Norton Hears a Who's Going on a Roadtrip

I called Norton in the morning. He was still "mad" at me. Which I found funny, but bit my tongue. As soon as I said "road trip" he perked right up. Then he wouldn't stop jabbering. I had a sinking feeling that this would be a lot more fun for him than it would be for me. I asked him to come over around noon, because I had a bunch of things I needed help getting sorted and loaded into the Fargo. He promised he'd be over with bells on.

He wasn't kidding. At noon I got a knock on the door, and there he was standing in the doorway wearing a jesters cap complete with bells. When he walked through the kitchen the tinkling must have sounded like a kitty toy, because Clarence 1 who likes to sit on top of the fridge, launched himself at Norton's head. For a couple of seconds I stood there laughing while Norton tried to remove 18 pounds of purring calico cat (mental note, time to trim Clarence's claws).

After showing Norton the various boxes, and lists of things I had to pack and sort. He waved me off saying (and I quote) "I got it buddy, you head off and do your stuff, I got this."

This was as good a time as any to head in to see Vernon. Vernon is my book keeper. He likes to think he's my accountant because he took a semester of accounting at community college. He is a whiz with numbers and probably knows more about the ins and outs of finances better than most, and I trust him. His dad Vernon Sr. was a Rotarian, not to mention a Paul Harris Fellow (a big deal apparently), and the apple didn't fall far from the tree.

Vernon is an odd duck. He's one part Floyd the Barber (his voice) and one part Count Floyd (his hair) and every time we get together he plays the part. Last time I went to see him a plastic spider fell on me and I just about crapped myself, and Vernon laughed so hard he almost fell off his chair. Anyway, I arrived at his office and went in looking for him. I called his name a couple of times but he didn't answer.

It's not unheard of for Vernon to step out and leave the office open. I went to hang my coat in the closet, as I reached in to get a hanger an arm shot out and grabbed my hand followed by a loud "BOO!" I think I spotted myself at both ends. Vernon came out of the closet (don't go there) practically jumping up and down, "Oh man. Oh man," he said in his Floyd the Barber lisp "I got you. I got YOU."

After drinking a glass of water, and checking my pants, Vernon and I got down to business. It took about an hour and a half. The short story was I was making money and keeping up with my invoicing and payables, but somehow there was an unexplained gap between my income and expenses, and Vernon was stumped. I admitted that it was a head scratcher and that I'd have to look into it some more after the weekend. Vernon walked me to the door, and patted me on the back as I left. Thankfully I found the "kick me" sign before I got to the car.

When I got home Norton was gone, and there was a note on the fridge. "Just about done. The truck's loaded, and I'll be back tomorrow to finish up." This was almost too good to be true. I went to the shop, and sure enough all of my stuff was gone, and the check lists were on a table with check marks and scribbles beside all of the tasks.

Maybe I'd been too hard on the kid.

Anyway, it was getting late, and I was getting hungry. I gave Margaret a call and asked her what she was doing for dinner. She invited me over (yes!) for dinner. We spent the evening just chatting and hanging out. It was nice.

Oh yeah, Clarence 2, is starting to look a lot better. I guess getting outside really helped. All of them looked like the cat who swallowed the proverbial canary all day.

Birds, Turds and Automobiles

I woke up this morning to sunshine. After a couple of days of less than stellar weather it was a nice change of pace. I got up feeling 100% better and set out to feed the cats and take care of Clarence 2. I whistled for the cats, but they didn't come. Not even Clarence 3, who I'm sure is just an undersized pig.

Peeking into the living room I saw the cats lined up at the sliding door looking into the backyard. Their tails were twitching and their ears were circling like little radar dishes. I walked over to see what had their attention and I froze. It was a scene straight out of The Birds. My lawn was completely covered with birds. Hundreds of them. The sound of the telephone snapped me out of my trance.

It was Mrs. McCleary asking me why I had so many birds in my yard, and who was going to clean up the mess on her windows? Occasionally there'd be a thud and a thump as some poor creature hit a window. The cats, even Clarence 2 wanted outside.

I had a lot to do today and time was running away from me, as the weekend was approaching quicker than I could prepare for it - all in all, this wasn't the best start to my day. The phone rang again. It was Norton.

"Norton." I asked, "What did you do to the lawn?"
"I fertilized, and over-seeded."
"Norton, my lawn is covered with birds, it's like a scene from a horror movie. What did you do?"
"I told you!" Norton was defensive, which usually means that he really doesn't know what's going on, opposed to his smuggy tone when he's done something on purpose. "I fertilized, and put on the seed you had in that big bag in the garage."

I called Norton an idiot and hung up the phone. The "big bag" in the garage was a fifty pound sack of spring mix I use for the bird feeders out back. Norton had covered my lawn with the entire bag.

I peeked out the window and the birds were starting to thin out. Possibly because every cat in the neighborhood was having a field day (if there was a Christmas for cats it came early this year). My cats were staring at me, and then out the window and back at me, imploring me to let them join their friends. What could I do? I opened the door; two of them were off like a shot, and Clarence 2 off like a speed walker. I closed the door and curtains, not wanting to watch.

Figuring I still had the better part of a day I got in the truck and headed for town. I had hardly gone more than a few blocks when the familiar thump thump thump of a flat tire forced me to pull over. I got out and kicked the tire just to make sure it was dead. I could almost hear DeForest Kelley in my mind telling me that it was indeed dead. Followed by "I'm a doctor, not a mechanic."

Speaking of mechanics, I was towed to Jimmy's Garage (don't ask me about the spare - I was driving on it). Where Jimmy himself met me. Me and Jimmy have a love hate relationship. Jimmy loves my old Fargo, and I hate Jimmy (I'll tell you about it one day). Jimmy kicked the dead tire and looked at me with his "I told you so" look, it was the same look I got last time I was in.

Anyway, to cut a long story short (because I'm tired). Jimmy looked over the three other tires and proclaimed that they were past being legal, and that he couldn't let the truck go until I'd bought new tires. We went back and forth for a good twenty minutes until we settled on a set of good used tires that had plenty of life left in them.

I was there until almost closing time, and by the time I was able to leave, it was too late to go to Vernon's office, and too late to pick up any odds and ends. Dang. I'd have to call Norton tomorrow and apologize and see if he could give me a hand.

I'd also forgotten to let the cats back in.

Bile, Beer and Flying Pigs

I think I ate something funny last night. Not funny "Ha ha" either. I've been eating crackers and drinking ginger ale all day. I'd forgotten how much fun dry heaves can be, and how truly awful bile tastes. For those of you who hate beer and refer to beer as bile, let me tell you, the only thing bile and beer have in common is the letter "B". On the plus side, I think I finally got rid of all the gum I'd swallowed when I was younger.

I was worried about Margaret being as sick as I was, but I need not have worried. She called me in the morning from work to wish me a happy Monday. Something she only does when she's trying to goad me into saying something stupid - an all too frequent occurrence. When I explained how sick I was, and how terrible I felt I was hoping for a little sympathy. what I got was nothing. Although she asked about Clarence.

I wasn't in any shape to go anywhere, which sucks because I planned on going to see Vernon today even though I try not to work on "Non-day" since I refuse to acknowledge the existence of Monday. I need him to look over the books. I'm falling behind, and I know that I'm making more than enough money to cover things, so somewhere there's a disconnect.

The way I felt today didn't leave me in any condition to do much other than sit in front of the TV and cuddle with the cats. Clarence 2 is showing more signs of life, but he hides under the bed when I put on my gloves.

I seldom watch TV during the day. When I was a kid there were game shows on all day long. They've been replaced by "Judge" shows. Man there are a lot of TV judges - and boy are there a lot of screwed up people out there. I'd like to be on one of them shows as the plaintiff. I think I'd sue Norton for breach of implied contract regarding my lawn. He said he fertilized my grass on the weekend ...

Speaking of Norton, his mom called me this morning asking me if I needed any extra help around the place. I told her I'd get back to her (just as soon as pigs fly). The upcoming trade show is looming over my head like a 50 pound bag of cement. I have a sinking feeling that I may actually have to give the kid a call and ask for help.

I can see the winged pigs off in the distance doing barrel rolls ...

The Day of Rest has No Rest for the Wicked

Sunday. The day of rest.

So I rested.

It's going to be a busy week, as I am preparing for a trade show next week so I planned on milking Sunday for all I could.

I'll spare you any cat stories for today - mainly because it would take too long, and I'd have to tell you about the scratches on my arms, and I don't want to. Besides, it hurts to type, and I want to keep today's bloggitty thing short.

An odd thing happened just after lunch. I got a call from Jesus. Apparently the little visitor's card I filled out at church last week made it all the way to the big guy's inbox, and my absence from his place of worship was noticed and I was being called to account. It was a pre-recorded message telling me that his dad really loved the world, so much so that he was sent to earth to be the propitiation (I'm going to have to look that one up later, but it sounds pretty bloody impressive) for my sins, and that after the the crap and abuse (um, that's a paraphrase) he took on my behalf, he really didn't think it was too much to expect that I could have a little respect and come to church. Besides, the church he wanted me to attend had really great coffee and convenient hours with three services to choose from on Sunday - so I could make some effort to be grateful.

That got me thinking about coffee so I called up Margaret and asked her if she wanted to grab a coffee. I met her a half hour later. She was just getting her chai tea latte from Cindi, and by the time I was at the counter she had a large black coffee waiting for me. She wouldn't take the money from my hand. She asked me to put it on the counter, and she'd get me my change. Margaret gave me a WTF look, and I just shrugged.

Anyway, we spend a pleasant afternoon together chatting, and I had to listen to more about Keira Knightley and how pretty she was in her period costumes. I made a comment about how it was my turn to choose the next movie, and I was looking forward to picking it up a DVD I'd not seen before starring Bruce Campbell. This more of less killed the conversation. She still hasn't forgiven me for making her watch Bubba Ho-Tep.

Tomorrow is Monday, and I have some odds and ends to look after. I should probably go and see Vernon, my accountant. I'll see how I feel in the morning. I have to go out anyway, as I need more gloves.

Birkenstocks and Armpit Spiders

This blogging thing is more difficult than I gave it credit. I suppose you're expecting me to write in great detail about my adventures trying to get Clarence to eat those bloody horse pills Dr. Autte gave me. Or more excitingly, how I had to wear rubber gloves and apply a topical ointment to Clarence's inflamed backside. This would be where I insert the obligatory "Ring of Fire" joke and sing Johnny Cash mariachi songs.

But I won't.

You know why? Because I don't want to. That and I'm still kind of disturbed by the image of my finger disappearing into my cat's anus (the incorrect way to apply the cream). Actually what creeped me out was the noise he made. It really sounded like "Whoooooah!"

I'm also still trying to recover from last night movie extravaganza. Keira Knightley was great in those Pirate movies ... but having to sit through Atonement while Margaret sat enraptured was almost too much. I was also out of beer - I'd run out of Kilkenny (it's a beer I got into during my South Park phase ... don't ask) so I watched it sober.

Today while Norton was over to mow the lawn I decided to bugger off and grab a coffee at the little place down the street. There was a new girl serving coffee I'd not seen before. She was wearing a name tag that said "Hi, I'm Cindi" and she'd drawn red hearts over each "i". She was wearing a tank top, and had enough ink on her to make Tommy Lee feel naked. She crossed her arms, and armpit hair was creeping out like spider legs. I couldn't help myself, I looked her over, and sure enough, she was wearing a pair of Birkenstocks. A part of me wanted to look outside and see where she'd park the Volkswagen van.

I gave myself a mental smack on the wrist - no need to be judgmental. I walked up to the counter and ordered a coffee. Cindi just stood there smiling at me. Then she did an odd thing, she reached over and took my hand and looked me in the eye and said, "Can I read your palm?"

Too surprised to answer, she turned my hand over and ran her finger along some of my palm lines. She cocked her head to the side, looked at my other hand, and then abruptly let go, washed her hands and then got me my coffee.

When she came back she said, "You might want to wear a second pair of gloves next time ..."

I took my coffee and sat at a window seat. A few minutes later Norton strolled by looking oddly satisfied.

It was one of those days.

Cat Scratch Fever and The Silver Spoon

Today I was pretty bummed out. I got the call from Dr. Autte this morning, and he told me Clarence was suffering from something called "fecal impaction". I must have sounded stunned (more so than usual) because after a couple of moments Dr. Autte explained that Clarence's anal glands were blocked up, and that he wasn't able to express himself. I tried to explain that Clarence was a very affectionate cat, and never had any problems expressing himself. Dr. Autte waited a moment before repeating himself excepted he used the word "poo" and that he needed my permission to put him under to clean him out.

Around lunchtime I got a call from Lucy, Dr. Harry Autte's assistant, that I'd be able to come later in the afternoon to bring Clarence home. Not trusting myself to drive over, I called Margaret and asked her if she'd be able to take me. When I got in the car I had an odd moment as Ted Nugent was blaring "Cat Scratch Fever" through the speakers. I gave Margaret a look, and she sheepishly changed the station, this time it was Harry Chapin sanging about "Cats in the Cradle". This was getting to be too much. I reached over and turned off the radio.

When we arrived at the vet's, Dr. Autte and Lucy had Clarence waiting for me in a basket. Clarence was wearing one of those cone things, and looked both angry and embarrassed. Dr. Autte called me over to the counter and passed me a small bag and a piece of paper. The paper was the bill. The bag contained a half dozen pairs of plastic gloves, a tube of topical ointment, and a small bottle of horse sized pills there were supposed to soften his stool.

After repeating the instructions to me several times, and showing me the correct and incorrect ways to apply the ointment, I was allowed to settle the bill and take Clarence home. When Margaret and I arrived home Clarence 1 & 3 set off a symphony of miaows and Clarence 2 offered a weak reply. I set Clarence on his pillow, and wrapped a blanket around him.

Margaret gave me a warm hug, and told me it was all going to be okay. She then pulled a DVD out of her purse and reminded me that tonight it was her turn to choose for movie night.

Atonement.

Just great.

I'm not sure what I looked forward to more: the movie or having to apply the cream to Clarence's backside in the morning.

Poop Scootin' Boogie (w/ apologies to Brooks and Dunn)

I was sitting watching TV this morning and eating my breakfast when I noticed Clarence 2 scooting himself along the carpet. It took me a minute to realize what I was seeing as the last time I'd seen a scoot like that was at my buddy Cliff's place a couple of years ago when his dog Angus was laying skid marks by dragging his mangy ass along the carpet. Watching my cat pull himself along the rug was a little surreal. I laughed it off as a weird thing for a cat to do, and went out for the morning to run some errands.

When I got back in the afternoon Clarences 1 & 3 greeted me at the door, tangling themselves in my legs. There was no sign of number 2. I walked into the living room, and I stopped cold. There were rust colored hash marks all over the carpet. I squatted down and rubbed one of the "lines" with my finger, and gave it a sniff.

"Oh crap." Well, I'd found my signs of number 2.

I went to the washroom to wash my hands. Then went looking for Clarence 2. I found him under my bed. I eventually coached him out, and he didn't look good at all. After wrapping him in a towel, I carried him to the car and drove to Dr. Harry Autte, my vet. He took a look at him and told me he'd keep him for the evening. Someone would call me in the morning.

So, now I'm waiting.

Paper Bags and Earth Day

Yesterday was earth day. I'd almost forgotten to mark the occasion, but I managed to celebrate by letting my cats Clarence add compost to Mrs. McCleary's garden.

I know we're all going green (trying to, or pretending to). If it's not trying to "borrow" carbon credits from developing nations, it's trying to eliminate the evils of the plastic grocery bag. Now don't get me wrong, I think we all have our part to play in being aware of our poor besieged planet. But what the heck is driving the banning of the plastic bag?

You know who I think is behind this "movement"? The marketing folks at the Glad Products Company that's who. Somehow they've put together a street team of malleable "green thinking" tree hugger types whose sole mission in life is to save the planet by banning plastic bags.

Why?

Because the plastic bags end up in landfills, and that's bad.

Very bad.

You know what? They're right, those bags end up in the trash - you want to know why? Because people, and there are millions and millions of us, use those bags as garbage bags. That's right, we actually use one of the principles of recycling. We re-use.

All that's happened by my local store going "green" and not using plastic grocery bags is that I now have to buy my plastic bags to put into the landfill, instead of getting them "free"with my groceries.

Who makes the trash bags of choice?

Glad.

A coincidence? I don't think so.

"We Need to Talk, John"

Margaret called me this morning, and asked me if I wanted to go for lunch so we could "talk". Now the phrase "can we talk?" should be reserved and used as sparingly as the phrase "please castrate me". I asked her where she wanted to meet, and she mentioned a little coffee shop within walking distance of my place. The conspiracy theorist in me thought "she thinks you won't be in any condition to drive home afterwards ..."

Anyway, I spent the morning puttering around the workshop and reconciling my accounts payable pile. Around 11:30 I put on my jacket and walked down to meet Margaret. She wasn't there so I ordered a coffee and a ham and cheese sandwich and picked a table where my back wasn't facing the door.

A few minutes later she came in, looking flushed and happy. She waved at me and I waved back. She came over, I stood up to give her a peck on the cheek, but she turned her head and I got to to lay on a decent smooch. After putting her jacket on the back of her chair Margaret went and ordered a chai tea latte (I think that's how it's spelt) and a corn dog.

She sat down, and reached over to hold my hand. I gave her hand a little squeeze. "John" she paused and took a bite of the dog, "We need to talk." I think my face blanched a little. They say women smell fear the same way dogs do. I would have crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair, but Margaret had hold of my hand and tightened her grip.

"John, it's about my lamp."

I breathed a sigh of relief ... I would get out of this in one piece (unlike her unfortunate lamp).

Bangles and The Boomtown Rats

I don't like manic Mondays.

I can go another step beyond and say most weeks I skip Monday all together and wait for Tuesday. Since I often have to work on Saturday I take the Monday off in lieu, and by default it becomes my Sunday. Then when I go back to work, I pick things up on Tuesday.

Most of the time this works really well for me. I woke up this morning at 7:30 and rolled over to catch a few more winks. I must have hit an untapped reserve of z's because I didn't crawl out of bed until close to 10:00 am.

The first thing I heard was the three part harmony of Clarence the cats. Clarence 1 & 2 were pressed against my head - one on each ear. Clarence 3 was standing on my chest looking at me with a look that could only be described as "evil". They wanted food, and they wanted it NOW.

Not the greatest way to start my day. You can fool Monday some of the time, but you can't fool it all of the time. I had a sinking feeling as I looked over and saw the red light flashing on my phone. I pressed the button to hear my messages. "You have five new messages ..." I had four from the lady asking about her lamp, and one from Mrs. McCleary asking me if I had anything to say about my lawn.

It would be one of those days ...

Church and the Pope

Well since the Pope was here this week (no, not at my house) I got to thinking that maybe I could do with a little "churching". I went to church a few weeks ago for Easter, and by my watch I was good until Christmas Eve - but with all the attention on the papal visit, I figured it wouldn't hurt me to make an appearance in God's house and remind the big guy that I'm around.

There's a great little church not too far from my place that reminds me of a pub that's been turned into a place of worship. They serve coffee before, during and after the service. On those rare occasions when communion is celebrated you can choose to receive an individual serving, or if you don't have a cold you can actually drink wine (grape juice) from a chalice.

I was almost late for church today because Clarence (number 2, the brown one) decided that he was going to crap in my shoe instead of the litter box. Anyway, I arrived at church and got my coffee in my inspirational mug. Today mine said, "God Loves you just like you love your coffee". I laughed because I like my coffee black.

The service today was pretty cool. There was a multimedia thing that was as entertaining as it was creepy - Jesus was a boxer fighting the devil. It was acted out on the stage by the Sunday school kids. This little fat kid was playing the devil and shouted out, "You're dead meat, Jesus, I'm gonna bust you UP tonight!" Then a kid who was playing Jesus said, "Go ahead, make my day!" He squinted when he said it, and I waited for him to say something like "You feeling lucky" but it didn't happen.

After Church I saw Norton and his mom. Norton wouldn't look at me, which reminded me to take a closer look at my lawn when I got home.

Grass and the New Guy

Saturday is typically yard work day. Or as I like to refer to it: my least favorite day of the week. About a year ago I hired a young kid from the neighborhood to look after the lawn. Don't get me wrong, the kid is nice enough - actually he's not a kid. He's a college graduate (community college I think) but he's about as smart as a bag of bricks.

If it wasn't for his mother I wouldn't keep him on, but for 10 bucks a week I get my lawn cut. After a fashion. It's become something of a mystery as to what my lawn will look like from week to week. One time last year Norton decided to cut the words "Fart Head" on my from lawn. I wouldn't have known about it but Mrs. McCleary from across the street could read it from her bedroom window and made a point of letting me know about it, once a day until the next Saturday when Norton came to do his "job".

Well, today Norton arrived and he asked me if I wanted my grass cut. He says this every time he comes over. Now I've got a pretty good sized lawn, and depending on what kind of job Norton does it can take anywhere from an hour and a half to around twenty minutes.

Today it took him three and a half hours. I've not received any phone calls ...

Grilled Cheese and Tuna

Today was one of those days where I couldn't put anything together. I work for myself, so most of my days are pretty much the same. I get up, put on a cup of coffee and then go to my workshop. Usually one or more of the cats follows me around until I feed them, and then I'm left alone until dinner.

My workshop consists of my usual assortment of odds and ends. Today I was supposed to fill an order for a lady in town who wanted me to customize an old lamp. I know, don't get me started. It's a lamp. But for whatever reason she wanted me to trick out this old brass lamp and make it more of an "architectural detail" than a lamp.

Anyway, I took it apart, and sorted the parts (as I normally do) from smallest to biggest laid them out on my table. I had a couple of ideas, and spent the morning scribbling my ideas down. Around lunchtime I figured on an approach and took a break.

I made myself a grilled cheese and tuna sandwich, and this may sound gross, but for the rest of the afternoon the smell of my fingers kind of turned me on. I couldn't help but think of my girl Margaret.

Anyway, that was pretty much the end of my day. I puttered around for another hour or so, and didn't get any closer to finishing the lamp. However I did give Margaret a call and we'll be getting together for grilled cheese and tuna later on.