In case you’re not familiar with the song, “Kitten on the Keys,” given it dates back to 1921 and the period’s ragtime craze, here’s a link so you can enjoy it.
I sure wish I could play the piano like that! Amazing what trained fingers can do!
My keyboarding skills are directed toward the one attached to my computer. And I must say, I’m good at it. I learned to touch type when I was around 12 years old on an old manual typewriter. I always wanted to be a writer, so it made sense.
Later, after graduating high school and looking for a job, I did a timed writing on an IBM Selectric typewriter at an employment agency where I clocked 94 words per minutes for ten minutes with only two errors. I can even type while carrying on a conversation, which even amazes me. How can fingers operate independently from the conscious mind? Seriously, I could copy a document while talking to someone.
Maybe it’s my super power, who knows?
But that’s not what this blog is about. As always, I tend to digress.
After I moved from Texas to New York and was getting my computer set up again, I decided my keyboard looked a little grungy, so I should probably clean it. It looked as if there was some debris underneath, so I got out the toothpicks to see what I could dig out. It didn’t take long to discover there was a whole lot more lurking in there than expected.
At a certain point, the toothpicks were inadequate, so I got out a metal shish kabob skewer. I’m not sure how long it took me, but it was well over an hour, maybe two. By the time I was done, here’s what I had.
Okay, I’d had that keyboard for a long time, possibly a decade. My little furbaby, Ophelia, never actually slept on it like some cats do, since my computer hutch has a keyboard tray that tucked it away when I wasn’t using it. However, when I was at work typing away at lightning speed, Ophie would often sit on my lap or walk (or sleep) in front of the monitor, as any cat owner will find familiar.
I had no idea there was that much space under there.
Needless to say, the keyboard functions much better now for some reason.
I don’t know if this is a cautionary tale (cat tail, perhaps?) or a heads-up that you might want to see what’s hidden in yours. Somewhere to direct your next cleaning frenzy, if you’re prone to such things.
No telling what you’ll find.
Maybe the keyboard is that proverbial “safe place” where all those things you’ve secured over the years have disappeared? Unfortunately, all I found in mine was cat hair, though a few things in that “safe place” did show up after the move.
I’ve had a cat in my life since the day I was born. The one I grew up with, Snopsie, was a member of the family before I was. As I was growing up I often suspected that my parents loved that cat more than they did me. Now that I’m a mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother, I know with absolute certainty that such was true. Studies have shown that people have more empathy for animals than they do for other humans. I believe it. More often than not, I am one of them.
varies significantly. Sometimes they’re a pet and sometimes they’re a fur-baby. The years when I was raising a family and had a houseful of kids, the cats were pets. I cared about them, enjoyed having them sit on my lap, and did the best I could to take care of them, but they didn’t own my heart. Once I retired, however, and the kids were gone, it was another story.
I adopted Hamlet and Ophelia in December 2006 as a Christmas/Birthday present to myself. I’d heard that Bengals were unique, lively, and entertaining and were supposed to live as long as twenty years. One eighth of their genetic material is Asian Leopard, which accounts for their distinct markings and strong personalities. They’re intelligent, curious, agile, and adventurous which, as expected, leads to lots of mischief. Over the years, property damage and veterinarian bills have amounted to literally thousands of dollars, mostly credited to Ophelia.
who lived in an apartment with a preschool age son and a baby were the ones who adopted them from a cattery. It didn’t take long to realize that that was not the ideal environment for these active felines. Luckily for me, they realized this about the time I decided to get a cat.
When I retired in October 2009 we all moved to my lake house. It was half the size with no stairs. They were clearly bored, but we all made the best of it. There was one high perch that became Hamlet’s favorite, though he also liked the top of the refrigerator or the pie safe. I’m sure they would have loved to go outside, but they’d always been indoor cats and I worried about them in the rural environment. Hammie actually got outside one time, but freaked out almost as much as I did.
I never thought he would leave so soon. Ophelia was the one who nearly died a couple times, usually from eating something she shouldn’t, like a leather shoe lace and a hair tie, the latter of which required surgery. He was supposed to live to a ripe old age as an indoor cat, then gradually fade away and die a peaceful death. Instead, in what should have still been his prime, he slipped away within a relatively short time. He’d been losing weight, which wasn’t unheard of for a fourteen year-old cat. It seemed to get worse about the time the COVID-19 pandemic locked everything down.
Heike and I, two women in our 70s, dug a hole in the rocky, Central Texas ground and laid him to rest by my shed in the shade of one of my oak trees. I’m still deciding what to plant on his grave. The rocks you see around it all came out of the hole itself. We got as deep as we could until the rocks were too big to remove. In the next few days I’ll make it prettier and a decent memorial to an awesome cat.
The house feels so empty. Up until the past few months his presence was always known. He was very vocal and his climbing antics legendary. I’m so glad I took so many pictures over the years. Like they say, photos may not seem important until they are all you have left. Ophie has been in my lap much more than usual. Hammie was never much of a lap sitter. Actually, he was too big to get comfortable. If I had a blanket on my lap he would get under it and become the “undercover cat.”
To all the cats I’ve loved before
Bengals are typically 1/8 Asian leopard, giving them some wild blood. This accounts for their interesting spotted and marbled patterns and coloration, plus their behavior is different than the usual garden-variety feline, too. For example, Ophelia will fetch her toys like a dog. She has a propensity for tight places, which has resulted in numerous near-emergencies over the years. They can jump like you wouldn’t believe, love high places, like on top of cabinets, and they’re quite vocal. Even as I write, Hamlet is standing in front on my computer monitor meowing for his afternoon snack. This is often not a normal “meow” but more of a howl-yowl-growl medley that sounds downright creepy to the uninitiated.
Later that day, in complaining to my neighbor, a fellow pet lover, about Hamlet’s antics that morning it suddenly all made sense. Hamlet wasn’t asking for breakfast at 5:15. He was telling me to look at the Moon! Stupid human! Of course I felt horrifically guilty for yelling insulting names at him, to say nothing of that swat on the behind. I’d never seen anything quite like that Solstice Full Moon before and neither had he.
Xander de Hunter fans will be delighted to know that their favorite undercover cat is at it again in this exciting and vividly rendered adventure tale (or tail, as the case may be). If you’ve already read “Purranoia” (and you should, to fully appreciate this sequel) you’ll know that there were many unanswered questions at the end. Furthermore, Xander picked up a lovable sidekick, appropriately named Mischief. Her rebellious and inquisitive yet highly intelligent nature adds another important member to Catamondo. She continually rubs Xander’s fur the wrong way, especially her weird love of water sports, making the Sea Purrtector wonder if choosing to mentor her was really a good idea or not. The tension between these two adds conflict and more suspense, further enriching the story and plot.
Numerous shoppers saw the drama in progress, some trying to help (but didn’t), others voicing our own thoughts of what kind of a horrible person would drop off a kitten in such a hazardous place. There are numerous no-kill shelters in the area making this strategy for getting rid of an unwanted animal entirely unacceptable.
It didn’t take long before our young heroine stood up triumphantly, kitten in hand. She cuddled it to her bosom and joined us, allowing us finally to pet the little kitty who had caused such a stir. She looked like she was probably about three months old. It was November. The kitten was probably also a Leo. Coincidence? Of course not. There’s no such thing.
Heike asked her if she would keep it and she assured us she would, that their cat had recently disappeared and her mother would know what to do to take care of it. With heartfelt gratitude we praised her efforts and compassion then at long last headed home, knowing one discarded kitten would have a warm bed that night.
Marcha's Two-Cents Worth 