Babe, the Blue Ox...er...Car

I am not a car guy. I can count on one hand how many cars I’ve owned in my lifetime. I have driven each one into the ground, except for the last one whose fate was decided by another vehicle. Because of that incident a few Sundays ago I am now the owner of a brand spanking new car made in this century (that’s important) and it scares the hell out of me. My last car, “The Silver Bullet” had hand cranks for the windows, a tape deck in the radio and no cruise control. It wasn’t overly complicated or glamorous but it served its purpose like the three cars that preceded it. Not that this new car is a show piece by any means but when I get into the driver’s seat it’s like I’m the captain of a space shuttle mission. I have well over twenty buttons in front of me (only ten of which I can clearly indentify.) I have a CD player, external temperature gage, cruise control, an iPod jack, a lever to lower or raise my seat (to look down on other drivers of course), an alarm system, automatic windows and automatic door locks. My biggest fear is that I will set off the car alarm and not know how to shut it off. I still find myself reaching to lock the door when I get out forgetting that I have a button for that now. It was quite a comedy of errors last week when it snowed for a bit and I couldn’t figure out how the front windshield wipers worked. I did find out how to operate the back one though (oh yeah I have one of those too.) I know I will figure it all out eventually (hopefully before its seven thousand mile check) but for there are more important things to consider. What will I name the car?

I’m not really in the practice of naming my automobiles but it somehow came around with the Focus when it was dubbed, ‘The Silver Bullet.” Before that is was just the Saturn, the Cavalier, the Chevette. I tossed around a few names in my head, “Blue Beetle” (even though it’s not a VW bug), “Devil with a Blue Dress” (even though it’s not wearing a dress), “Blue Thunder” (could work) and “Ol’ Blue” (my favorite.) I ran some of these names passed a friend of mine and said none of those would stick. But he suggested “Babe.” Not “that’ll do pig” Babe but Paul Bunyan and his blue ox “Babe.” I took step and I liked it. I could picture if I mounted a pair of long horns on the front how it could look very ox-like. Now with that out of the way I just need to figure out how to open the gas tank.

CATS!!

Lately I’ve been writing about some pretty heavy stuff so I decided to switch gears to the lighter side. This week I decided to write about a subject we all have an opinion on, cats. I have two cats, one fat and one terribly old. This would be where most people would say how their cats are part of family or how they treat their cats as their own children. I’m not going to say that. Why? BECAUSE THEY’RE CATS! They don’t pay rent, clean, do laundry, buy groceries or contribute in any way to the household and for the most part they drive me insane!

I was saddled with these furry moochers by chance. The old one came to me (and my now ex) through a friend of ours who was getting married and her soon-to-be husband was allergic to cats. So we took him in. She didn’t know how old he was because he was found outside her workplace (which happened to be a vet clinic) close to death after being run over by a car. He was an adult cat then and I’ve had him for close to eight years. He’s deaf, old people thin, missing teeth, announces when he’s gone to the bathroom, a bit senile and I’m convinced he’s NEVER going to die. He’ll happily live out his days waling loudly at three in the morning and shitting all over my apartment without a care.

The fat one came to me from a relative. When my aunt moved into her new apartment she got a spacious two bedroom with hardwood floors, off street parking, 1 ½ baths and a fat Siamese mutt cat who squeaks instead of meows. Once again I got another by way of allergies; my aunt’s boyfriend was allergic to cats not dogs. So they got a pit bull, I got the fat one. Granted she hasn’t always been this big but for some reason she is the only cat in the history of the world to get fat on Healthy Choice Weight Management food for indoor cats. Even though she’s the size of a small foot stool the fat one still manages to run around the house and run into walls like a kitten. She’s not very bright. The old uses this to his advantage.

He maybe feeble and deaf but I think the old one plays at being senile. A prime example of this happen a couple of weeks ago when for some reason or another he was using the kid’s bed as his own personal litter box. I didn’t know about for a few days because A) I want to respect the kid’s privacy while he’s at school so I don’t go in there unless I have to and B) the old had hidden all of his messes by pulling throw blankets and the corner of the sheets over them. Pretty clever for a cat that is seemingly losing his marbles. Somehow he pulled the fat one into his little scheme as well. Looking back whenever I started to smell something or go close to the room where the shit was she would have a hissy fit and lunge at my leg. Eventually I caught on to him and closed the door to the kid’s room. But that didn’t stop him. He pooped on the bathroom rug tonight and covered it up by folding the rug in an origami fashion.

They team up to wake me in the morning as well. Every morning around six-thirty I hear a furry battering ram run head long into the door. The fat one is not light on her feet so I hear her stampede toward the door, a quick thud against the door, a squeak and the process starts all over again. Now she’s not smart enough to come up with this on her own, the old one is the brains behind this. I know because I caught them in the act. One morning after the second or third thud I opened the door a crack before O leaped out to start yelling at the cats for waking me when I saw who the brains were and who were the muscle. After the last hit with door the fat one stumbled to the end of the hall where the old one was waiting. She sat down next to him, shook off the hit and looked at him. He gave her a couple of licks on the head as she stood up again getting ready to make another run. She crouched down ready to take off, looked back at him and he swatted on the back end as if to say, “GO!” That’s when she took off running for another shot. It was a sight to see.

They both annoy me at times, always demanding attention, puking, shitting, and leaving tumbleweeds of fur everywhere but when they’re curled up with you on the couch you can’t help but love them. When I move to Colorado they’re not coming with me. I can’t put through the trip and besides I think I’ve been a four legged pet owner long enough. I think I’ll try fish next.