Coping With Big City Life

 

The Big City
Part 15 of 28

Going from the small town -- with all the great small town values, such as leaving our car jacked up all night and still having most of the tires in the morning -- to the Big City can be a daunting thing. Very challenging, and I don't like challenges. Make it the simple life for me, next to no effort.

I actually was practicing the simple life back home -- the problems with the house were so horrendous, I had little alternative but to ignore them -- then I heard it from both sides, the city and the county, that I needed to vacate the now-vacant lot that once was Grandma's. The house was shot and, believe it or not, so was I. A few family members said, “Come live with us,” etc., but I’ve never been one to live by half measures and so I said no. No doubt they were crossing their fingers behind the back that I wouldn't. So I left and chose a life guaranteed to be the complete opposite of everything I'd known, finding myself within days in The Big City.

Now it’s going on two years and I have a history to look back on, how I coped with it and what’s still to be done. A lot of guys in my situation, having grown up with a terrible fear of the Big City, would stay in and keep the doors locked tight. I actually do that now, except for taking the dog out and a few other chores. But right away I got out of the house and started coping with it.

It actually helped that money was tighter in those earliest days. Because I made a friend and got together with him and went scrounging for aluminum cans. Doing that, almost everyone I ran into assumed I was a Big City guy, since historically small town immigrants stay in and keep their doors locked. But there I was, digging through garbage cans, hiding sacks of cans in the woods for safe keeping, etc. Then when I had enough cans, of course, I walked or rode my bike to the salvage place.

By the time the year was finished and when the next summer began I was totally out of that and comfortable enough to keep a low profile. The friend had moved away, disappeared one night after his cat gave birth to kittens and pissed off the landlord. The second summer, if I saw a can somewhere, I just left it alone, on the off chance that maybe there was a new small town guy trying to get his footing, who might wonder where all the cans were if I picked 'em up.

One of the weird things about my senses in the Big City is I’ve had a terrible time remembering which direction is which. And it doesn't help if you're riding a bike. It’s easier in a car because you’re turning more often. So just fitting in was my project for the first year, and now getting down the directions has been my second year goal. In the last month I’ve been proud to realize that I’m getting the direction SOUTH down very well. Sometimes I still have to manually reorient myself on the other directions based on south but it’s all getting easier.

One of my weirdest moments in the first year -- another thing to cope with -- was I met a prostitute on a dead end road. Just me and her. I can’t remember what we talked about, but I wasn’t looking for a prostitute, not with my germophobia. It actually didn’t even occur to me that she was one. I just asked her nice questions because maybe she was in trouble. It looked like she'd been crying. Then she asked if I wanted “a date,” and I graciously said no and got the hell out of there.

Since then I've more or less been a hermit, going out when I need to -- the dog's bathroom breaks -- and I do go to the grocery store, then after that I eat a lot of leftovers.

Myra, My Dear, I Forgive You

THE GOLDEN CHILD - #8

OK, my first mistake might have been listening to the wise derelict, the cat guy, who in reply to my question, "What if I surprised Myra Kula Electra by simply forgiving her for our problems in the past, as well as her article calling me a 'Local Crank'?," said, and I quote, "I hope to kill a cat, that would be good." 

Let me reread his statement, just to make sure I didn't miss any qualifiers, any warnings, any hint of possible disaster, however remote it might be. "I hope to kill a cat...." He said that several times, which seemed to be something of a nervous tick, maybe a phrase he picked up from his parents. I can picture an old immigrant getting off the ship, having tripped over many cats carrying verminous rats and mice, saying repeatedly, "I hope to kill a cat..." But there's nothing in the phrase that constitutes a warning. The rest of his answer "that would be good" seems at first blush to tell of a bright future, a positive outlook, and an expectation of results that could only be characterized as unambiguously good. No warnings.

So why in the world did it turn out that everything ended up in an unmitigated disaster? I trusted this old fraud -- some derelict he turned out to be! -- and now I curse the name and memory of him and his unhelpful father and the ship he came in on. I hope those verminous rats and mice that were such a focus of his ride to this country, to freedom, are even now feasting on his dead bones, or are with him in the afterlife, like in Egyptian religion, forever consuming that bad father's heart. "The sins of the father are visited" and all that, with a son who didn't fall very far from the old tree, to give me that kind of pathetic advice. I hope to kill a cat, indeed!

I called Myra and she hied her way to my home. I started in, pleasantly officious, "Myra, ever since the beginning of mankind there has been sin and sorrow. Ever since Ug killed Craythur, we as a race have been up to no good. It's both no fault of our own and entirely our fault, if you can accept, not a contradiction, but an existential dichotomy often missed in polite society for a certain unfamiliar subtlety. You're the kind of gal who'd probably prefer more the jackhammer approach to theology, since I recall how you preferred more the jackhammer approach to lovemaking when you bedded down in public with the four prisoners."

You gotta admit, that's a killer opening. I'd call it 3D understanding. Not only do I understand the ins and outs of the first sin, but I'm able to deftly apply its lessons to our immediate time, what Myra did -- with Tipsy, Spud, Cannibal, and Danny -- public sex, right there on the ground, during our city's observance of the July 4 holiday. 

As heated up as she appeared, upon this preamble to my ultimate offering of forgiveness, I believed that the conviction of sin was already working its divine magic. So I continued, "I hope to kill a cat that you understand the gravity of your sin that night, and the deep rift it caused in our relationship. Not one of those prisoners was worth giving your all to, let alone all four. I was surprised that you were so willing to cheapen yourself in my presence, and allow my opinion of you at that time to sink to such a depth, that, frankly, I had absolutely no respect for you from that moment forward. I was repulsed, shaken to my core, and considered you lost." Rereading that part, maybe I was harsh; I had no claim to her. But didn't the cat-derelict see good things ahead for Myra and me working together? "I hope to kill a cat, she'd believe it," he averred.

So I was all set to offer my grace, if only she'd honor my offer. "Myra, I sincerely believe you are a good person at heart, a decent woman through and through, if you let yourself be, and, very importantly, if you face up to your faults. I will stand with you as you work through the trauma of your treatment of me; be encouraged, it wasn't easy for me either. And now, my dear, hear me out. You don't have to face it alone, you can face it knowing that I have wiped the slate clean, meaning, Myra, I forgive you for your sins against me. Yes, they were against me, but they were also against you and your best interests. Do you accept my forgiveness and vow to make a fresh start and become a better woman?"

Imagine my horror when she went into full meltdown mode, and spun there like a top, and with her voice set on Maximum Shrill, she proceeded to dress me down for my nerve of presumption; my misjudgment in every way; my own inability to accept that I'm not God's gift to man, woman, or even the common house roach; that my sanctimony is a hindrance to my appeal, which was low enough to begin with; and that I'm simply such an aggravating son of a bitch that I should be wiped off the face of the earth like snot off a two-year-old's lip! That hurt.

In her full malevolent eloquence -- and as I was otherwise mentally preoccupied with the terror of this complete dressing down -- I was able to perceive something about her 'not quite her.' There was something else going on. I felt a charge of light and energy skyrocket up my spine, as I recalled the old coal mound!

Our Damned Pets

Have you ever noticed how it's a lot of fun to have pets ... for a few days? Then, next thing you know, they're wetting and soiling everywhere and getting sick? And they don't seem to have any sense, and they have trouble fitting into your routine? It's just not worth it!

If you live in the country, of course, you can easily dispatch them. I was visiting my uncle and aunt out in the country one time. They weren't home, but they gave me strict instructions to protect their bantam chickens at all cost. So you can well imagine how horrified I was when I looked out the back window and saw a bunch of chicken feet and beaks laying in the yard, no bodies! I looked again and there were two coyotes over by the fence. This is where it got hairy.

I got my uncle's gun over by the door, which fortunately he always kept loaded, and crept out the front door and sneaked around the house. Coyotes must have a sixth sense, because they heard me coming. (Crows are also notorious for knowing when you want to kill them.) They took off running before I got off a shot. Next thing, we were running south on the gravel road, me shooting like crazy, they dodging my bullets with fine aplomb.

The next thing that happened, I wasn't expecting at all. The coyotes veered off left into some guy's yard and headed for the back. I kept going, but since I was in someone's yard, I wasn't firing. Suddenly, I heard gunshots as I got toward the back of the house, and figured the guy was shooting the coyotes. But he wasn't, he was killing cats. Somehow he had accrued a back yard full of pesky cats! Somehow through unrestricted breeding they had grown into a full blown infestation.

That's the country. Living in town, your options are limited. Birds can fly away, fish and gators can go down the toilet, and I hesitate to say what can happen to hamsters, gerbils, mice, and other creeping things, what with the politically correct, bleeding heart, so-called morality police when it comes to animal rights. And even I agree, burying alive is inhumane. But to the morality police, I have a question, would you feel the same way if a crazed lion ate your newborn baby? Or a wild boar rooted around and messed up fresh concrete?

Really, though, the issue should be, Why do we want pets in the first place? They do nothing but mess up your life. You can't go anywhere or do anything without giving some thought about the damage they'll do to your home. Every time you see some cat woman on TV you know what the basic problem is. She's living in filth and feces out of some crazy obsession. And it all started when she got the first cat. It didn't do her a bit of good, and no amount of argument can convince me otherwise.

I saw a guy on the elevator at the hospital the other day. He had a little dog under his arm, which he proudly announced to me and the other passengers was blind. Obviously I'm thinking, What's a guy doing bringing a blind dog into a hospital elevator? It's blind, not lame. It can take the stairs like all the other pets. Especially if it has a guy trained to carry it.

You know as well as I, we humans are the only species dumb enough to keep pets. Really, think about it. This little blind dog doesn't have two kittens at home. Your cats don't have pet mice. Animals don't buy other animals at the pet store. Or, to make it real crazy, animals don't have pet humans. Instead, they've learned to live more intelligently than we have, leaving the wild kingdom to itself, although they themselves are in a No Man's Land between the wild kingdom and our human civilization.

You might be saying, But don't you have pets? I do, I have one dog, my dog Underbrush. I've had her for about 14 years, and she's a good dog. But she's more than a pet, she serves me in a practical way. She's my food tester, so no one poisons me. But it's not like it's that valuable a service. Because when she dies I'm going to have to test my own damned food.

Four Kats Are Following Me

I woke up today to a pleasant surprise, four more rabid followers for my blog. These four join the other six, making them now the Terrific Ten!

(Following this blog has certain benefits besides the editorial red meat I throw out on a regular basis. One benefit, in fact, was just yesterday, before I gained the four Kats, last night, when we had the wiener roast and hayrack ride. And, two, sometimes we get together at one of the coffee places downtown and hash out ideas for future posts. I've had to stare down a couple of them with some harshness a time or two for crossing me, meaning it hasn't always been pleasant. But I can also be easy, like if they bring cookies.)

You have to admit, having six followers one day, then 10 the next, demonstrates exponential growth. At that rate, let's say every day I got four more, that'd be 28 in a week, and that's not even counting the very realistic expectation that some of them might tell their friends, then there'd be five, six, maybe even 100, new ones everyday. Wouldn't that be wild?

Yes, in fact it would be wild, so wild I couldn't stand it, and it actually might kill me. I love the traffic, don't get me wrong, and I love the cookies they bring, of course, but that'd be a lot of pressure to know there were that many people hanging around. The way it is now, being fairly small and few, it's easy enough to remember everyone's names. And with the four Kats, that's no problem.

Let's see. I'll try to recite them from memory. It seems like there was Katherine, Katherine, Katherine, and Katie. I'm just double-checking my notes, and, yes, that's them. My mom used to have a dear friend Kathleen, so she might be coming by. We could get someone from Katmandu, go out hunting specimens of katydids, get some drinks at the Kit Kat Club, then come home and take a  ... catnap.

The actual truth of the matter is that Katherine is one person, one brilliant person who somehow broke the code of how to follow the same blog four times. The scientists just the other day proved Einstein wrong about light being the fastest thing around. And now Katherine has done this! Amazing! I'm grateful for the extra hands with our shared responsibilities, all eight of them, or I guess it's probably just two.

Anyway, we send out a BIG Grandma Slump welcome to our most recent followers: Katherine, Katherine, Katherine, and Katie! You're very nice people and we're glad you're all here!

Cat 007 -- Licensed To Win

I went to a cat show today, first time in my life. It suddenly appeared to me that every cat is a winner. There's no real distinction between them like you see at dog shows.

The judges spent a minute or so feeling each cat, checking it over to make sure everything was in place, then promptly awarded each one a first place ribbon and other awards. I say each one got first place. I don't know if that was literally true, but it was virtually true. That is, I didn't see one that wasn't first place.

The aspects of actual competition were to be found between two or more cats of the same breed and/or color. But if a cat was white and there weren't any other white cats, that one was automatically first in color. Or if there was one example of a particular breed, that one was automatically best in breed. It was only in the unfortunate cases where there were two cats of a breed or color where the poor dears had to worry about getting second. But each one had a first place ribbon, apparently just for showing up, to soothe its feelings.

There was some definite ribbon inflation going on! How satisfying that must be for an owner to go home and say "Tabby took first place," then neglecting to mention that all the others were first, too!

And these cats really didn't have to do anything. Just let the judge feel them and that was it. There was one cat, when the judge went and picked him up, he let out a loud "ROWL," like he was upset. The judge flinched but set him on the table, at which point he let out another loud "ROWL." The judge instantly scooped him up and put him back in the cage, saying to the folks gathered, "I'm not that brave." Then he went over and put the first place ribbon on the cage. This started and ended within 20 seconds.

But think of how it is at dog shows. Dogs are working their hearts out to get a little recognition. The owners are running them around the ring. They're pushing at their feet to keep them straight. The owners are sweating bullets that the dog might move a muscle. They've got a piece of food at the ready for a reward. Then you have an arena full of dogs and basically one gets the award, or the top three.

It pays to be born a cat. You don't do anything and you're Number One!

My Paw Is Cold

This poor cat probably gives a different message in the summer, such as, "I'm just licking my hand as a part of the normal grooming process that I and my fellow felines engage in."

But in the winter, the message has to be, "My paw is cold, my pads are feeling the extra discomfort that goes with the chilly temperatures out here, especially as I'm sitting in a land surrounded by nothing but snow."

My cats tend to be verbose.

Taking The Bad With The Good

I am accepting of common sense, that sometimes things go well, sometimes they don't. That you have to take the bad with the good.

I am perfectly accepting of this truth, that sometimes I will be comfortable and sometimes I won't.

The truth that things will swing from pleasant to unpleasant, then perhaps from unpleasant back to pleasant, is a truth I accept.

I embody this truth by recognizing it and by accepting it. I say both "Let the good times roll" and whatever the opposite of that is.

It's a very basic subject, but one people still stumble at. If the spirit is still with me in the morning, I will delve into it in depth.

Why is this on my mind? Well, it usually is. Plus I was reading a book that went into the subject of our mixed experiences as part of life.

An example. I normally consider it GOOD if I can be in this philosophical fog. I normally consider it BAD that I have to clean the cat box.

And guess what ... the cats have been in the box repeatedly today, and they still don't know how to work the shovel.

Everybody Must Be Proud (Tweets)

OK, Fall is almost here ... time to pound the drum for people to have more self-esteem and pride ... since 'Pride goeth before Fall.'

To boost your self-esteem, think about all the things that are true of yourself right this minute. You're able to read ... that's something.

Reading is just like walking. You put one word in front of the other and you keep right on going. I'm proud I know how to read.

You're breathing. That's something you're doing right this minute. But let's say you're on oxygen, very serious. It's still breathing.

You just start with what you have. As stripped down as you may be, if you know how to breathe at least you're maintaining life and being.

The monks make a big deal out of breathing. I've read what they say. They're right. There's normal breath, fire breath, all different kinds.

So be proud of yourself for being able to breathe. We have a whole yard of people in my town who can't breathe. They're held down by rocks.

I like to sit and watch my dog sleeping. Her body goes up and down with each breath. It occurs to me that it doesn't occur to her.

Then there's the cats, the same thing. One will be curled up on a chair, doing nothing but sleeping ... and breathing. In, out, very still.

Self-esteem and pride includes everything you're able to achieve. But you've already achieved a lot just by sitting doing nothing.

We're "Driving for Pride" and we won't let up till everyone is proud of themselves. This includes the youngest infant and the oldest elder.

Local Man Takes Garbage Out

I am the local man. Everything I do, I do right here at the local level.

Whether it's mowing the yard, going for milk, voting, on and on, it's all done locally, where I live.

When I get up in the morning, I'm right here, locally based. It's a very compact way to live, but it's a good way. It's what I'm used to.

The activities are the same over and over. But that's what life is. I get up, tend to the animals, do all my personal things, get a bagel and some milk, maybe some tea. Like that. All this I do locally.

I took the garbage out. That's something that needs to be done. I almost forgot, then I remembered.

The garbage included some things that really needed to go out. I'd hate to keep them around for another week. The garbage included some bags of cat poop and used litter, a bunch of dog duty that I clean up dutifully each time, as well as the usual kitchen stuff, old tomato tops and bottoms, bones from food, oily paper towels, spent teabags, and so on.

We have a local garbage service that runs it as a business, hiring people, then putting them on a regular schedule. They get the job done.

Gotta Feed The Cats

It's the time of day that my cats let me know they're starving to death, especially the big one.

I think maybe it's a matter of old-cat psychology with him. He's 13, getting nearer to dying all the time, and he wants to make sure he has his final meal for whenever the big stroke comes. At least I don't remember him being so adamant about meals when he was younger.

I get downstairs -- it could've been an hour ago -- and he'd be starving. Rubbing against me. Making a lot of meowing racket to get my attention. It's unpleasant. Is this all I'm good for, to feed you? Which I'm happy to do, just calm down.

We put the cat food up on top of the cat box, to keep the dog out of it. But the big cat is getting so he can barely get up there anymore. I've been boosting him, or leaving it down on the floor. Then I try to keep an eye out for the dog, who still might be getting into it. I've noticed, like yesterday, more of the cat food gone than should have been, or that typically is. And the big cat seemed hungry still, which necessitated an executive decision, to open a second can of food, which is virtually unprecedented.