Another White Chip

You know how the universe, or the Fate sisters, or some god-like intelligence working the joy-sticks likes to prank us by giving us the impression that everything is going our way? Of course, you do. You're no stranger here. Well, this morning was no exception.

I was up with the larks, the snails, and Bree, three of nature's best who apparently enjoy the early morning. The sky was clear and bright, the sun was at work on the usual corner, and bluebirds were singing the all-clear. In other words, all was right with the world, and no sign of the disaster that was to come.

But we Genomes are not new to this neck of the woods either. We've seen many days begin with this bien-etre outlook only to drop a banana peel in our path before mid-afternoon. 

Just as the honeyed sunshine climbed the garden fence and began creeping toward the snapdragons and clematis, I entered the kitchen to put on the coffee and get breakfast for Uma Maya and Sagi, the two resident felines of the Genome household. 

When Ms. Wonder entered the salon with a sheaf of travel brochures in her hand, I wasn't distracted in the way of lesser men. I naturally recognized the tactic as one of diversion and subterfuge. I knew that the imminent discussion of European river cruises was not the true source of danger.

Still, I'm amazed at the persistence of this Ms. Wonder in pressing the matter of cruises. Her fascination is becoming something that might possibly be defined in the Diagnostics and Statistical Manual V5. I can only assume it's something in her Slavic DNA, possibly something left over from the time her ancestors worked in the Orlov stables so near the Volga River. 

The problem with these luxury cruises, as I've mentioned in previous posts, is that once you get started, you find that you can't stop. You think you can quit any time you like but then the next thing you know, you're throwing a toothbrush and passport into a plastic bag and heading for the sea. First, it's a ship to Ixtapa Zihuatanejo, then it's a river barge down the Rhein, and the next thing you know, you're on a ferry down the Yangtze from Nanjing to Shanghai.

In the matter of cruises, I have taken a firm stand. If I wobble, she will be encouraged and continue to drag in these brightly colored tracts, much like Lucy, the cat, brings dead mice to the doorstep even though I make it clear in word and deed that the market for dead mice is sluggish if any.

Forgive me if the foregoing was a repeat. I sometimes get caught up in the emotions and let them sweep me away. Just stick with me and in the future, I shall remain mindful.

"Poopsie," I said, with confidence that suited me well; probably brought on by having the  home-field advantage, "do you know what today is?"

"Wednesday," she said.

"Today is the day Sagi gets his 90-day chip."

"Wow," she said, and with this one exclamation, I knew that I had sidestepped the talk of ships and ports of call. "Has he been clean for three months? Again?"

"That's right," I said, "our top-ranked caramel-colored tabby has not shredded a single roll of toilet paper since December 2. And you didn't need to add the 'again' to your remark. I'm aware that he's had his slips but let's remain confident."

"Oh, that boy!" she said with warm admiration. "Where is he? I'm going to give him a chin-scratching. He likes that."

Immediately, she was up the stairs and looking for the cat, probably on his favorite cushion in the upstairs window. And I was left in the kitchen alone, bubbling over with joie de vivre resulting from my nimble avoidance of you know what.

I was doing my patented victory dance, a little something that I'm told originated with Alexander, or was it Napoleon? No matter. As I danced my way around the kitchen island, the corner of the counter near the cupboard came into view. A sudden chill around the ankles stopped my dancing. I stared at a roll of paper towels sitting on the counter near the window. 

The subject, Sagi, sat next to the towels and looked toward me with an expression much like the one that native English speakers wear when about to say something in French.

The towels were not the tight wound roll of ephemera that you might expect. They were streaming out across the counter and down onto the floor. We Genomes have quick minds and I instantly discerned what had occurred.

There was Sagi, spirit floating gayly along, 90 days clean and sober. Sitting on the sofa with me watching Weekend Update and then I fell asleep, leaving no one in control. The Met Gala followed WU and all those celebrities parading down a long, flowing pathway must have reminded this champion feline of a roll of paper towels. 

Seeing that long, flowing streamer leading to the celebrity parade must have been too much for his paper addiction. I can see him now, white-knuckling through the show, hoping for the commercial that never came, until he could take it no longer.

I could clearly see, looking into Sagi's eyes, the familiar kitty lament that says, 'you promised that you'd never subject me to more than I can bear, but this!'

It must have been for him the work of an instant to leap to the counter and begin spinning the roll of towels until they shot across the room and floated to the floor. I can imagine how satisfying the sight must have been to him. But then the remorse of having gone back out inevitably followed, as it always does.

The evidence of his back-sliding is just another example of the trouble caused by Auntie Mabd, the younger of the Fate Sisters, or if you will indulge my own personal theory--Princess Amy. Now there's one of the girls if you want one. Benevolent universe, my left foot. And you can quote me! 

Not all aunts are bad, of course. My Aunt Mary Magdalene and Aunt Arvazine come to mind as the good and deserving types. Still, behind every poor schmuck going down for the third time is an aunt who shoved him into it and it's amazing how often the aunt in question is one of the big three--Mabd (Amy!), Nemain, or Macha.

It's the same for cats.

The situation strongly resembled some great moment in Greek tragedy where the hero is stepping high, wide, and handsome--as I believe the saying goes--completely unaware that Nemesis is following close behind looking for an opportunity to drop a banana peel. This moment was that moment.

I scooped him up and gave him a kiss behind the ear. "Don't worry my old buddy," I said. "We'll get through this; remember, my friend, you fail in the face of rolls of paper, but together we recover and re-roll."

Modern Life and Cats

"Modern life is not a lot of fun if left to its own devices," I said to Ms. Wonder and I felt it to the core.

"You seem low-spirited," she said and I think I've made it pretty clear that it was so. I was as low-spirited as I could stick even though Uma, Queen of Cats and Empress of Chatsford Hall lay at my feet doing an impersonation of an eel out of water in the hope, no doubt, of receiving a treat for the effort.

Empress Uma Maya 

"No, Poopsie, modern life is not much fun at all. Consider how Napoleon must have felt when Nelson sailed the British fleet into Cairo Bay and burned the French navy. Couldn't have been pleasant for him."

Sagi (Sagitarius) M'tesi

"It must have been much the same for Peter II when Catherine the soon to be Great, led the Russian army to the Winter Palace where he was in residence. No," I said, " modern life is just one damned thing after another, just as Shakespeare told us."

She gave me a quizzical look and I realized that she was about to interrupt my soliloquy with some drivel about Shakespeare but I wasn't done yet. I continued.

Beignet Lafayette

"But instead of searching for the silver lining of life's muddle-headedness, do you know what most people do? They get all hotted up and the pressure builds until they start leaking at the seams. You can find them grinding teeth and clenching fists and giving passersby a look that could open oysters at 20 paces. Only makes things worse, if you ask me."

I waited for her response, one that would make me feel that we commiserated if that's the word I'm looking for, but she didn't say anything, just gave me what passes with her as a compassionate look.

Lucy Lucille Lupe 

I remember thinking that brown eyes do a better job of portraying compassion than green eyes, but then it isn't her fault that she has the eyes of an elf, and besides, I knew what she meant. 

"Something really should be done before it's too late," I said.

"Done?" she said. "You mean something to change the general attitude of people you meet? Do you think that's possible?"

"Thank you for asking," I said. "I really would like to see people sweeten up a bit and I think I have the perfect antidote to whatever it is that poisons their outlook."

"Go on," she said.

"P.G. Wodehouse," I said. "It's imperative, the way I see it, that modern man, and woman too if she cares to join us, read Wodehouse to learn the importance of aunts, or rather, the importance of avoiding them."

Abbie (Abracadabra) Hoffman 

"But not cats," she said, always having her finger on the nub. "People must realize the importance of socializing with cats."

"Cats to be sure," I said. "Of what value would life be without cats? I mean, what's the point?"

We began to discuss the Wodehouse cannon and the relative importance of aunts and cats but somewhere along the way, and I'm not sure exactly where it occurred, I began talking about my own writing, and my hope that perhaps I could help supply some relief to pedestrians as they navigate life's potholes.

Eddy Spaghetti 

"I've paid my dues, the way many writers do, and I feel it's time I give back some of what I've learned," I said. "I shall stick to writing about what I know, which is normal life, or in the words of George Costanza, nothing at all, because that's what I know best. 

I'm as apolitical as an oyster but I'm not naive, at least I don't think so. I hope that I can follow in the great man's footsteps--I allude again to P.G.--and produce quality work in my latter years, just as he produced in his. Neither he nor I peaked early."

"I hope you consider offering spiritual guidance to your readers," she said.

"Not as such," I said. "My stories will be in the context of my own spiritual outlook but I will not be explicitly spiritual. I don't care to be preached at and I don't intend to engage in the practice. I have some knowledge of the Bible due simply to the age in which I grew up. We memorized and quoted Bible versus in primary school and I can nail down an allusion as quickly as Jael, the wife of Heber, who was always driving spikes into the coconuts of overnight guests.

"The plots I prefer are much the same as those of Shakespeare's comedies. The foibles of love and the antics of those trying to win or escape from love's embrace. There will be a scarcity of mothers and fathers, only because of my own upbringing, but a pile of aunts, uncles, and cousins, of which I had so many that laid end to end would stretch from here to the next presidential election."

"And cats," she said as Abbie Hoffman, who had just wandered into the room, and apparently decided that the number of felines in attendance exceeded the fire marshal's recommendations. He left the way he came.

"Absolutely cats," I said. "Cats add value to any subject and the absence of cats wounds even the best literature."

We both mused on this concept for several minutes, cats being a deep subject and a wide one too.

"I shall attempt to apply what I have learned from the master," I continued, "and use metaphor to the fullest extent. From bees fooling about in the flowers to the stars being God's daisy chain. I hope I can do it. I've certainly marinated myself in his works--not God's but Wodehouse's. I do hope so. These are truly troubling times we live in and we must battle the powers of darkness before we are undone."

"Excellent plan," she said. "I can't wait to see where this new path leads."

"Me too," I said and I meant it like the dickens!

Cats Anonymous

"Good morning," said a lump of bedclothes from Ms Wonder's side of the bed. "Back already?"

"Yes back from a sublime meditation and ready for whatever life wants to bung my way," I said.

"Well, take a look in the bathroom," she said ignoring my embellishments to the conversation. "Sagi's gone off his nut again."

"Much?" I asked with keen interest for this Sagi M'Tesi interests me strangely. We have done more than one intervention to catapult this feline into recovery but he continues to have problems with the first step.

"He's spent the morning decorating the bathroom in toilet tissue confetti," she said.

"And do you have a suggestion for action that I should take or would you prefer to allow him to finish with his work?"

"I thought you might get him back on the wagon--in the Chang Mai room."

"A sound suggestion," I said. "I can manage that armed only with a pure and compassionate heart. I have always found this Sagi to be a reasonable cat when not under the influence of double-ply tissue. I'm sure that even in his delirium, we can reach some arrangement."

"Whatever," she said.

I adjusted the waist of my Thai fisherman's pants, before entering the salle de bain, for one should always strive to appear natty when entering the presence of a Sagi. 

I entered stealthily and found a sanguine cat resting his head on a bath mat, eyes closed, paws drawn up to his chin in quiet repose. I put it all together with one quick glance around for we Genomes are quick to build the story from the clues. Sherlock Holmes was much the same.

Finding himself in a room normally off-limits to him, his first thought was to get to the highest observation post. I'm sure you would do the same. The space chosen was occupied by a large paper shopping bag filled with toilet tissue, so something had to give. Sagi enjoys a 14-pound advantage over the bag, so it was no mystery that all twelve rolls of tissue had spilled out over the floor, even to the far corners.

When the bag spilled toilet tissue across the tile, the limbic system of this Sagi was strongly stirred, and he, no doubt, experienced a strong desire to sink his teeth into something soft and pliable. I'm sure the emotional struggle was intense, but his willpower was no match for the primal urge. I believe the Irish hero, Chuhulain, suffered from similar battle frenzies.

Before he knew it, he'd set to work with fang and claw to shred each and every roll of tissue and then throw the bits around in an intoxicated frenzy. His emotional energy drained quickly, leaving him only enough strength to soak the last few rolls in kitty drool. And here was the end result, his eyes closed in sleep, oblivious to the carnage he'd wrought.

Mine is a kindly soul, and I saw no reason to leave him lying here on the floor. I picked him up, and as his consciousness returned, the look on his face told me that a deep remorse had arisen. He licked my hand to ask forgiveness--just one more time.

I spoke in a soft voice to let him know that we love him even when we don't approve his ways. "Awake, beloved! Awake, for morning in the bowl of night has flung the stone that stirs the stars to flight, and lo! the hunter of the East has caught the Sultan's turret in a noose of light."

"If I were you, Sagi, and I offer the suggestion in a spirit of goodwill, I would use every effort to prevent this passion from growing. I know you will say you can take it or leave it alone; that just one roll won't hurt, but can you stop at one? Isn't it the first roll that does all the damage?

You suffer, I believe, from a Napoleon complex, one that convinces you to think that willpower alone is enough to defeat demon tissue. You must rely on your allies and we are all here to help you.

After tucking him into his favorite koozie, I returned to the bedroom where Ms Wonder was now up and about, moving like a Spanish galleon under full sail.

"Thank you," she said.

"Not at all," I said. "I feel a profound sense of peace now that the thing is over, I feel inspired to push off and put a few words together to make a sentence. Who knows, by the end of the day, I may have a paragraph or two.