Anywhere she wants – a Kitty story | by Linda Brendle

Published in the Rains County Leader on May 30, 2017:

There’s an old joke that poses the questions “Where does a 900-pound gorilla sleep?” The answer, of course, is “anywhere he wants to.” That same principle applies in the Brendle household. The last time we managed to wrangle Kitty onto the scale, she only weighed in at fourteen pounds, but she still sleeps anywhere she wants to.

I set a bad precedence shortly after she evolved from being an under-the –porch stray to queen of the castle. When she showed an interest in the TV table formerly known as my computer desk, I moved the computer to my ottoman or my lap. It is, after all, a laptop. We also cleared off various surfaces to allow her a clear view out the windows, and she was satisfied with her territory for a while. Lately, though, I’ve noticed subtle encroachments taking place.

Aging Gracefully – More or Less | by Linda Brendle

Published by the Rains County Leader on May 16, 2017:

I entered a new decade of my life on Easter Sunday this year, but the celebration of the Resurrection took precedence over my birthday. Still, it’s hard to ignore all the signs of the advance of time, especially when events conspire to remind you. There were several events like that this past week.

First, our next-door neighbor asked David if we would be interested in selling him the back part of our property, the part that borders the creek.

“I don’t think so,” said David. “But I’ll run it by Linda.”

Kitty – Interior Designer | by Linda Brendle

Published in the Rains County Leader on April 25, 2017:

Saturday morning was project time around our house. The first project was in the dining room and the second was in the bedroom – and Kitty was right in the middle of both of them.

The dining room task involved a new table and chairs, or new to us anyway. After David’s mother passed away, his sister inherited a good deal of her furniture. Sentiment only goes so far when it comes to decorating tastes, so she recently asked David if we would like to have the dining table and chairs. Since what we had was really too big for our dining area and didn’t match the built-in hutch very well, he said yes.

Kitty – when she’s good… | by Linda Brendle

Published in the Rains County Leader on April 11, 2017:

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote a poem called “There was a little girl.” For those who don’t remember it, here’s the first verse:

There was a little girl,

And she had a little curl

Right in the middle of her forehead.

When she was good

She was very, very good,

And when she was bad she was horrid.

 That describes Kitty – not the curl, of course, but the good and the bad – especially during and after a week of being left on her own.

In case you missed my last column, David and I recently spent a week playing with Spike, our big dog friend. Kitty doesn’t go with us when we house sit, because she was not very well behaved the last time she visited. She’s very self reliant at home as long as we leave her with a clean litter box and a full bowl. Apparently, though, she get’s lonely.

After taking care of Spike’s needs each morning, David would drop me off at the church, and he would go to the house, check the mail, and tend to Kitty’s needs. Even though she’s still somewhat anti-social, being alone for most of the time made her much more friendly. She rubbed against David’s legs, almost tripping him up more than once, and she jumped up on the couch next to him. She even tolerated being picked up and held in his lap, sometimes for as long as a minute or two.

David is still Kitty’s favorite, but when our house sitting gig was over and we both returned home, she was even affectionate to me. She would jump up on my ottoman several times a day and stand still while I petted her, and she tolerated being brushed once in a while. Every night I wake up with her sleeping at my feet instead of just every now and then. Believe it or not, I have even been allowed to scratch her neck from time to time.

That’s the good part. The bad part is that she learned a new way to get into mischief while she was home alone.

The first clue I noticed was a dead bug or two and some bits of other twiggy-looking things on the stove and surrounding countertop. It had been windy, so I assumed I was seeing debris that had been blown down the exhaust fan (country roofs get very dirty). Nothing else on the cabinet had been disturbed, so no other possibility occurred to me. Then, one day I walked into the kitchen and knew something wasn’t right.

Our kitchen cabinets stop about a foot shy of the ceiling, and there is a small strip of molding around the top. The molding is strictly decorative  and it’s not expected that there will be any traffic way up there, so it’s only held on by a couple of staples and some glue. That day, however, the strip on the cabinet beside the sink wasn’t being held in place by much of anything except one lone staple. It was suspended at a crazy angle, resting against an angel that hangs on the side of the cabinet. I pointed it out to David, and we both knew immediately what had caused it. (Apparently, the molding hides dead bugs and other twiggy things, too.)

That night, David and I were in bed reading when I heard an unfamiliar sound from the kitchen. It took a few seconds for the sound to penetrate past the plot of the latest thriller that had my attention. When it finally did, I put down my book and listened.

“That sounded like a cat jumping up on the cabinets,” I said.

Either David’s book is much more engrossing than mine or he has never listened with a parent’s ears. “What?” he said.

I climbed out of bed and headed for the kitchen. I flipped on the light, and there she was, staring down at me from her perch several feet above the countertops, and looking very pleased with herself. I hurried back to the bedroom and grabbed the squirt bottle full of water that we use for disciplinary purposes. Back in the kitchen, I didn’t see her at first, but then she peeked out from behind the canning pot that stays above the microwave. My first shot caught her in the face, and she backtracked to the corner. I hit her with several more good squirts before she jumped down to the stovetop and took off for parts unknown.

I didn’t hear much out of her for the rest of the night, but by morning, she was waiting by the food bowl for her breakfast. Since then, I’ve seen a bit more dust on the countertop a couple of times, but she has saved her antics for her alone times, so there’s not much I can do. Besides, she’s still being pretty good most of the time, and I’ll settle for that.

Blessings,

Linda

How Old Is Kitty? | by Linda Brendle

Published in the Rains County Leader on March 21, 2017:

Traditional wisdom tells us that one human year is equal to seven dog years and that the ratio is even higher for cats; however, the Internet says something entirely different. When Kitty came to live with us in June of 2015, we guessed that she was born around May 15. That means she is approaching her second birthday, but I wanted to find out how old she was in “cat years.” According to various age calculators for cats, she is anywhere from early teens to late twenties. I guess we’ll say she’s two years old and leave it at that.

Binge-Watching | by Linda Brendle

Published in the Rains County Leader on March 7, 2017:

David and I didn’t do much this weekend. It’s not that we accomplished nothing of value. We went to Home Group on Friday night, we met friends for breakfast on Saturday, and we went to church and a baked potato lunch on Sunday. I did a little laundry, David cleaned both of Kitty’s litter boxes, and I learned to make a book trailer on my computer. Other than that, we binged.

I know what you’re thinking, but we didn’t settle in with packages of Oreos and gallons of Blue Bell. Instead, we spent many hours watching Defiance, a science fiction western series.

A Peek into the Creative Process | by Linda Brendle

Published in the Rains County Leader on February 28, 2017:

Writing is a difficult, lonely undertaking, but it must have been almost impossible before the advent of computers. I have watched movie scenes in which a devoted author sits down at a small, candlelit desk in a remote corner of the house, dips her quill in an ink well and pens a classic best seller that haunts English students for centuries to come. I probably should be inspired by such ambition and determination, but instead, I’m left wondering how in the world she managed without a word processor and an on-line Thesaurus. Before my first book hit the inbox of a publisher, it had been edited at least fourteen times. Can you imagine how many inkwells I would have drained?