Living and Dying at the Sam's Club

© Bruce Gaughran - 2010
Rev. 08/2011

It was a hot and humid Saturday morning and I was on my way to the Sam’s Club.  This was my first trip to the club even though Jenny, my wife, shops there at least once a month.  She had encouraged me to go shopping with her several times before, but I always found some excuse for bowing out.  Unfortunately, Jenny was down with the flu and I promised to help with some of the chores including grocery shopping.

I must admit I have always felt that having to buy a membership to a warehouse seems a little bizarre.  I cannot see any benefit in buying merchandise for a slightly reduced price if you had to pay some ridiculous price to join the club.  Jenny, on the other hand, can justify the membership fee for the discounts. 

I still remember her trip to the club a couple of months ago to have the tires rotated on the van.  Since she bought the tires at Sam’s Club, she was entitled to free rotations for the life of the tires.  She said she had two hours to kill while waiting for the service, so she decided to go shopping.  When she returned home, she had a new coat, two pair of slacks, dress boots, and a sweater.   The free tire rotation cost $140.  And you wonder why I am skeptical.

As I pulled into the parking lot, my first impression of Sam’s Club was not positive.  I would guess there was at least ten acres of parking with eighty percent of the lot full of cars, trucks, and motor homes.  “What did I get myself into,” I muttered. 

I slowly maneuvered my way through dozens of people, shopping carts, and vehicles to the front of the store where my wife said the handicap parking would be.  She was right; there were at least forty or fifty stalls for those of us who need special parking arrangements.  Remarkably, there was not one stall available.  My blood pressure began to rise as I slowly drove down one row after another looking for a handicap stall or for a vehicle that did not have the proper license plate or handicap permit.  As I sat in the middle of a row trying to determine my next course of action, the car behind me began to honk.  I rolled down my window and flipped the car, not the driver, the international one-finger salute as I gunned the engine and took off down the row. 

By now I had wasted ten minutes driving around looking for a free space near the entrance.  Frustrated, I drove out to the “back 40” and parked so no one could block my van’s side door.  I needed room for my wheelchair ramp.  I locked the door and navigated my way towards the store. 

My wheelchair’s tires do not do well in hot parking lots where people have spit out their gum.  If there is any melted gum or suckers in the parking lot, my chair will find it.  This trip was no exception.  I arrived at the entrance and noticed that my left tire had pink stringy-like stuff circling the entire wheel.  I cursed because it would take me an hour to clean up that crap before I could go in the house.

My curse drew the attention of the family behind me.  The mother gave me one of those looks as she hurried her children by.  The club’s greeter welcomed me with a smile.  When she asked to see my membership card I panicked for a moment.  Did I bring Jenny’s card or was it still on the kitchen table?  I began a pat down of my clothing and fortunately found it in my right shirt pocket with Jenny’s shopping list. 

As I entered the club, Jenny’s description of what to expect was right on.  It was one large, over-crowded warehouse with aisles of product stacked from floor to ceiling.  When I looked at the height of the three-tiered shelving, I knew there was no way I could reach one-third of the items.  Yet, knowing I had conquered worse obstacles before, I charged ahead into the bowels of the warehouse. 

I was a little intimidated by the sheer size of the place.  I looked for some kind of directory to show me where I needed to go, but could not find one.  I then spotted the Help Desk sign on the other side of the warehouse and immediately knew where I needed to go.  Unfortunately, there was a long line.  A nice young woman told me I needed to take a number from the machine in the front.  I pulled ticket number 79 and went to the back of the line.  A couple of minutes later the loud speaker announced they were ready to help number 52.  Whoa!  I decided I didn’t need help after all.  It was time to blaze my own trail.

I found a shopping cart and immediately learned that it took considerable skill to push a cart when using a joystick to maneuver the wheelchair.  Unfortunately, I did not possess these skills.  After almost wiping out two children and smashing into an island of summer lawn furniture, I decided I needed to focus more on steering the cart.  Being a quick study, however, I soon learned that if I placed my feet on the back of the cart, I did not have to push with the hand.  Problem solved.

As I rode down the first aisle into the electronics section, I was amazed at all the different products that were available.  You could buy almost anything here.  But, finding someone that could answer your questions about a product was almost impossible.  I spent far too much time playing with the keyboards of the PCs, the joysticks of the video games, and remotes of the TVs.  I knew I had to bring our son, Duane, here.  We would have a ball checking everything out.  After an hour in this section, I knew I had better get a move on it.  There was a Braves game on TV this afternoon. 

I turned left out of the electronics section and almost ran into a table full of food.  When I saw the plate of meatballs with toothpicks stuck in them, my stomach growled.  Wow, it was already lunchtime and I had not found one item on Jenny’s list.  Well, there is always time for free samples.  I stuffed two meatballs in my mouth and took one more for the long trip down the next aisle.  Feeling slightly guilty for taking three, I threw a box of frozen meatballs in the cart.  Since everything is discounted, I reasoned it must be a good buy.

I looked down the center section and noticed there were several other tables of samples.  If any of those samples were as good as the meatballs, I would be a fool to pass them up.  I went from one table to the next, “sampling” the products.  By the time I had tried everything at least twice, I was now taking home four 48-ounce cartons of orange juice, one five pound fillet of salmon, one box of frozen pizza with six large pepperoni pizzas inside, and two 64-count boxes of meatballs.  Yes, I did say two boxes of meatballs.  After two trips to the table and sampling nine of them, I decided I should buy another box.  I had now learned the so-called “benefit” of shopping at a warehouse club.  Everything comes in giant sizes or multiple items per carton.  When I looked down at my shopping cart, I thought, “We are going to need a bigger freezer!” 

I was now ready to start shopping.  As I reviewed Jenny’s list, I became concerned that the frozen items in my basket might thaw by the time I finished.  With that in mind, I promised myself that there would be no more distractions.  I scanned the list and then started a focused run down the middle of the warehouse looking for the correct aisles.  Two loaves of whole wheat bread had to be in the bakery section near the front.  I tried to turn the cart around and almost ran over an elderly woman in a tank-top and hip-hugger shorts.  She had more tattoos than a retired Navy boatswain mate.  I apologized, but she scowled at me, mentioned my heritage and kicked the cart. 

I managed to turn around and make it to the front of the store without further incident.  I found the bread and tossed them in the cart.  My next item was spinach salad.  I believe I saw the produce section in the back of the warehouse near where I ate the salmon samples.  On the way out of the bakery section, however, I spotted the muffins.  These were not just any muffins.  These were the largest muffins I have ever seen.  Even better, they came in a carton of twelve … four each of chocolate, blueberry, and poppy-seed.  Well, they looked too good to pass up, so they also went into the cart.   

It is a long way to the other end of the warehouse, but I found the spinach salad and also the mushrooms that were #3 on the list.  I was feeling pretty good about my newfound discipline and shopping skills, but also thankful I was riding and not walking.  This place is enormous. 

The fourth item was spaghetti sauce.  I searched several aisles of foodstuffs without any success.  I finally stopped to rest my weakening left arm.  These carts are heavy.  A nice looking woman was coming down the aisle towards me, so I gave her my best smile and asked if she knew where I could find the spaghetti sauce.  She returns my smile and points me in the right direction. 

Off I go again, but I notice my left arm and legs are becoming a little fatigued from pushing the cart.  I turned down the next aisle and sure enough, I come across a half-dozen brands of sauce.  Unfortunately, each brand only comes in four or six jar lots.  Jenny had written “1” beside the spaghetti sauce.  Was that one jar or one carton?  Was that one carton of four or six?  Well, I did what any smart shopper would do; I checked the prices.  Buying six jars of the 24-ounce generic white-label brand saved $2.21 over the more popular brand.  As I shoved the carton on the rack under the basket, I beamed.  “Jenny will be so proud of me.”

While checking the prices of the hand soaps on aisle 47, I heard the “William Tell Overture.”  I pulled out my cell phone and saw it was Jenny calling.  “Hey girl, how are you feeling?”

“Better, honey, thanks for asking.  Where are you?”

“I am still at the Sam’s Club.  I only have three more items to pick up and then I’ll be on my way home.  By the way, I saved 97¢ by buying the 48-count generic toilet tissue.”

“Do you know what time it is, honey?”

I paused and realized I had no idea.  “No, not really.”  I looked at my watch, “My gosh, I can’t believe it's 2:30 already.  This is taking longer than I thought.”

“Honey, you have been shopping for over three hours.  What have you been doing all this time?”

I know my wife and sensed that the conversation was not going well.  It must be the flu making her a little grumpy.  “Well, there are a lot of decisions to make.  It is not like there is only one item to choose from,” I said defensively.  It was time to show her how well I have done.  “Look, you would be so proud of me.  I saved $2.21 on the spaghetti sauce and …” 

Jenny did not give me a chance to finish. “Frank, what else did you buy?”

I looked over my shoulder wondering if she was behind me.  How else would she know that I had bought something else?  Based on the tone of Jenny’s voice, I carefully considered how to answer her.  “Oh, just a couple of items on sale.”

“Like what?”

I told myself not to become defensive, but it was hard to ignore the challenge.  “Well, you know those fantastic muffins they have in the bakery section.  I know twelve is a lot, but we can freeze what we don’t eat right away.  And, the chocolate ones will be great with vanilla ice cream.  You know how our son loves chocolate and vanilla.  Should I also pick up some ice cream?”  Not waiting for an answer I continued, “Oh yah, I bought some frozen meatballs.  The salmon looked good, so I picked up a package of fillets also.  Let’s see, the club has a great price on frozen pizzas …” 

I never got a chance to finish.  “Pizza!  You bought meatballs, salmon fillets, muffins, and pizza.  They were not on my shopping list.”

“I know, honey, but they were all great buys.”

There was several seconds of dead air before she continued.  “Frank, I want you to listen to me.”

This time I had to interrupt, “Jen, what’s wrong?  I get the feeling you’re upset about something.”

“No, I am not angry … now listen.  I want you to return all of the items that are not on the list.  Then I want you …”

My defense mechanism had now kicked in.  “Jen, I do not understand.  These are all great buys.”

“Frank!  You will put everything back that is not on my list.  Then you will go to 'checkout'.”

 “Okay, I understand.  Put everything back that is not on the list.”  When she did not comment, I reassured her by saying, “Then I will pick up the last three items and head for home.” 

“You are still not listening.  Forget about the other items.”  I heard a deep breath on the other end of the line.  “Just return everything not on the list and then come home.  I will go shopping next week for the rest of the items.”

The tone in her voice caused sweat to start running down my forehead into my eyes.  “Alright, dear, I am sorry I upset you.  I know you are not feeling well.” I dabbed my forehead with my sleeve.  “I’ll be home in fifteen or twenty minutes.”

A calmer voice responded, “That’s great, honey.  I’ll see you shortly.  Drive safely.” 

For about a minute, I stood there staring at the cart full of food.  I considered keeping one box of meatballs because they were so good, but then thought the better of it.  Unfortunately, it took me longer than I thought to return the items.  For some reason I felt the need to apologize to each of the women giving out the samples.  When I arrived at ‘checkout’, the lines were ridiculously long.  Thirty minutes later I had finally paid and was ready to leave.  I glanced at my watch and groaned because I knew Jenny would wonder why I was not home yet.

It was on the way to the exit that I saw it.  I could not believe my eyes.  I stopped in front of the display and my heart began to race.  It was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.  After several moments of just sitting there drooling, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Jenny.

“Hello.”

“Jenny, you would not believe what they have on sale.  It is a Panasonic 60” high-definition television with the capability of simultaneously viewing two ball games at …” 

“FRANK!”

Did Anyone See That?

Copyright 2009 - Bruce Gaughran

Inadequate is how I feel when something needs to be done around the house these days. Unfortunately, most everything that needs to be repaired requires someone else to do it. It 'smarts' every time something breaks or needs repair and my wife comments that she wished our nephew lived a little closer (our nephew is the handyman of the family). I also realize it is just my ego being bruised, but it still bugs me. For years, I would 'try' to perform the repair, and several times, I ended up hurt or could have been hurt because my ego blocked all common sense.  To give you an idea of what I mean, this happened a few years ago while we still lived in Pennsylvania.

A raccoon broke the wire between two trees that held a bird feeder in the backyard. Not wanting to bother my wife that morning, I grabbed the twenty-five foot extension ladder from the garage, walked to the back of the yard, leaned it up against the big oak tree, and extended the ladder another six feet up the tree. For some reason I believed that because I could still climb steps with the help of handrails, I should be able to climb a ladder.

After securing the wire to my belt loop, I stepped up to the first rung without a problem. The second rung, however, was a little more difficult and should have been a sign. By the third rung, my thighs just would not pull me up. So, figuring that I only needed to go up another five or six rungs, I pushed my butt out (away) from the ladder and used my thighs to push out as much as up as I worked my way up several more rungs. My feet were probably eight to ten feet off the ground by now, I was sweating, and my leg muscles were shaking as much as the ladder. Did that deter me?  No way.  I figured that if I went up one more rung, I could do the job. Since my center of gravity was no longer against the ladder, all of a sudden I noticed that I was going airborne. I reached for a branch (and missed) as the ladder lifted itself away from the tree and I began to falling backwards in a slow downward arch. It is a somewhat terrifying feeling sailing through the air knowing that you are going to hit the ground hard.

If this had happened in my younger years, I would have just jumped off the ladder and rolled. In this case, however, there was no jumping involved. I just hung on for dear life and wondered if any of the neighbors were watching as I plummeted towards the earth. I find it strange that in almost every fall or accident I have had like this, I am more worried about whether someone is seeing me do something stupid than if I am going to be hurt.

Anyway, back to the story. I ride the ladder to the ground (once again proving Newton was right about gravity). WHOMP!  I land on my back still holding onto the ladder. After I catch my breath, I begin to test all of my limbs. When I realized nothing was broken, I extricated myself from the ladder, picked myself up, brushed myself off, and then looked sheepishly to the left and right making certain no one saw my latest aerial stunt.

Realizing that I just got off lucky again, I looked up towards the sky and gave a short prayer of thanks (probably the sixteenth that week). Then I picked up the ladder and took it back to the garage. Once inside the house, I casually mentioned to my wife that when she has some time, "we" (she loves the word 'we' because it means 'she') need to fix the bird feeder sometime today.

Caught

© 2010 - Bruce Gaughran

Rev. 07/09/2011

On the last evening of a managers’ meeting in Seattle, we had a group dinner.  Six managers from different regions of the country were assigned to each table.  During dinner, Rosemary, our product development manager, started telling us about a great book she had just finished.  Paul, our Coated Paper mill manager, mentioned he had just finished reading it also.  That revelation started a fifteen minute conversation about the book.

At the airport the following morning while waiting for my departure, I walked through the gift shop and happened to see the book Rosemary had mentioned.  Intrigued from the conversation the previous evening and knowing I had a six-hour flight ahead of me, I bought it (something I would normally not do ... too expensive).  Because it had been a long week, I upgraded to First Class and was looking forward to a comfortable and quiet flight home.

Two hours into the flight, an attendant walked by and asked what I was reading.  I was a hundred pages into the book by now and knew I was reading a love story (something I would not normally read).  I was more the Ludlum, Clancy, Follett, Vince Flynn and Graham Greene kind of guy.  I turned the book over so she could see the title.

To my surprise, she blurts out, “My God, I loved that book!”  Several people around me looked over to see what I was reading.  She then went on, “I cried and cried while reading it.  I must have gone through a box of Kleenex.  My husband kept on asking me what was wrong, but I could not even begin to explain the emotions that this book brought out of me.”  

I stuffed the book in the seat pocket in front of me and hoped this conversation would end soon.  Unfortunately, the flight attendant was just getting started and all the passengers around me were now even more interested in our discussion.  She went on by saying, “I hope I won’t ruin the story for you, but when Robert said, ‘This kind of certainty only comes once in a lifetime,’ I was an emotional wreck.  Then, near the end, when Robert was standing in the pouring rain a few yards from Francesca, waiting, silently asking, pleading for her to leave her husband and go away with him, I just knew she would.”  

By now, the attendant was dabbing the tears out of her eyes and I was slinking further down into my seat.  My shirt collar felt damp and my mouth was as dry as desert sand, but the attendant was not the least bit embarrassed.  “That last scene when Robert was at the stoplight and Francesca and her husband were right behind him was incredible.  When she grabbed the door handle and was ready to jump out of the truck and run to Robert, I was cheering her on.  ‘Yes, YES, YES ... You go girl!’  My husband thought I was crazy, but I could not help myself.”  

At that moment, I wish I could have hidden under the seat.  Thankfully the attendant realized that she had been talking to me for some time and needed to get back to work.  She patted me on the shoulder and commented, “This book made me laugh, cry, cheer, and so much more.  What a wonderful book.  Just seeing you reading it makes me want to read it again.”

As the attendant walked away, the passenger beside me and the one across the aisle asked what book I was reading.  I sheepishly pulled the book out and showed it to them.  

It was, “The Bridges of Madison County,” by Robert J. Waller.  It is a good story as well as a good love story.  I also enjoyed the movie.  Who doesn’t like Clint Eastwood and Meryl Streep?

Broken Promises

Copyright 2008 - Bruce Gaughran

 

Life was going along pretty good until 'SHE', as in 'she-devil', came into my life. You know who I am talking about ... Lucy,aka Lucy Lou. Of all the nerve, 'SHE' just showed up at our back door one day and meowed 'HER' way into our lives. One day life was beautiful and peaceful. The next it was hell on earth. If that isn't bad enough,what happened next hurt even more. In some respects, it was a betrayal. A promise is a promise; right? You shouldn't just be ableto go back on a promise just because a situation changes. At the very least, I should have been consulted before making any decisions regarding 'HER'. Some might think I am being petty or perhaps even acting like I was spoiled. No way, Jose! This was an out and out betrayal of trust by the one person I never thought would ever, do I dare say it again, ever hurt me.

Yes, I know all the so-called reasons ... 'SHE' is a little kitty ... 'SHE' doesn't have a home ... 'SHE' might starve to death ... 'SHE' could be eaten by the coyotes. Let me tell you something, no coyote would ever tangle with 'HER'. Oh, in the beginning, 'SHE' acted so sweet and timid, but it didn't take long for her true colors to show through. That German Sheppard, who ventured into our yard one day, learned that he wasn't tangling with any ordinary kitten. 'SHE' is a Tasmanian Devil. As soon as 'SHE' saw the Sheppard 'SHE' let out a growl and attacked. The Sheppard was so startled it turned and ran down the driveway. At that point, Bob and Carol should have known that this was no ordinary 'cute' kitten. 

[Note: My editor said I should stop using 'HER' and 'SHE'. My readers might possibly think that I have something against 'HER'. What would give anyone that idea? From now on I am to use Lucy, she, or her. Give me a break!]

Now, I haven't given Bob much credit in the past, but let me just say that he was a stand-up kind of guy concerning Lucy. When Carol wanted to keep her, he reminded Carol right away that she had made a promise tome that there would never be another cat in our house. I just wish Bob would have had more of a backbone and just stood his ground for once. Yes, Carol was all apologetic at first about Lucy. She told me over and over that Lucy was an outdoor cat and I was still her only indoor cat because I was special. Well, I found out that was just another lie ...another broken bond between us. Once Lucy got her claws into Carol, she wouldn't let go until she ruled this entire household. It's enough to make you sick. The only reason I ever joined this couple was because I was to be the only lord and master of this domain. If I would have known that this was going to be a half-way house or critter compound for any stray cat, I would have never graced them with my company. 

I know, I am just ranting a little, but Bob and Carol don't seem to want to listen. Anyway, Lucy first took over the garage and drove poor Fred, their Beagle, crazy before weaseling her way into the house. She took over Fred's turf within a couple of days. Whenever he was taking a nap, she would sneak up on him and jump on his back. If he was playing in the yard, she would ambush him. Yet, easy-going Fred had to put up with it because anytime he tried to retaliate, Carol would yell at him and tell him she was just a little kitten. Right! 

Well, it didn't take long before Lucy dominated all of Carol's time outdoors. Carol actually spent more time outdoors than in. Whenever Carol would go in, Lucy would run down the hill or into the woods and Carol would end up in tears worrying about her. My God did she work it. One day after Lucy had run away in the morning and attacked afive-foot Black Racer in the afternoon, Carol had had enough. She told Bob that Lucy had to become an indoor cat. My good friend, Bob, once again tried to explain why this was a bad idea, but Carol wouldn't listen. I can remember that day like it was yesterday. Carol came in and picked me up. I thought she was just going to give me a little well-deserved love'n, but I couldn't have been more wrong. I she kissed and rubbed me,she began to tell me a story about how her life had changed since Lucy arrived in our lives. When she first started, I thought she was going to tell me they were going to dump the critter somewhere ... oh joy, oh joy! Well, I couldn't have been more wrong. The next words out of her mouth crushed me; almost made me hock-up a hairball. Carol said she was bringing her into the house and she hoped I would be a big brother to her. Yah right,like that would ever happen.

Just to show you I am not jealous and there is some validity to my feelings, let me give you an example of how she gets away with everything. I have three meals a day specially prepared by Carol. These meals are made fresh every day using organic vegetables and free-range chicken, livers and hearts (nothing but the best for the best). If I amgood and eat everything, my dessert is three or four special treats. Well, she moves into the house and refuses to eat. Carol buys her several types of cat food because she doesn't want what I eat. She just walks away. Carol, feeling sorry for Lucy, tries everything, but nothing is of interest to her. One day when I am receiving my treats, Carol accidentally drops one on the floor. She runs over and gobbles it up and begins begging for more. Well, Carol is so happy that she is eating, my special treats are now her meals every day. Do you believe this? I have to be good to receive three or four of them. She eats a whole bowl of them anytime she is hungry.

Okay, I think you are beginning to see some of my concerns. Let me give you another example. Many times a day when Iam just walking by, she will either run up behind me and pull my rear legs out from underneath me or jump on my back. If I retaliate by bopping her on the head, tearing out a chunk of her hair, or something else pretty trivial,she will cry out like she is hurt. Carol will then jump into the middle of us and scolds me for beating up on my little sister. Like I would ever have her for a sibling. Then, as soon as Carol turns around, she jumps on me again or bites my tail. The indignity of it all.

To be fair, she is not entirely at fault. Maybe one percent of the time I am the instigator. However, you have to understand that there is a medical reason when this happens. When I am within a half an hour of my feeding time, I become hypoglycemic. My blood sugar is just too low and I become nervous and cranky. When that happens; watch out. You would figure she would figure this out and stay away from me at that time. No, she has to push and push and finally I snap and give her a full body slam. Again, this is not intentional even though I love seeingher flying through the air with me on top of her. When her body hits the floor it makes the loveliest sounding thud. 

[Note: My editor asked me to stop using her and she all of the time, because it sounds so derogatory. I want to apologize to all of my readers and state for the record that this is just a story intended solely for entertainment and is not meant to reflect negatively on 'HER'.] 

Alright, there are the occasional times when Lucy is entertaining. For example, when she is playing and leaps up to far intothe air and smacks herself against the wall or floor. That is pretty funny. Or, when Lucy is running so fast across the tile or hardwood floors that she can't make the turn. When her body smashes into the wall or door frame... well, you get the point. Personally, I believe Lucy does these things just to get Carol's attention. Unfortunately, it works.

Another thing; kids should have more respect for the elders. I am at least eight years older than Lucy. In my lifetime,I have experienced things that hopefully she will never have to go through. I have paid my dues; do you know what I am saying here? At the very least she could give me a little more respect. I am not asking for a lot. I just want her to be a little more considerate. For example, when I am sleeping on the kitchen stool, she should never jump from the table unto my back. And, no, I do not want to share a bed with her. Also, when I am sleeping on the cat tower, she needs to leave my tail alone. It is not some toy to bat around. Furthermore, she needs to find another way to channel her energy other than messing with me. If I want to play, I will instigate the activity.

[Note: My editor now says I have totally lost the point of my dissertation. This is supposed to be about broken promises. I want to again apologize to my readers and promise to focus more on the subject. Even though I know she (my editor) will read this, I must say that editors are a pain in the ___.] 

Carol done me wrong! There, I said it and I mean it. If it weren't for Carol's broken promise I wouldn't have to have written all this about Lucy and I would still be the center of attention in this household. I deserved better after everything I have done for her. At the very least, I should have been brought into the discussion and given a vote. Furthermore, if we, that is a collective we, decided to allow Lucy into the house, there should have been some ground rules established before hand. For example:

1. The aforementioned Negligent Party, otherwise known as Lucy, aka Lucy Lou, recognizes that the Innocent Party, otherwise known as Willy, aka Willy Mc B, aka Scooter, is Lord and Master of this domain. Whatever the Innocent Party wants is his without question or argument.
2. The Negligent Party will honor all toys, laps, and food of the Innocent Party and only partake in these items if the innocent party agrees ahead of time and in writing.
3. The Innocent Party is not to be disturbed, messed with, or harassed by the Negligent Party unless the Innocent Party agrees. This applies to whenever the Innocent Party is sleeping, eating, resting, walking, running, yawning, being loved upon, or otherwise engaged with Bob, Carol or visitors.
4. If the Negligent Party has any questions, concerns or objections regarding these ground rules, or the fairness of same, the Negligent Party is to refer to Rule #1.

Hey, I realize that not everyone can be as perfect as me. So, being the type of cat I am, I will let bygones be bygones and forgive and forget ... with the following stipulations.

1. Carol gives me a written apology ... and,
2. Lucy agrees to live by the Ground Rules stipulated above.

Okay, I have said my piece and maybe now my editor will get off my back. If you have any questions, please refer to Rule #3 because I need my afternoon nap.

A Cat's Tale

Copyright 2003 - Bruce Gaughran

Let’s get one thing straight right up front: this is not one of those cute little stories about a loving, adorable cat. This isn’t even a story about me. It is a story about Bob and Carol – two humans that I adopted. In fact, I wanted to title this, ‘The Evolution of Bob and Carol’, but my agent said it would never sell.

My life before Bob and Carol isn’t relevant except to say that life in the wild was an adventure with plenty of stimulation and many warm, tasty meals. In fact, I was a great hunter, if I must say so myself.

Still, I was missing that thing called ‘TLC’ – you know, tender loving care (in other words, pampering) as well as a guarantee of ‘three hots and a cot’ every day. Because of this, Bob and Carol easily lured me into their house by offering me a turkey dog. The dog tasted great, and my mouth salivated for more; but I soon found out the dog was only a deception – a way to entice me into their house. How do I know? Well, for one thing, in almost three years I have never had another turkey dog.

Instead, Carol gave me dry cat food – UGH! When I protested by not eating this junk, she switched to canned food. Can you imagine all the preservatives and entrails I ate? It is enough to make you toss up a hairball.

Now, to be fair, you have to understand that Carol is a vegetarian. Do you know what a cat’s definition of a vegetarian is: a lousy hunter. Anyway, she won’t even cook meat dishes for her husband. If Bob wants meat, he has to buy and prepare it himself. What did I get myself into? Before I decide to live with someone in my next life, I am asking for references.

When I discovered Carol’s protein intolerance, I realized that ‘cat training’ these two would not be easy; but I am always up for a challenge. From the start, I had one thing going for me: they were both ‘softies’. I found that if I wanted attention, all I needed to do was snuggle into their laps. My God, you would think they had won the lottery. They took so many pictures of me snuggling and rubbing up against them that I saw spots in front of my eyes for weeks. But, being the good-natured feline that I am, I put up with it.

Well, all this love and affection began to work; and, the daily spraying of the litter box walls didn’t hurt either. Boy did that get Carol’s attention. She consulted with several doctors (they call themselves ‘Vets’, like they were in any war I ever heard of) to help diagnose the problem. She eventually found a doctor in Hawaii that knows something. He advised that what I needed to control my PH (whatever that means) were three lightly cooked meals a day of meat. Finally, someone who understands cats!

Carol, being a ‘health nut’, wanted to do this right. Get this: she buys organic chicken livers and hearts (like I could tell the difference), top-sirloin steak, chicken breasts, and tuna (the real fish, not the canned stuff). Oh, the aroma of fresh meat in the air – you can’t beat it! Well, I thought I had died and gone to cat heaven.

Okay, before you get too excited for me, let me tell you this meal thing isn’t all rosy. She still adds things like grated carrots, rice, millet, flaxseed oil, and vitamins to these meals, but I have learned to live with it. I can usually eat around most of the stuff. The only real drawback to this whole meal arrangement is that I still have to put up with Bob’s daily whining that he never gets steak, but I just tune him out.

The other thing that really got to me in the beginning was the sleeping arrangements. These two expected me to sleep on the floor in some furry foam circle they called a bed. Listen, if I eat top-sirloin steak and fresh tuna, I do not sleep on the floor! Furthermore, if their king-size, heated waterbed is good enough for them, it is definitely good enough for me. But, when I snuck into their bed one night, Bob, you know, 'the whiner,' complained about his allergies. Unfortunately, Carol listened to him and out I went. I realized that I needed a better plan – a ‘spraying the litter box’ kind of plan. So, here’s what I did:

That night, I waited until they were both asleep. I crept into the room (cats can be very stealthy when they want) and softly jumped up on the bed. I crawled up to where Carol was sleeping and snuggled into her left arm and then gently placed my head on her chest. Unfortunately, she woke up, so I had to do some fast thinking. Thank God that my instincts kicked in about then. Purring, while rubbing up against her face with my forehead, did the trick. She smiled, kissed me on the head, rolled onto her side, and let me snuggle in close to her warm body. I had the best night’s sleep in my life. Well, by the end of the week that nasty old foam thing was in the basement (good riddance). And, every time Bob began to whine about his allergies, Carol would tell him to take a pill. Score: Cats 2 – Humans 0.

Okay, by now you think I have it made with great meals and comfortable sleeping arrangements. You couldn’t be more wrong. Allow me to explain the current situation: Bob and Carol have this nasty habit of leaving the house several times a week – often for hours at a time. You might ask, “What’s the big deal about that?” Well, I get bored easily when there is no one around to play and snuggle with. Besides, when I am not stimulated, I become irritable. Also, I don’t like the strange noises in the house when it’s empty. It frightens me. Okay, I understand that it might be difficult for you to picture me irritable or frightened, but it does happen. My solution to this problem: Bob and Carol should never leave the house.

I will let you in on my plan (so far, it seems to be working). I call it the ‘rope-a-dope’ trick. I have this rope in my toy basket that I never play with because it is boring. However, more by accident than anything else, I found out it is the perfect tool to generate guilt. Here is how it happened: One day while Bob and Carol were gone, my teeth began to bother me. I started searching through the basket for something to gnaw on when I came across the rope. I chomped down on it and what do you know, it seemed to help. Well, guess who walks into the house while I’m gnawing on the rope? You guessed it, and boy did they look shocked. Sensing their concern, I began to meow and knead the floor while I chomped on the rope. Let me tell you, I should have won an Oscar for this performance. Both of them stroked and massaged me while telling me how sorry they were for leaving. They pulled out the treats in an attempt to bribe me – asking for my forgiveness. The whole time I played it cool, turning my back on them and sticking my tail into their faces. They then said the magic words, “We promise not to leave you for the rest of the week.” VICTORY!

Well, the next time they left, I decided to test the plan again. As soon as I heard the garage door opening, I ran from their warm, cuddly bed to the living room, picked up the rope, and went through the same routine as before. Sure enough (humans are so predictable), they saw the rope and I received the royal treatment again for the rest of the day. Now, every time they leave, out comes the rope. I don’t even need to do anything any more. Bob and Carol are now calling the rope ‘my security blanket’. I suppose they are right. I am now secure in the fact that they will pamper and spoil me every time they come home.

Granted this extra attention doesn’t solve the problem of being bored and frightened while Bob and Carol are away, but the pampering helps to soothe one’s soul. Besides, I deserve it!

Okay, I realize that these things might not seem too important to you readers out there, but to us cats, it is a matter of respect. In ancient Egypt, we were worshipped as gods. I am not asking for anything more than that.

How Can I Help You?

Bruce Gaughran
Copyright 2004 - Revised March 2011

I sat in front of the phone for several minutes tapping my fingers on the desk.  It wasn't a question of whether I needed to make the call; I definitely did.  It was more a realization that things had come so far that I now needed professional help.

After several balks, I finally picked up the phone and dialed the number. 

As I listened to the pre-recorded message, I wondered if there was any business left in the world that had a real person answer the phone.  "Thank you for calling Clinician Services.  Please listen to the following instructions:  Press ‘1’ to enter your account information, Press ‘2’ to listen to your benefits, Press ‘3’ to ...” and after what seemed like an eternity, I heard, "Press ‘9’ to speak with the next available customer service representative." 

I pressed ‘9’ and another set of menu options became available.  "Press ‘1’ if this is an emergency, Press ‘2’ if you are a returning patient, Press ‘3’ if you need an authorization number, Press ‘4’ if you would like to speak with the next available representative." 

I pressed ‘4’ and heard the famous lines, "We’re sorry, but all of our representatives are currently helping other clients.  If you would like to continue to hold, press '1', press ‘2’ if you would like to leave a message, otherwise please call back later.  Thank you." 

My ‘death-grip’ on the receiver caused my hand to cramp.  I switched to the other hand, flicked my wrist a couple of times and wiped the sweat off on my pants.  I pressed ‘1’ and heard muzak playing in the background with interruptions every two minutes apologizing for the delay and asking me to press ‘1’ if I wanted to continue to hold. 

Twelve minutes and five interruptions; a real person finally came on the line.  "Good Morning," the cheery voice greeted me, "this is Angela on a recorded line.  How can I help you?"

After being on hold all this time I still stumbled not really knowing what to say.  "Um, I suppose you could say I’m having anger management problems.”  When I didn’t hear a response, I spat out, “And, do you know, or even care that I was on hold over twelve minutes waiting to talk to you?” 

"Oh, I am so sorry to hear that," was her canned response.  "Please know that we are here to help.  Before we proceed, however, I need to ask you a few questions to qualify your level of need.  First, have you ever considered or are you considering harming yourself?"

"No." 

"Well, good.  Have you ever considered or are you considering harming someone else?"

"No,” I replied through gritted teeth.  I might want to hurt someone if I was put on hold again.

"Very good.  Now, are you currently taking, or have you taken within the last seven days, any legal or illegal drugs?"

"NO!"  But if I have to answer any more of these damn questions I might need some.

"Excellent!  Now I need to ask where you live so I can locate the nearest doctor."

"Columbus, Mississippi."

After what seemed like an hour of waiting; "Oh, I'm sorry; we don't have any doctors in your area.  However, I am certain we can find someone not too far away.  What is the nearest major city to Columbus?"

"Jackson.”

“Is Jackson also located in Mississippi?"

“Yessssss!”  Doesn’t anyone take geography in school these days?

After another couple of minutes, "Wonderful, we have two doctors in Jackson.  If you have a pen and paper ready, I can give you their contact information as well as an authorization number."

After taking down the information, I hung up and considered my next step.  I asked myself several times whether it was worth driving four hours round-trip to see a doctor for one hour.  Meanwhile, my fingers tapped out the song I had listened to while on hold. 

Knowing good and well that I had better make the call before I talked myself out of it, I picked up the phone.  The first call I made went to an answering service.  "I’m sorry; Doctor Clemonts is currently out of the office.  I can refer you to another doctor if this is an emergency."

Without saying a word, I slammed the receiver down causing the entire phone to become airborne.  I had better take it easy; I’ve already replaced the phone twice this month.  I picked up the phone, took a few deep breaths and dialed the second number. 

"Dr. White’s office."

In my most positive voice, I said, “Good Morning.  The Employee Assistance Program for my company referred me to Dr. White.  Could I speak to her please?"

"I'm sorry; Dr. White is not available.  Can I help you?"

Doesn’t anyone work anymore?  Breathe ... good, again … okay.  "Yes, well… maybe you can.  I need to make an appointment with Dr. White as soon as possible."

"Before I can make an appointment, you need to first talk with the doctor.  She wants to pre-screen all potential patients.  If you would leave your name and telephone number, I'll have her call you as soon as possible."

This was not what I wanted to hear.  I almost hung up, but instead I left my number and then slammed the receiver down.  There is something satisfying about the sound of the phone crashing down on the cradle. 

Fortunately, ninety-three minutes later Dr. White called.  I was relieved to hear her voice.  Perhaps I am finally making some headway. 

The first words out of her mouth after the introduction, however, were, "I need to let you know that I am no longer taking any long-term patients.  Do you believe your issue is something that needs long-term care?  If so, I need to refer you to another doctor."

My God, what have I got myself into?  Breathe … relax … you’ve come this far.  Give her a chance.  "I am not sure, but I hope not."

"Well, if this is short-term care, I would be able to see you.  What is the nature of your concern?"

"Anger management issues ... I – I’m very impatient these days.  I become frustrated easily.  I’ll tell you, Doctor White, this anger is destroying my marriage and my life."

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Didn’t I hear the same response earlier today?  “Do all of you people have the same cheat-sheet to read from?” 

“Pardon me?  I’m not certain what you are referring to,” was the doctor’s response.

“NO, pardon me for bothering to call in the first place!  It appears you are too busy to take on anyone needing real help.  How the hell do I know if this is a short-term or long-term situation?  You’re the doctor!  Besides, do you know how long I was hold today before I could speak to a real person?  Well, do you?”    

I gulped air trying to catch my breath.  There was silence on the line and I wondered if the doctor had hung up on me. 

“Uh huh, okay, I believe I now understand the nature of the problem.  Would this coming Wednesday at 11:00 work for you?”