Adventures in Pet Sitting

I have fond memories of time spent on Uncle Fred’s farm. By the time I was old enough to spend much time out there it wasn’t much of a farm. After his wife died Uncle Fred just let go of the place. All of the animals were gone except for the feral cats. There were no crops. But there was a barn, and a creek and an abandoned house up the road so there was no lack of entertainment.

Uncle Fred ran the local seed and grain store in town. As such everyone in the surrounding area stopped in regularly and there was always time to have a little chat. Uncle Fred considered it a part of his business plan to listen to the weekly radio report of who was in the hospital and which families might need a hot meal brought to them. After all, people relied on him for the news if they missed the weekly report.

One lazy Sunday afternoon we were sitting on the front porch listening to the report when Uncle Fred reached over and turned off the radio.  This was odd. Uncle Fred took his work seriously. I looked at him quizzically and he just pointed to the horizon. Storm clouds were rolling in. As the day darkened my grandmother also came out onto the porch. The three of us sat there rocking and watching as the sky turned black. You could smell the storm first. Then you could hear it as the hills rumbled. The wind touched our skin – first as a caress and then more insistently. Soon the storm filled all of our senses as it rolled over us like some cosmic freight train. That was the start of my lifelong love of storms.

A few weeks ago it was the night before scheduled surgery on my broken ankle. I knew my surgeon and understood the procedure so I had what I considered a reasonable level of anxiety about the procedure. It was getting late and had started to rain. I thought it might be nice to sit outside and watch it for a while. It wasn’t a heavy storm but the rain was constant and thunder echoed down the street. I had a large cast on my right leg and didn’t really feel like hauling myself outside, sitting on the steps and then hauling myself back in. I decided that I could sit on my knee cart – a four wheeled cart with handles and a padded area to rest your knee – in the front door way. If I closed the front door as much as I could and sat in the opening with my cart I figured that I could enjoy the storm and there was little risk of the dog or cat getting out.

I rolled into the opening and began watching the people scurry by. They all ducked their heads and hunkered their shoulders as they walked as if that would keep them from getting wet. Then I felt a warm furry body brush against my leg. I looked down prepared to tell the dog to get back in the house. But it was the cat. She streaked out onto the stoop and sprawled across the step.

I began calling her and making those stupid kissing sounds, trying to lure her back into the house. She looked at me either in disgust or embarrassment then hopped down onto the sidewalk and starting walking away. This was not OK with me. I was not going to lose my friend’s cat. I closed the door, carted to the kitchen to get my crutches and clumped out the front door.

The cat hadn’t gone far. She had just escaped to the next stoop so that she wouldn’t be associated with the idiot human making those silly noises.  There I was, standing on the sidewalk, in the rain, staring at a cat who hated humans and routinely hissed and clawed at me, wondering how in the world I was going to carry a cat, stop the resultant arterial bleeding, climb the steps and open the door all while on crutches.

I hadn’t quite figured this out when the neighbor opened her door and lured the cat to her. She then returned her to the house and offered to help me back in. I ducked my head, hunched my shoulders and shambled back inside.

I was far more careful about the door thereafter and for a few days after my surgery I barely opened the door at all until friends from church started bringing meals to me. I got a little casual, not always locking the door since I was up and down letting people in and out. That’s how I found out that the cat could sometimes beat on the door hard enough to pop it open. I was sitting on the couch icing my leg and heard the cat beating on the door. I didn’t think too much of it. I’ve had lots of cats over the years and had only had one who had been effective with doors. Then I heard the door open.

Once again I grabbed my crutches and hobbled outside. This time she didn’t restrain herself to the stoop. She decided that she was going to pursue a career in auto mechanics and began crawling under cars that were parked along the street. I was reduced once again to making stupid noises. It finally occurred to me that the noises were at best useless and switched to imprecation and prayer. This time a passing couple noticed my plight and returned the cat.

I returned to my couch. I was quite sure that I had locked the door this time, hadn’t I? Apparently not. Out we went again. This time a group of LDS missionaries herded her back in. After I shooed her in they thought to ask if it was really my cat. I felt no guilt in just closing the door in response.

Days passed and the cat did not escape. She still nosed around the front door whenever I went there but she stopped even trying at the back door. I was once again the master of my domain.  I was keeping the cat safely in, getting around effectively on my crutches and knee cart, reading book after book and generally feeling under control. This despite the fact that I hadn’t worn pants in days. That may give you a visual image you don’t really want. By not wearing  pants I mean to say that I was wearing shorts.

Most of my shorts are of the gym kind. Light weight, easy to wash and dry and no pockets. The lack of pockets is an issue for me.  I’m a pocket kind of guy. I never have to look for my keys because they’re always in my left front pocket. My wallet and comb are always in the right front pocket.  I have never met a pocket that I didn’t like.  I had one pair of jeans that were awesome. They had the regular coin pocket like most jeans but also had a pocket within the right front pocket for even more coins. Or a small pocket knife. Or a batarang. It was like having my own secret Bat Cave in my pants. Awesome!

This is relevant because the place I’m pet sitting is not especially large but it is very vertical. My bedroom is on the second floor, the kitchen is on the first, the laundry is in the basement and I have an enormous cast on my leg and am not supposed to bear weight on it. So that means that I like to have my stuff with me – medicines, Kindle and tissues at the very least. But I don’t have any pockets.  The owner has a small insulated lunch bag that I’ve appropriated for my stuff.  It even has a place for me to put a drink. It’s almost as good as pants with pockets. At least I can carry my stuff.

Last Saturday was a beautiful day and I decided that it would be nice to sit outside for a little while. The same issues that pertained earlier about the front stoop were still relevant so I elected to sit out back. As an added benefit the dog could keep me company. I decided that it would be nice to bring the radio with me and listen to the quiz show on NPR while I enjoyed the fresh air.

I don’t know if listening to the radio – just sitting and listening – is something that people do much anymore. No one in Cleveland just sat outside listening to the ball game and sipping a beer – something that many native St. Louisans continue to do even with Fox Sports Midwest. I enjoyed my time listening to the show, remembering Uncle Fred and solving some puzzles.

Soon enough it was time to go in. The show was over and it was getting hot. I struggled to my feet and grabbed the screen door. It didn’t open. It was latched. I have no idea how it happened. I must have brushed against it just right. The door into the house was latched, the gate leading out of the yard was locked and I had no phone reception. But I’m a Busch Baby. My first thought was to try the cat method of opening doors. No joy. I began searching through my “pocket” for something to jimmy the latch. I found a coated card and in fairly short order managed to unlatch the screen door and reenter the house.

And the morale of this whole story? Thunderstorms and pockets are good.