Tag: cats

Columns

So, this is August?

Cindy Hval

In my most recent column, I bemoan the fleeting days of summer. And what happened to July anyway?

Apparently, I blinked and missed July. How can a month with 31 days just vanish? I feel like I’m in an alternate version of a John Lennon song: “So this is August and what have you done? Another month over and a new one just begun.”

I spent much of last summer out of town for “War Bonds” readings or events, so this summer I planned to make the most of the longer days. My list of things to conquer seemed so manageable back in June. But now it’s August and I still haven’t even worn the swimsuit that arrived too late for our Hawaii anniversary trip in March.

June was a blur of end-of-school activities, and by the time we celebrated Sam’s stellar report card and Zack’s graduation from Spokane Falls Community College, the month was mostly gone. But July stretched languorously out before me and I’d planned to squeeze the most out of those summer hours.

At the top of the to-do list? Get braces for Sam, which seemed a simple enough task. After all, I’ve been down the orthodontia route with his oldest brother. But the orthodontist we used back then has long since retired. Finding time to take him to visit at least three specialists to get quotes has proved impossible.

 Sam’s been busy stripping and painting his grandmother’s deck and volunteering at the North Spokane Library. When I have time – he doesn’t. When he has time – I don’t.

At this rate, he’ll be in college by the time his teeth are straightened. Actually, he will be in college because while we haven’t done the orthodontic visits, we did enroll him at Eastern Washington University. This fall he’ll be a Running Start student at his dad’s alma mater.

I’d hoped to take day trips around the area, but the farthest I’ve ventured is my backyard. Why waste gas when the garden is glorious, the flowers in bloom and hours drift by while I devour a great “beach read” beneath the Great Gazebo’s generous shade?

Instead of exploring area day hikes, I’ve stuck to my regular neighborhood walking route, despite the challenge of navigating massive roadwork projects.

The other day as I approached some work in progress, a kind flagger escorted me across the street. Apparently, I look like the type of person who might fall into a 5-foot crater, even though it was filled with three guys in hard hats and marked by orange traffic cones.

Taking the cats to the vet is always on my summer list. Because I’m no glutton for punishment, I always schedule separate visits and insist one of the boys accompany us. Milo and Thor have plenty of time for a car ride. Zack and Sam do not.

Last year at this time, we were inundated with zucchini. In anticipation of this year’s bounty, I spent quite a bit of time finding and organizing recipes to showcase our squash crop. My mouth watered with thoughts of zucchini casserole, cookies, breads and fritters. But so far our zucchini crop has been a bust. We’re awash in tomatoes, carrots and onions, but nary a squash.

Writing during the summer is always difficult. My rarely quiet home gets even noisier with kids and company. I’d hoped to be to the halfway point on the first draft of my second book, but, alas, I’m nowhere close to making that goal.

I did however record several episodes of my new podcast “Life, Love & Raising Sons,” which debuts next week at SpokaneTalksOnline.com. The program shares the title of my second book, so I count it as progress.

Even more fun, Zack and Sam joined me for the first two episodes. If you’ve ever wondered what a Hval family dinner table conversation sounds like, you can tune in or download the podcast once it’s posted.

So this is August and what have you done? Me? I just ripped up that pesky summer to-do list and put on my new swimsuit. The month is looking sunnier already.

Contact Cindy Hval at dchval@juno.com. She is the author of “War Bonds: Love Stories From the Greatest Generation.” Her previous columns are available online at spokesman.com/ columnists. Follow her on Twitter at @CindyHval.

Columns

Front Porch: When the tubby tabby’s on a diet, life is hard

Cindy Hval

Note: Cindy Hval is on vacation this week. Milo, her personal assistant and the senior cat of the Hval house, is filling in for this week’s column.

All I wanted was a snack. I mean, is that so much to ask considering the starvation rations I’ve been placed on because of Thor’s weight issues? He gets fat and I have to suffer. It’s just not right.

I called to her from the hallway. “Meeeeow!” I said. She didn’t even look up from the computer. So rude! So, I asked again more forcefully.

No response. Just the clicking of her fingers on the keyboard.

Maybe her hearing is going. I sat next to her ankles and explained the situation. “Meeeow, meow, MEOW!” I said.

“Be quiet,” she replied. “I’m on deadline – and you just ate.”

The nerve! Obviously, she wasn’t getting my message.

I jumped up on her desk and looked her in the eye while explaining my dire dietary needs. She just put me on the floor and patted my head. So patronizing. I then jumped on the food tub and knocked the measuring cup to the floor. It toppled with a satisfying clatter.

“I’m starving here,” I said. “I’m gonna faint! I need food NOW!”

She sighed and snapped, “Fine. Then YOU can write this week’s column!”

And off she went – without feeding me.

Like I don’t have enough responsibilities around this place. I am busy from morning till night. My day starts early because I have to rouse Zack and Sam. One of them is supposed to feed Thor and me, so I wake both of them because it doubles our chances of getting fed in a timely manner.

Then I have to tell her that I’ve been fed. Usually she’s still in bed, so I sit on her chest and give her the morning update. I throw in a few kisses and tickle her ears with my whiskers. I have to do this or she just falls back asleep.

By this time Thor is acting sleepy, so I chase him around the house. Upstairs, downstairs, under beds, on top of tables. For a chunky cat, he sure can run. He thinks I’m trying to kill him, but I’m not. I just need to remind him who’s in charge around here.

I’ll never forget the day they brought him home. The shock is seared in my memory.

The family had been out for the evening and I’d kept watch over the house like usual. They think I’m sleeping on the back of the sofa, but I’m not. I keep one eye open on the bird situation – also the dog situation and the strange cat situation.

It’s a lot of work. Every so often a dog comes in our yard and I have to run all over the place from window to door to window to alert everyone to the intruder.

Even worse is when the mangy Manx from up the street comes over. He saunters into my backyard like he owns it. Even though I’m not allowed to go outside, it’s still MY yard! He thinks he’s all that because he’s an indoor/outdoor cat, but he’s not. He’s just scruffy and dirty and has a terrible attitude.

Anyway, I’d just relaxed when the family returned and they’d brought me a present – a huge carpeted tree for me to climb on! I was so excited! I jumped up to the top and surveyed my domain and that’s when I saw him – a tiny ball of tabby-striped fluff.

I couldn’t believe it. I jumped down to the floor and he bounded up to me and tried to kiss me. He actually put his paw on my face.

I ran over to her and climbed into her lap. “You’re not serious, are you?” I asked. “You’re not going to let this kitten-thing stay. It’s just a joke, right?”

She rubbed my cheeks and scratched my chin and said, “Oh, look! Milo is so happy to get a little brother!” It’s like she doesn’t even know me.

He’s NOT my brother. I had brothers and they were not tabbies of below-normal intelligence, like this thing called Thor.

I slipped into the bedroom and hid under the bed. I stayed there a good long while, hoping they’d get rid of that thing. But they didn’t. And I got hungry, so I came out.

But I digress. Trying to slim down Thor by chasing him all over the house is just another one of the jobs added to my already overfilled schedule.

Probably my most important job is ensuring Dad gets enough attention. I don’t know where he lives during the day, but he’s gone for hours and hours. When he comes back, I rush to the door to greet him.

When he gets ready for bed, I jump up and give him extra head rubs. After he’s settled, I curl up on his head. The poor guy has so little fur up there, I worry he will catch cold. So even though he pushes me and says stuff like, “Knock it off, Milo!” I stay in position. I want to keep him around because when she starts talking about kittens, he says, “No more cats.”

Obviously, he and I are the only ones with any sense around here.

Oh, look, she’s back and she’s opening the food tub!

I should just ignore her. I should just sit in her chair and pretend I don’t hear the rattling of food as it pours into my bowl. But if I do that then Thor will eat all of his and mine, too. I can’t let that happen – fat cats die young and I actually kind of like the tubby tabby. Let’s keep that just between us, OK?

This Front Porch column originally appeared in The Spokesman Review on July 19, 2014.