Hi Kitten

Hobo's Tale - Part 3: Life's a Circus

Grandpa — Mon, 16 Jul 2007 21:43:00 GMT

Hi Kitten,

In this part of the story, Hobo meets our dog Ginny.

Hobo's Tale - Just Passing Through
Part 3: Life's a Circus

"Breakfast!," I called out, as I entered the garage through the inside door. I had left the outside door open over night to give Hobo access. I didn't have to call him twice. Hobo sauntered out from behind the car like a mechanic coming around to tell me my transmission needed replacing.

"Cream this morning, Hobo, as promised," I said, placing the dish on the floor. Well, the cream was a hit with Hobo. I got an extra head bang in appreciation. I was sitting on the step. He put his paws up on my leg and the next thing I knew, he was in my lap, leaning his heavy body against my chest. He started purring and I said, "My goodness, you are a sweetheart, aren't you."

Within a week, this tough bruiser of a cat, who bit my hand the first time I touched him, was flopping over at my feet for belly rubs, leaning up against my legs, and curling up in my lap every time I sat down. I had become his person and he was my fury orange shadow.

But I had another pet in the house who also needed my attention. Ginny was a medium size fawn-colored short hair mutt who appeared to be part Basenji. She was a sweet dog who loved to stroll with me along our neighborhood walking paths. I usually took her out in the evening. Hobo decided it would be great fun to join us. So every evening, the three of us set out for another adventure.

Have you ever seen the circus act where a horse trots around a ring and a little dog jumps up onto its back, then off again while it's still trotting? Hobo discovered that he could wander off the path and disappear into the distant shadows, come running up at a full clip, jump onto Ginny's back, then jump off the other side. It reminded me of that circus act. Hobo thought it was great fun. Ginny didn't like it one bit, but she was too sweet to do anything about it.

So now, Hobo owned us all. We were his family and it looked like he intended to keep us.
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Next time, Kitten, I'll tell you about Hobo's kitten days, the amazing gift he brought home to me, and his rugged love life. The story does not have a happy ending, not for me at least, but you can take comfort in knowing that Hobo was alive and well the last time I saw him.

Love you,
Grandpa
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Copyright 2007 PSAI Publications. All rights reserved.

A Fourth of Me

Grandpa — Fri, 09 Mar 2007 11:54:00 GMT

Hi Kitten,

This is a poem, especially for you.

A Fourth of Me
By Grandpa

Everything my Grandpa was, before he passed away,
Was half of all my Mother was, though she is gone today.
And of the half I got from Mom, it's very clear to see,
The half she got from Grandpa, had become a fourth of me.

Everything I've ever been and all I'll ever be,
Is half of all your Daddy is, for he is half of me.
And everything your Daddy is, it's very clear to see,
Is half of all that you've become, so you're a fourth of me.

Everything you've ever been, you'll pass along some day.
Your child will be a half of you, 'cause that is nature's way.
I hope you tell her, when she's grown enough that she can see,
How you have shared the part of you that holds a fourth of me.

A fourth of me, a fourth of me, you're keeping in your heart,
And looking in your eyes I see, you got my favorite part.
Now, in you, a fourth of me will live beyond my years,
So when I'm gone, my darling girl, you'll have no need of tears.

Love you,
Grandpa
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Copyright 2007 PSAI Publications. All rights reserved.

Hobo's Tale - Part 2: Friends After All

Grandpa — Wed, 07 Feb 2007 02:15:00 GMT

Hi Kitten,

I have known many cat lovers. I myself am a lover of cats. Yet I have never encountered anyone with a greater affinity for felines than you, which reveals the inspiration for the nickname I gave you. At times, I wonder if there isn't a trace of feline blood flowing through your veins. That's why I wanted to share with you the story of one of my cats -- the one I named Hobo.

There are two behaviors I especially love in a cat. The first is the way a cat will flop over at your feet for a good petting. The other is the way a cat, especially a large male, will move up close and then lower his head and bang it against you, as a sign of affection -- oh, those amorous head bangers. Hobo was just such a cat.

Hobo's Tale - Just Passing Through
Part 2: Friends After All

Hobo may have rejected my attempt to touch him, but he didn't object to my providing him a warm place to bed down and fresh milk for breakfast. Leaving the garage door open yet another night had done the trick. This time, I opened the inside garage door with a dish of milk in hand. There he was, waiting patiently. He moved forward without fear this time. Perhaps he had proven to himself that he could put me in my place if he needed to. Or maybe he had the evening to think things over and realized that he had overreacted. Naw, that's giving him too much credit.

I had the evening to think things over, as well. In retrospect, I suppose it was a stupid decision to ignore the possibility of rabies. I don't know if fear of the shots or my instincts about cats had the greatest influence on my course of action. I decided to keep Hobo around for as long as possible with offers of food. I was convinced that he just needed some time to learn to trust me.

"So I startled you yesterday, did I?" I said aloud. "Shouldn't have come up behind you like that. Got what I deserved, right?" I'm quite sure Hobo was listening, perhaps even understanding, but his focus was on the milk, so I let him drink. When he finished, he sat there, licking his paw as if he hadn't a care in the world. This was my chance. I put my hand slowly forward, this time with the back of my hand toward him and below his head, as if offering it for his consideration.

"Well what do you know," I said as he came forward and pushed his head against the back of my hand. "You're a head banger, aren't you?" He rubbed his face against my hand, then he lowered his head for a good scratch. I was kneeling on the floor. Deciding to check me out, he walked around me, rubbing his shoulder against my right side, pressing against my back and nearly knocking me over as he leaned up against my left side for one last head scratch. All of a sudden, off he went across the street to hunt in the over-grown field.

"See you tomorrow, Hobo," I called after him, fully expecting that he would show up for breakfast in the morning. "Would you prefer cream instead of milk?" He glanced back over his shoulder and I would have sworn he nodded his head in the affirmative. Naw......

Kitten, in the next part of my story, Hobo meets our dog Ginny.

Love you,
Grandpa
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Copyright 2007 PSAI Publications. All rights reserved.

Hobo's Tale - Part 1: The Orange Cat in My Garage

Grandpa — Sat, 13 Jan 2007 17:34:00 GMT

Hi Kitten,

They say that you never own a cat, because the cat owns you. What they don't mention is that the cat decides the term of ownership. I was once owned for a short time by a cat named Hobo.

Kitten, I promised I would tell you the story. Here it is.

Hobo's Tale - Just Passing Through
Part 1: The Orange Cat in My Garage

The first thing that caught my attention, as I opened the inside garage door one morning, was a pair of wide eyes surrounded by the face of a large cat. I sized him up immediately; orange swirl coat, massive head, scars from a few fights, mature male, wary of strangers, not frightened enough to flee.

The cat sized me up, as well: average height skinny human, chronologically mature male, bad hair day, apparent cat lover, absent minded enough to leave the garage door open from time to time, potential source of free meals. I took a step forward. He turned and darted under the car. Seconds later, his black nose appeared at the front edge of the rear tire, floating above two huge orange paws.

It's true that I had left the outside garage door open all night, which explained how he got in. Since he didn't run away, I assumed he was hungry and hoping for something to eat, like the hobos who used to ride the freight trains. They would show up at the farm houses along side the rail road tracks, offering to do odd jobs in exchange for a good meal.

"Your just a hobo, looking for a hand out, aren't you?" I asked, fully expecting him to understand. "Wait here. I'll bring you something."

What's the first thing you think of offering a cat to gain its trust? Milk. Moments later I returned, placed a saucer of milk on the garage floor and said, "Here you go, Hobo." Just like that, he had a name.

He had waited. I could still see his nose and paws behind the tire. I backed away from the saucer, taking a seat on the floor. I waited, not daring to move for fear of scaring him. Soon, the nose got up enough courage to pull its face forward for a better look. Hunger overcame fear and Hobo began to slink toward the saucer, periodically glancing over his shoulder, confirming his emergency escape route.

Because Hobo had accepted my offering of sustenance and appeared comfortable with my close proximity, I assumed I had easily gained his trust. I leaned forward, reaching out to pet him. As my hand gently touched his back, he suddenly flipped himself over, grabbed my hand in his needle-sharp claws, bit the side of my palm, then ran out the garage door. Across the street in front of a meadow on which more houses like mine were soon to be built, Hobo sat looking back at me.

I just stood there in my garage, holding my bleeding hand and wondering about the chances that this stray cat could be rabid. I honestly didn't know much about rabies. I assumed that if I sought medical attention without having captured the cat, I would have to undergo a series of painful rabies shots. But how was I to catch this cat? If I were able to capture him, would they keep him for observation or put him down? Suppose I were able to keep him around with food and observe him myself, what would I do if he failed to show up one day? It was a very long night and I made a very stupid decision.

All Welcome

Grandpa — Fri, 05 Jan 2007 13:57:00 GMT

Welcome!

This is one of three Blogs I manage for my granddaughters, where we share our love of writing. You can access the other two Blogs from the Quick Links in the sidebar.

You might say these are experimental Blogs.

They are not:

Ego trips for us, because we prefer to remain anonymous.

Logs of our daily activities, because we keep those to ourselves.

Rant pages, because that's just not our style.

They are Blog formats that we use to:

Shape relationships that fit our busy schedules.

Encourage and inspire creative expression for each other's enjoyment.

Understand the trials and tribulations of life's two most difficult passages.

Transform life's most difficult passages into life's most rewarding adventures.

Thanks for dropping by.
Read what interests you.
Comment if you like.
Come back soon and often.
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Grandpa, Princess, Kitten and Pixie