easily guess that makes me Clouseau and I am feeling more and more of that bad french accent creeping through. Just like the Pather movie's Cato, Harry will lunge out of a dark corner on high attack mode while I bumble through an attack counter move. My darling Harry launches himself on me, ears back, both feet forward diving into some unprotected body part. After swearing I end up realizing "Oh, right, we're playing". 

I will be trying to price some jewelry for an upcoming show only to have him abruptly dive into a nearby ziplock bag and delightedly seize a pearled laden strand to bite. Only a quick kick of the floor pillow makes him distracted enough for me to snatch the necklace back unshredded. "Harry Nooooo!" has become such a repetitive phrase I suspect he thinks this IS his name.

He also like to steal whatever I have touched last, sport watch, elastic hair bands, earrings are all targets. I discovered my iPhone is too heavy for him to make off with but was fascinated to see him try and work it off the coffee table grabbing at it with his front claws while standing on his back legs. Shane nudged me out of my stupor saying "Um, is that a good idea to let him do that?" 

At night the play is more dramatic because I am usually unconscious when Harry has thought I am wanting to play. Apparently rolling over is secret signal for "dive onto me from the highest furniture across the room." 

In order to prolong all our lives, Harry has been officially banned from the bedroom at night. I suspect that he will pay attention to this as much as Clouseau's Cato did his admonishments "No Cato! Not now!" Harry noooooooo!

Cat Chronicles: 5:30 am, Bacon and Cat safe zones 10:56 AM

Week two into our cat cohabitation finds us, like most adoptive parents, adapting to being perpetually sleep deprived and besotted with our charge.

It turns out the little guy has an obsession with food far beyond most cats. He will routinely snort down all his and any other food he could get his teeth into. Unfortunately for Harry he has been adopted by trainers. We ordered healthy organic minimally processed cat food and bonita fish snacks. This cat karma has already resulted in measured food on a time schedule along with exercise oriented toys. Weighing my fur friend once a week and a cat health log was started. If only Oprah was a cat at our house, you say, there would be no problems. 

However there are times only the superior training of a ninja can stand between a cat and - BACON.

As part of my glamorous trainer lifestyle, I was making dinner at 5:30 am and got a little crazy deciding to put some cooked bacon into my insanely healthy poblano pepper, roasted corn, tofu soup. For those out there who are raising an eyebrow, yes, nitrate free, antibiotic free, swine who roamed freely on a green sustainable farm. I think the pig's name was Bob who had a high quality of life, his favorite color was green and he loved Coldplay. Hope that proves how sensitive I am to the pig's life.

I should have noticed the cat circling the floor in front of the microwave as it defrosted but the lack sleep is making me as punchy as an air traffic controller pulling a second shift.

Many moons ago I took some martial arts classes and I managed to irritate my sensei enough to be assigned rudimentary blow block drills and shadow boxing until I could focus. Or shut up. Neither happened. It was his version of sending the unruly recruit running circles around the platoon, gun over your head. While this revelation shocks none of you, those sweaty repetitive drills saved my bacon this morning - quite literally.

In my early morning distracted state I had placed food on the counter in a designated "Cat accessible Zone."

 "Cat accessible Zone Example"

Please Note the Cat Clearly Visible in the "Cat Accessible Zone"

There a two small "Cat safe Zones". My husband has patiently explained to me this is simply because Harry doesn't know about those areas yet.

The cat with a stealth I've only seen in wire suspended actors in Jet Li movies, suddenly popped onto the counter as I was slicing the bacon. The orange striped blur was just a movement in the edge of peripheral vision on the crowded counter. The automatic elbow block held harry back, scuttling backwards noisily into the coffee maker in frustration. Fear not, all the bacon made it into the soup. 

Cat Chronicles: Cat Owners Don't Sleep 3:42 AM

I will not go into the long and convoluted explanation on how it happened, but we have a cat. Now when I say we have a cat, I mean we have a roommate with orange tabby markings. At least that's how he sees it.

We thought that a 1 1/2 yr old cat would bypass some of the more annoying kitten stages while still maximizing our cat shelf-life. So Henri the Tab moved in - Harry to us and his friends.

However we have two small problems, he is still a young cat and he is smart. Smart enough to keep us sleep deprived, dazed and muttering the phrase "what can he come up with today?"

His favorite thing so far are sinks. He never tires of trying to find where the water goes down the drain. Unfortunately it never ceases to scare me when he springs effortlessly into the kitchen sink and jams his little paw into the disposal up to his shoulder. A new "cat-proof" drainer was purchased.

His lounging in the bathroom sink provides for interesting toothbrush scenes. Flossing is almost a martial arts drill in defensive maneuvers. He's been examining the faucet with great intensity so I'm expecting phone calls from the neighbors about water dripping though the ceiling while we're at work.

So far the biggest challenge has been Harry's preferred breakfast time. The factory settings for the little guy has been 4 am. Daylight savings cranked that back to 3 am this Sunday since it's not like Harry's clock changes like all my other computer gadgets. So far I've managed a stand off at 5 am which still results in much whining, crying and other cat tantrums. I'm pretty sure he's wearing me down as I stumble through my work day in a daze. So much for skipping the annoying stages.

When sharing this with another cat owner, she looked at me with a surprised look and said, "You realize cat owners don't sleep? Did you forget that part?" 

Yes, I did.

Pithy Gym Quip of the Week 9:55 AM

Client: "I read a story how dolphins were being found carrying conch shells in their mouths. At first scientists were thinking the dolphins were merely catching fish hiding in the shells. Now they suspect the dolphins are teaching each other to trap fish with the shells. I think its an amazing example of evolution in action."

Me: "I went to the DMV to get a copy of my drivers license last week. I'm pretty sure that none of the people I saw could be taught anything no matter how hard I jammed a shell in their mouth."

Games People Play... 4:57 PM

As always, I start out for a bike ride and I think its going to feel great. I have this image of the perfect ride in my head. Its so great feeling I can even hear a sound track playing..
peppy, driving, its all so endorphin producing.

After poor planning, heat, bugs, maybe not enough water,

what I end up feeling more like this.

I needed a good coping mechanism to get home from this decidedly hard ride that was "a whole lot of no fun", as my husband says.

Like most adults the coping mechanisms I resort to come from the most important and character building source adults have - long car trips. Yes, you think college or even boot camp, but lets face it, long forced family fun in a small vehicle can make one hallucinate. Or at least want to.

One extended bicker-infested car trip my brother invented a game called "What does that sign REALLY mean?" The game consisted of trying to come up with what WE thought the signs signified. I'm pretty sure that punching the loser in the arm was just his bonus, but the game I remembered.

So to get home I brought out the game from the dark recesses of my mind and found that riding a bike is far more dangerous than anyone would have realized from all of the signage.

Cattle Rustlers

Yes, in addition to cars cyclists have to watch out for crazed cowboys looking to rope a steer. Who else would be out on a horse?

Zombies

The undead are lurking everywhere but we have managed to mark some of their lairs for the cyclist's safety. You think its a pedestrian sign - but look closer. No feet, no hands, head detached but hanging on by a thread as it lurches forward in kind of a shuffle. That all says zombie.

Large Falling Vehicles

Like I don't have enough problems with cattle rustlers and zombies, I can be crushed by a falling fire truck. They have carefully placed the sign over the bike path sign to simulate the peril I face. What great signage.

Small Junior Zombies with Bricks

Wow the trail has become rife with the undead. Now I have to look for small brick carrying zombies who want to crush my head with a brick to make the brain snacking easier. A brain nutcracker. Jeeeze! Did I say I like this game? Big mistake. The trail has become a dangerous place. The peppy upbeat soundtrack music has changed to the Wizard of Oz music. Zombies and Rustlers and Trucks, oh my! Next time I'll try "I Spy".

Ride Home Fast Little Squirrel!

Unnatural Phenomena on the Bike Trail 6:43 PM

One particular area on the bike trail is worthy of documentation so I set out to photograph it. It's unique - and really creepy.
At the intersection of the bike trail you look down to see the crossing lines waving crookedly across the pavement. At closer look you realize the lines weren't painted crooked. The asphalt has shifted with the lines on it. Is there some unmapped continental shelf or unknown plates shifting under the street?
I always hesitate before crossing the intersection as if the surface will suddenly shift or sink.
The fact it occurs in a forest preserve raises the creepy factor exponentially. Most horror movies contain scenes starting like this. I'm sure of it. This is just before someone yells, "No, no, don't cross the street!!" and hands reach up through the asphalt.
Wasn't this in "Evil Dead'?
Dismounting my bike I stare uneasily at the cryptic squiggles.

Perhaps this smacks of something more theoretical, involving folded space or some dimensional shift?
I feel more uneasy as I reach for my phone.
Phone camera clicking away I was not prepared for the suddenly magical appearance of a black Chevy truck, Foreigner blaring "Urgent" out of the windows and sporting an 80s style purple and pink swoosh across the length of it. "Nice a##", the driver shouts out at me as he rolls to a stop. He punctuates his thoughts with several loud "smooching" sounds before driving off.
Nothing makes a girl's knees as weak as an unshaven stranger in an out of this decade vehicle yelling obscenities and blaring music so tacky it couldn't make a Will Ferrell movie soundtrack. I mean what woman hasn't related a story like this and ended it with "and that's how I met your father."
But I stood still in shock. The world seemed to shimmer with this moment. 
The wild phenomena of the lost in time driver was it! I had discovered the true nature of the twisted crosswalk.
The intersection housed an erratic time warp that scooped undesirables from other decades and dumped them into 2011. 
Instead of a time wormhole I had discovered a time "jerkhole". 
The shear force of it opening and closing to eject the unwanted occupants in our time was twisting the very road. This also explained so much of my past dating experiences. 
All those hours agonizing over a Splenda laden latte were wasted. I could have been out buying shoes!
The ex I had referred to as a Neanderthal really WAS a Neanderthal!
The thought of all the people the "jerkhole" could be expelling was unnerving and helped with my understanding of political candidates. They did just seem to appear out of nowhere.
My excitement faded. I couldn't share this earth shattering scientific find. Without proper scientific funding and research, I would be reduced to shrieking my hypotheses on late night local cable channels, - or Fox News. Sigh. 
Beware The Tower Road Jerkhole.

Happy Trails To Me.. 6:01 PM

Three years ago a nasty road bike accident left a thumb-sized hole in my hamstring and made the open road a little too dangerous for solo road bike riding. Since then the bike trail has been the safest place for me to ride a mountain bike.
What I didn't anticipate was the rich, unraveling tapestry of life I would experience on the trail. Woo boy.
Last year I had a flat on the bike trail 18 miles away from home on a perfectly balmy 96° day.
I hopped off my lame hunk of steel to employ my family's favorite method of fixing mechanical objects that blends both sides of the tree.
Step One (as taught by my father): Swear and curse the object in the loudest and most creative terms you can. Make it personal, use other languages if you know them, the object has failed you.
Step Two (as taught by my mother): Shut up. Fix the thing. Go home. Chocolate.
The heat had delayed me and I was still trying to finish Step One when a fellow trail rider stopped to help me change my tire. He ended up being a french Canadian road rider who was taking an easy day off. He was polite, and to add to my humiliation, good looking.
As he changed the tire with a practiced hand he explained each step with a halting accent that would melt the mini skirt off most 20 year olds.
"What were you yelling when I rode up?' he asks.
I looked at the ruined tube in the grass with abnormal fascination.
"I think I said 'You Idiot Card-Legs, you'." 
He looked up surprised and asked, "Is that a swear?"
Changing the subject is a great tact when you have danced too close to the edge of rational behavior, and I make some small talk about the heat and humidity. He takes this opening to offer a heavily accented friendly biker banter.
"I saw you riding by earlier when I was doing intervals. You looked like, um like, umm..." 
I wait anxiously. His English seemed to fail him. I was noticed on the bike by an attractive foreign guy. My ego was inflating by the second!
"..an angry squirrel! Yes, that izz it!" he finished triumphantly.
I'm speechless for a minute as he waits for a response.
I manage to mutter, "I'm so relieved. I was going for a chipmunk but squirrel is so much better."
He animatedly finished fixing the flat as my self esteem sank. Angry squirrel.
One Year Later.....
Today as the 90's boiled the trail I wondered if I was going to get a flat or just terrorize other trail-bound cyclists like a mad rodent on the bike. I took a pit stop in the Botanic Gardens bathrooms to be rewarded with my trail nemesis, The Pissed-off Red Jersey Guy. All year I run into him at odd times on the trail and he is always determined show me how superior he is with his fancy road bike, making sure he passes me at every opportunity. I am on a mountain bike and at least 20 years older, none of which makes me back off as I take every opportunity to pass him. I can't stop myself and it only makes him even more pissed-off.
Today he has a friend with him and I actually hear him talking at the bike rack. A full year of dueling on the trail and I finally hear his voice as he chats with his friend.
"...and that lady over there is a pain. Every time I'm training I end up chasing her until my ass aches."
I smirked. 
Beware the Angry Squirrel, she will hand you an assache.

Sometimes I just crack myself up 5:31 PM

My first post underlined a problem that I have often dealt with. Humor is like fashionable footwear: what is wonderfully fabulous to one person is painfully repellent to another.

An acquaintance made this point with me at one time. He had all the appearances of someone people listen to, a man of taste. He had a great shirt and a really nice haircut. No, it was a great haircut. Let's call him that.

Me: "...so I laughed myself silly."

Great Hair Cut Guy: "Yes, but I need to tell you something."

I could see a little cloud floating around his head saying "good intentions". Great Hair Cut was urgently trying to help me as he gently touched my arm in concern. His sincere intentions were so strong I swear I could see inside that haircut that in his world I was swimming too far into the recessive end of the gene pool. There should have been alarms and buzzers going off. I had touched the side of the operation game. BZZZZZZZ. Uh oh.

He takes a deep breath and assumes a patient expression used to deliver bad news about a loved one to an unstable child.

Great Hair Cut Guy: "You say things, and you think they are funny, but they aren't."

Me: "Really. Are you sure it's not sarcasm?"

Great Hair Cut Guy shaking his head slowly: "No. That can't be it. Where are you from?"
Me (a little confused): "What?."
Great Hair Cut Guy becomes more urgent and leans forward: "Where are you from?"
Me (more than a little confused): "Iowa."
Great Hair Cut Guy: "That's it!"

Pause. His hair looms full, brilliant and triumphant in this revelation for a couple heartbeats as he positively beams with this amazing geographic discovery.

I tip my head and say carefully,"Yes, I can see that. There are dramatic drops in humor as you cross the Mississippi."

Great Hair Cut Guy: "THAT IS ONE OF THOSE JOKES!", he shrieked and fled.
I could not make this up if I tried.

I'm sure he and his hair won't ever be the same. Sometimes I just crack myself up and that has to be enough.

Evanston 4th of July Parade of Chairs and Junk 4:01 PM

Every year people tell me how fun it must be that I live on central street in Evanston so I can be right on the parade route. What they fail to realize is that people are strangely consumed with staking out a spot. To unusual degrees. 

After eight years I am starting to view it as more of occurance, like locusts or migrating birds that suddenly descend on the area in droves and nest in crazy places. 

So in that train of thought I went out to document the wildlife and their recognizable patterns.

The Building Project:

This isn't just someplace to sit for a few hours, we need everything dry for the ground breaking first thing in the morning. After the foundation goes in, we'll break out those chairs.

The Parade Lifer:

They are not missing one minute of this parade.They've been going to this parade for years and they mean business. And they wont have to worry about taking care of business either.

Macho Parade King:

I'm just not sure how much space I'm going to need. I've got coolers and buddies coming. I think. So roping off half the block seems safe.

Anal Retentive:

Each corner is 90 degrees. No Seriously! And in case you wondered whose it was there is a label with their name on it. I can't wait to see what the chairs are like.

Crime Scene:

Nothing says "don't touch my shit" like red banner tape. If the "Danger" on it isn't enough to scare you off, the large stake driven into the center is more than a little ominous. I'd like to see what they drive up in...

Anarchist:

Yeah, you guys can line up your chairs. I'm not gonna conform to that. Hell, I'm not even gonna take the chairs out of the bags. How about that? We may not even WATCH the parade.

Event Planner:

I bet there's a handout and name tags for these poor shmucks.

Depressed:

Yeah. Parade. Put the chairs out. Sigh. If I live that long. Sigh

The Outdoor Lazy Boy Setup:

I can see how tiring it would be having to stand and watch the parade. A footstool bench solves that. The flags just make sure you can find it once you put your remote down.