The Coontina/Catina

This is the newest patron of the Coontina, or should I say Catina. A lot of fur missing from one ear, some scabs on the face, an eye that will probably be better in a couple days, and a pretty blue collar (he used to belong to someone...maybe he still does?). This is the new cat figuring out the hierarchal cat seating arrangements at the Coontina/Catina. And don't you love that smile on his face? Good times ahead for all of us.

And here's Eli literally moving down one more step on the food serving hierarchy and knowing it.

Last year at this time I was trying to trap a white 4 month old feral kitten who had an injured tail. When I set up the live trap, Eli was caught over and over and over. He never caught on to the concept that if you approach the smell of tuna in a wire contraption, a gate will fall down and lock you in. Such is the cat known as Eli. 

I was really surprised to finally capture Spawna one night (full name being Spawna Satan) and then being able to take her to the vet the next morning to have her fully checked out. Her tail had to be amputated because it could not be saved but after getting herself spayed, deflea-ed, de-wormed, given a full set of shots, a one week hospital stay to get her fever down,  she was then able to be released. Oh, that was expensive. And I only saw her once after she bolted from the house, and I mean bolt. I would have kept her as a house cat but after a month or two of recovery in my house, she remained one nasty wild animal. It was like something from Monty Python. A little white fluffy kitten who would probably kill all of us in our sleep. Nope. They have to meet you halfway. And she was definitely not going to compromise.

But you just want them to be safe or have a chance to get themselves on track again to continue with what they need to do to keep on going.

This morning I got a call from Brian, my lawn guy, who asked for a loan... and I gave it to him. If I never get the money back, I'm cool with that, but I don't think that's going to happen. He's too honest.

He was over this past week to repair a door leading to the basement that blew off in a storm a couple weeks ago (high winds, tornados, not unknown for the area where Dorothy Gale grew up). That guy sure can tell some stories. While he drilled and hammered, he told me one about getting hijacked to Cuba in 1969. He and his buddy were high on acid (Gawd) and were laughing about the possibility of getting hijacked and then decided to pick out the person who would be the hijacker on their flight. Well.........they were right. That just threw them into hysterics. The pilot had to announce that there was a gentleman who convinced him that the plane needed to be flown to Havana and that he thought they should oblige him. This was back in the time when it was a political act to hijack a plane, not a terrorist act, so nobody was harmed. Once they landed, the 747 couldn't return with all the passengers because Havana did not have a runway long enough to accommodate a plane with that much weight. So some of the passengers went back on the 747 and the rest were bused to another part of the island to a resort on a gorgeous beach (which had been built up and developed by the Russian mob) to wait for a smaller plane to be flown in that would be able to fly them out. He said those two days were absolutely fabulous and Cuba was absolutely gorgeous, especially seeing cars from the 30s being driven on the roads. 

Car-geek. :-) What man isn't?  When I lived in Minneapolis in the 70s, I had a neighbor who lived on the bottom floor who was a gay activist who would host all sorts of group meetings in his apartment. I remember one time being there for some reason when he had a group of transvestites in his apartment. What was their topic of conversation? Cars. I'm not kidding. CARS.

Seriously, what did men talk about with each other before they invented cars?

Anyway, another time Brian and some friends were digging up an old stream bed to see what sort of treasures might be buried. They dug and dug and found a big metal plate. They were excited because they thought they had found a safe. Nope. An intact Model A car, just missing the engine.

I really enjoy his stories and he's such a kind person. He took the initiative of storing his mowing equipment in my garage a while back (I never use my garage and if he hadn't told me, who knows if I would have even known). Sometimes when I'm in the backyard and he doesn't know I'm there, I will hear him behind the fence walking up the driveway on his way to the garage and if he sees a bird, he tells it "Hello, bird." I don't want to get into the circumstances of what's going on with his life, just that it's dire, and I think that's how it's always been. I don't know how long he'll be around the neighborhood or in KC but he's a good guy and I just want him to get things together and on track again.