My Cat, His Cat

"You want to do it?" I said shaking it up. 

"No, thanks," Mr. Wonderful said grabbing his jacket.

"It'll be good times." 

"I don't think so," he said walking out the door.

"You're going to miss the all fun!"

Actually, what I was "shaking up" was a can of paint, and the "fun" was painting the interior of my kitchen cabinets. Oh yeah! Mr. Wonderful didn't think this endeavor sounded like a good--or even mediocre--way to spend a Saturday night but that's only because he hadn't spent two days sanding down all the surfaces in said cabinets. For me, everything I'd done all weekend was building toward this moment of painting. Bring it!

Instead, the man who promised to love, honor and dip my brushes arranged a game night with his buddies and left me to the paint and rollers. Thank goodness I have my cat! 

While my spouse was cracking open beers with his pals, Jackson kept me company as I coated the interior cabinet shelves, walls and ceilings with Behr paint--color Elegant White, if you please.

While my spouse was losing his shirt in a "friendly" game of poker, my cat and I took a drink break: milk for me and a glass of Pinot Noir for him. Or was it the other way around? Paint fumes do funny things to your brain when the only one you can talk to is a feline who responds with intelligent looks, frequent naps and lots of licking.

While my spouse was buying drinks for the winning poker player, my cat and I cleaned up--he did the kitchen, I licked his fur. Or was it the other way around? Then we both fell asleep in our respective beds. Who needed a spouse? I had all the Saturday night companionship I needed from my cat: 1) My dear Jackson made my life more fun; 2) He gave me more good times; 3) He ate all the leftovers. I loved my cat!

The next morning, I examined the painting work. Peering inside the kitchen cabinets I saw… cat paw prints; a line of dirty cat paw prints that ambled about the space like Billy from the "Family Circus" cartoon. Ugh. While my husband and I had slept, Jackson had gone exploring inside the cabinets. With the paint still wet.  

Unfortunately now my cabinets were neither elegant nor white. Ugh-ugh-uuugh. I'd have to paint the cabinets again in another coat to cover the paw prints. Whose pet does that? Not mine.

As soon as Mr. Wonderful wakes up I'll make him a cup of delicious espresso, tell him how fun painting was last night and let him know what his cat did! 

An Unexpected Surprise

"Craigslist," I said putting a sticky note on the brand new box of never-worn men's roller blades.

"What's going on," Mr. Wonderful said finding me in the laundry room knee deep in stuff.

"Goodwill," I pointed to three bags of clothing.

"You're cleaning out the house?"  

"Garbage," I slapped a sticky on an old painting.

"Thank you!"

Yes, Mr. Wonderful was thanking me now but I'm not sure if he'd be thanking me in the evening. But then, why not? Mr. Wonderful was full of surprises. And thus far, January, too, had been full of surprises: 1) The weather had been 75-80 degrees F every day; 2) The sun had been shining every day; and 3) I'd gotten a suntan on New Year's day. I loved January surprises! One of the best things about January is getting rid of all the rubbish and detritus that accumulated during the previous year… just in time to make room for the junk I got for Christmas, Hanukkah and Kwanzaa! 

On this glorious day in which Mr. Wonderful had to work at the studio, I decided that I'd work, too. I dropped off a car full of bags at Goodwill, snapped some photos of "For Sale" stuff for Craigslist and emptied everything from my kitchen cabinets. In other words, I cleaned out the laundry room then made a mess of the kitchen. 

Oh, yes! Mr. Wonderful was going to be surprised alright!

But this was done with the goal of painting the kitchen cabinets' interior. Therefore every pot, pan, plate, bowl, spoon, mixer and cookie cutter was removed from its place in a kitchen cabinet and put atop the kitchen table, the butcher's block and the cat's water bowl. I had stashed more kitchen detritus  in those cabinets that now any available counter space in my kitchen was at a premium. Besides Jackson never drank from his water bowl preferring the pool's water. I like my water with lemon, he likes his with chlorine.

I seized 16,000 sheets of newspaper and laid them all over the floor, then grabbed the paint and brushes. The cat looked at me with interest.

"It's time to paint the interior of the kitchen cabinets!" I sang to the feline. He blinked, yawned then exited the kitchen for his 10th nap of the day. They're called "cat naps" for a reason. Cat's take them. A lot. 

As for my painting, my plan was to have the cabinet interiors painted and every pot, pan, plate, bowl, spoon, mixer and cookie cutter returned to its rightful place by the time Mr. Wonderful came home from the studio. Unfortunately it was only at this time that I closely examined the interior of the kitchen cabinets to find them, in short: a lousy mess. Their surfaces were as rough as Jackson's tongue, without the sanitary element. Evidently, previous owners had glued shelf paper to the cabinet interiors, which had left them covered in layers of residual glue making the cabinets as smooth as a pot-holed, rocky road in Cleveland. 

My, my, what a surprise. I couldn't just paint. Oh no, first I had to wash every shelf, door and wall; sand all the surfaces down; wash everything again; then paint. I hated January surprises. 

I went to the spotless laundry room to retrieve the sandpaper then returned to the disaster zone of my kitchen to sand down everything--scrape, scrape.

When you're sanding wood for, oh I don't know, 65 hours, the best thing to pass the time is to listen to NPR's Fresh Air radio show--every single episode of its 25 plus years. And when Terry Gross has stopped asking insightful questions of the newsmakers and culture shapers of the day, well keep sanding, Sugar, because it's ain't over. Scrape, scrape.

I sanded in the morning, I sanded in the afternoon, I sanded into the evening and I still it wasn't done. What a surprise. Speaking of, my spouse was going to be surprised when he saw the "Area 51" I had created in the space formerly known as "our kitchen". But hey, if he wanted to eat in a clean place, he could chow down in the laundry room.

"What's going on," Mr. Wonderful said finding me standing on the counter, balancing on one foot to reach a far corner in the uppermost cabinet. 

"I'm sanding," I said my clothes, hair and face covered in the super fine dust of wood and glue circa 1960. 

"What a surprise."

"I was supposed to be done by the time you got home."

"You're full of surprises."

"So if you want to eat in a clean place, go to the laundry room."

"Only if you join me," he revealed a carryout bag of Indian curry. I smiled tasting the wood dust on my lips.

"I like your surprise better than mine."

"Only because mine's finished.

Touché.

Good surprises and gifts shouldn't be reserved just for the holidays. January needs them, too. Scrape, scrape.

Christmas Decorations--New

"Which one do you like?" I asked holding up a silver snowman and a gold snowflake.

"Do I have to?" Mr. Wonderful said rolling his eyes in the busy Christmas aisle of the local holiday store.

"It's a tradition worth continuing."  

"But I don't want one."

"I want you to want one."

"I was afraid of that." 

Ahhh, Christmas. It's the only time of the year that I buy frivolous things like blenders, mixers and a wedding anniversary gift for my spouse and me. Growing up, I received a new ornament every year and I decided--yesterday--to restart the tradition this year in our new house. Which meant that I needed a new ornament, Mr. Wonderful needed a new ornament and my car needed a new hood ornament. 

Okay, maybe "need" was pushing things a little too far. So if I didn't "need" one, at least I really, really wanted one with a cherry and whip cream on top. To make me feel better about buying superfluous things, I was insisting that Mr. Wonderful also get an ornament. It was with this latter element that I erred on several fronts: 1) I took a man shopping; 2) I did this during the holiday rush; 3) I wanted him to choose a decoration?! Had I gone mad?!

Mr. Wonderful is many things: handsome, dependable, talented, handy, funny, charm-- But I digress. My point is, Mr. Wonderful is many things except a decorator. He does not like frou-frou decorations and the only thing he dislikes more that frou-frou decorations is being forced to buy frou-frou decorations on a busy Saturday at the mall 10 days before Christmas. Suddenly I felt guilty for dragging him here.

"If you want to forget this and go home, do it," I said with a shrug.

"Great!" he said pulling the car keys out of his pocket and bee-lining for the mall exit. Oh, no! If I didn't stop him he'd be gone, I'd have to get his and my ornaments and then bum a ride home from Santa or one of his elves because having seen the carnaval-like atmosphere at the mall with frantic shoppers and different Christmas tunes blaring from every different store, my spouse would never return to the mall to pick me up. I'd be stuck there with "Grandma Got Run over by a Reindeer" into infinity. I needed to do something fast.

"Before you go, pick out your own ornament." He stopped in his tracks.

"You want me to pick out an ornament?"

"I know you hate frou-frou decorations."

"But I hate frou-frou decorations."

"Just get whatever you want." His eyes locked on mine and he paused. For six full seconds.

"I'll only get an ornament if Jackson gets one, too." 

In this world there are givers and takers and I was a definite giver, helping my family, friends, and complete and utter strangers. There wasn't a taking bone in my body. But our tuxedo cat, Jackson, he was a serious taker. He took food, toys and all of our attention at all hours of the night and day meowing incessantly until he got petted, brushed and stroked enough to his liking. It was enough to turn Mother Theresa over in her grave. Why should we get our cat an ornament? 

"Deal?" Mr. Wonderful said sticking out his hand. Try as I might, I couldn't be stingy at this time of the year, not even toward the ultimate feline taker.  

I shook my spouse's hand and he disappeared among the ornament racks looking for the ideal ornament, looking for something that spoke to him. Meanwhile I spun the rack looking for something for Jackson, when BOOM! I found it! It was an ornament with a cat on it that totally summed up Jackson's taker life and luxury lifestyle. 

Just then Mr. Wonderful returned grinning. He'd found an ornament for himself.

"That was fast," I said being infected with Mr. Wonderful's excitement. "Let's see it." He held up a papier mâche ball.

"It's not frou-frou," he said. "Plus I can fix it up anyway I want it to. Although I sort of like it just as it is."

"It's perfectly you." I said admiring the simplicity of his ornament and taste. "Here's Jackson's," I said holding up a confection with a beret-wearing cat on a settee covered in glitter. Mr. Wonderful laughed. 

"It's so luxurious, frou-frou and totally him!"

With ornaments bought and mission accomplished, we left the busy mall holding hands to go decorate our tree. And our tree wasn't frou-frou at all.

Being the Bad Guy

"The plumber's back," Mr Wonderful said peering out the window and setting down his coffee cup.

"Good," I said emptying my tea cup.

"I'll be the bad guy."

"I'll be the bad guy."

"I said it first."

"I'm more diplomatic!" I said elbowing past Mr. Wonderful.

The hardest thing for DIY fixer uppers like Mr. Wonderful and I was letting someone else do the work on The House while we sat idly by. The short--and long--reason was: We didn't trust anyone to do the work as well as we knew we could. But the plumbing and electrical projects we needed had to be done by licensed, bonded professionals. So after we dug a formidable trench, we contracted a plumber who came, installed pipes and left. The only problem was said plumber did the work while leaving said pipes sticking out of our house like the bolts poking out of Frankenstein's neck. The short--and long--of it was: It wasn't pretty. So now Mr. Wonderful and I were debating who would to talk to the plumber about this Franken-house problem.

"Morning, Michael," I said waving to the plumber.

"Hi--" Michael said smiling.

"My wife wants to talk to you," Mr Wonderful said deferring to me. Ahhh, I married a wise man.

"What a beautiful morning," Michael said flashing his pearly whites. Note to self: everyone in L.A. has gorgeous teeth, including the plumbers.

"That's right, I want to talk to you," I said leaping between my spouse and the plumber.

"Your house is so beautiful," Michael said looking around. "When I was here yesterday I spent all day in the trench and attic that I didn't get to experience how nice it is here. It's really nice."

My anger faded. My heart melted. The plumber liked my House? I loved this plumber!

"Thank you," I said blushing as if he'd complimented me on my hair, eyes or stellar sense of humor. "You did excellent work," I added. Behind me I heard Mr. Wonderful roll his eyes. Without a doubt, he is the loudest roller of eyes I've ever known. 

"Okay, I'll be going then," Michael said turning on his heel and heading back to his truck.

"Wait," Mr Wonderful said in a slow, deep voice. My spouse's vocal chords were well suited for a radio announcer, a story-book reader or a hard-baller giving someone a big-time reprimand. Now I thought--now!--Michael's going to hear how unhappy we are with his work, see how it looked like a Frankenstein plumbing job, and know that it had to be redone like, yesterday. 

Unfortunately Michael was either a rebel or terribly hard of hearing because he kept walking. He walked away from Mr. Wonderful, away from me and toward the back gate which would give him total freedom from our wrath. Once he passed through that gate, we'd never get him back to fix this horrible pipe job. 

When suddenly, a miracle happened.

"Meow," Jackson said rubbing up against the offending pipes sticking out of the house wall. "Meow."

"Hello, pussy cat," Michael said bending down to pet our tuxedo feline. Jackson plopped down on his belly right in the plumber's path causing the workman to freeze. He looked at the pipes, coughed then said, "Why didn't you tell me I did a bad job right here?" 

"Ahhh. Well?" Mr. Wonderful and I said in unison and shrugged. Michael tsk-tsked us.

The short--and long--story is: Michael removed the pipes from sticking out of the facade of our House and relaid them so they were hidden and flush with the wall, just like we wanted. And they looked great.

Ahhh, Jackson. He had freed Mr. Wonderful and me from being the bad guy. Next time we need a hard-hitting complainer to talk to the contractors, we're going to the ultimate baddie: Jackson our tuxedo-wearing cat.

Cat's Upside Down

It's Friday and from Jackson's viewpoint, it's looking up--and upside down.

This cat sleeps more than King Tut. So I feel pretty lucky I got a photo of him with his eyes open in the 3.5 seconds that he was awake today.

THAT'S the excitement of his Friday. I hope we ALL have more fun than him!

Happy Friday!