Brother Isaac

This is a picture of Isaac, MB's maroon-bellied conure. He did the alterations of the photo himself. MB came home from work one day and was distressed that she could not find him. After calling for a while with no response, she heard a rustling sound, and went to her desk, an old but well loved secretary located not far from Isaac's usual digs. When she opened the drawer, this little green devil popped up like jack-in-the-box. He was surrounded, bird-belly-deep, in tiny shreds of documents -- including his own photo. You can see why I don't trust him.

A post about sister Pigeon will follow as soon as I can get her to hold still for a picture.

Things that Flutter and Rustle

This post is for my as-yet-unmet cat kin, Rajah, who wrote me from San Francisco to inquire about things that flutter, rustle, and go "cheep."

I actually live with two things that flutter and rustle, one of which also makes "cheeping" noises. The other one makes noises that go well beyond cheeping, but more on that later.

Isaac the conure and Pigeon the cockatiel are birds, and there's not a thing I can do about it while MB is breathing. (They were here when I got here, and MB has refused, somewhat rudely, all my offers to get rid of them.)

I'm used to their movements and their noises. Every now and then Pigeon will go flapping and "cheeping" around the room, but MB gets bent out of shape when I chase her. Pigeon never seems to know where her wings will take her, which keeps the chase interesting for both MB and me, but MB doesn't think it's funny. I think it's hilarious and can't keep my tail still.

Isaac isn't any fun to chase. He always knows where he is going and has no sense of humor about my interest. Sometimes I get the sense that he would like to harm me with his beak. Isaac never shrieks while he's flying, but every now and then he will get it into his head, usually about the time the sun is starting to drop, to cry out across the imaginary jungle to god-knows-what-obviously-half-deaf creature. He goes on that way until you think the Discovery Channel must be filming one of those nature-is-red-in-tooth-and-claw sequences. No wonder MB can't hear anymore.

One thing I like about the birds -- they throw food out of their cages. Every night after supper I beeline to the areas around their cages to scarf up brightly colored bird food yummies.

Sometimes MB, Clem, the birds and I hang out in the study. CLem draws, Isaac wanders as he pleases, and Pigeon stays on a perch and stares at MB while she plays at the computer. I lie there on the floor and think about the time the mice came to visit.

Mice are a lot more fun than birds. They can't fly, and MB can't figure out where they live without my pointing it out. She thinks the latest of these furry friends just "moved on" because she doesn't see signs of them anymore. Yeah, MB, that's what happened; they decided they wanted another place. (They just "moved on" down my throat ya ding-a-ling).

Blue collar, white lettering

MB was forced to repeat herself several times, which she didn't mind so much, since it gave her a chance to voice increasing displeasure and thus advertise to the other customers that the boarding establishment had lost my collar.

"No, it was not in his little bag with his t-shirt and bone."

Staff looked puzzled and concerned.

"We ordered this collar," MB said, "so that his name would be stitched in, along with my phone number."

They wrote it all down as though it made any difference.

"And I need it," she repeated. "It has his tags."

"We understand," they said, which meant: "we look forward to your leaving soon."

"Didn't your husband pick it up with the dog?"

This was an irritating question, since a) MB had picked me up only twenty minutes earlier in front of the very staff persons who were staring at her as though they had never seen her before, and b) the question suggested that it was going to have to be someone else's fault, because it sure couldn't be theirs, and c)the question further suggested that MB was a ding-a-ling who didn't know better than to check with her non-existent husband first.


"I don't have a husband!" MB said testily, which caused them all to think "Oh, of course not. She doesn't have a husband because she's so bitchy. Most people who come in here, pay a small fortune to have their dogs boarded only to find out that the boarding establishment has lost his specially-ordered collar along with his rabies tags are really pleasant about it, especially after we've repeatedly questioned whether she didn't lose it herself between the time she picked the dog up and returned twenty minutes later to ask for the collar.

"We're sorry."

MB stood there and waited for them to say, "We'll gladly replace the tags and the collar if we cannot locate them," but they didn't say that. "We'll call you," they said instead.

"I had to order that collar," said MB, whose mother had actually ordered it, "and it has his tags. I can't take him for a walk without his collar."

"We'll call you."

MB called them back several hours later. "Hello, I'm wondering whether you found my dog's collar yet."

Staffer "Ingrid" said, "We don't take the dog's collars when we board them. We remove the dog's collars and give them back to the person dropping the dog off."

MB: "When I returned to ask for Lokey's collar, two other people came in to drop off their dogs for boarding, and their dogs' collars were not removed."

Ingrid: "Do you think I'm lying?"

MB: "No, but you just told me that you always removed the dog's collar, and yet I saw two dogs dropped off without their collars being removed. I am thinking maybe some of you remove the collars and some of you don't. Maybe Lokey's collar fell behind a filing cabinet."

Ingrid: "It didn't fall behind a filing cabinent. We will continue to look for it."

MB: "That's nice to know. Thanks for your help."

I guess MB won't be taking me back to that boarding establishment. I have no sympathy. Her little brouhaha over my lost collar is nothing next to my distress at having been boarded in the first place.

Plus, I was out running an errand recently with MB and she found the collar in the console. I looked at her and she looked at me and then I looked away and she just kept driving.

My new collar is green with white lettering. Clem doesn't like it because the lettering is very large, and he says that while MB and I are sitting outside Helios sipping wine on the patio, creeps can read her phone number from three tables away.

MB says she likes the color better.

I can't believe they're really going to do this

Incredibly, it seems that MB and Clem are moving forward with their plans to go off to visit MB's family without me.

Several times now, MB has sighed about how much she'll miss me. (Not enough, I suppose, to reverse this awful decision.) She and Clem are talking about chores they want to have done before taking off, one of which is to drop me off at this place where I'll be boarded. They're avoiding eye contact with me.

I bet I don't have Internet access. If memory serves, I'll be left with a toy and one of MB's t-shirts to weep into. No computer, and probably not even a hook-up even if I did take the portable.

If anyone out there is interested in having a buddy over for a few days, I have some pretty cool toys and would be willing to share. I'd bring my favorite ball, and can promise endless fun with you throwing and me retrieving, you throwing again and me retrieving again, you throwing again and me retrieving again, you throwing again and me retrieving again -- well you get the idea.

Please submit your applications to have me as a guest as soon as possible, while there's still time for me to get away. Hint: goat cheese is a big draw for me. If you keep goat cheese in the house, you're a shoe-in. Another plus would the the provision of compacted rawhide bones. In fact, you can rub the goat cheese on the rawhide bones and I won't bug you while you eat supper. Also, while we're having our evening walk, MB typically places a fresh bowl of water in the refrigerator, so that it is nice and cool for me when we come in. She is also in the habit of combing me nightly for fleas (no, of course I don't have any fleas; don't be ridiculous) and administering tummy rubs.

Remember, I'll bring my ball.

Being taunted by Tal

Sometimes I think there's a price to pay for putting yourself out there for all the world to see. I see it as an opportunity to make friends and share my experiences, but I shouldn't be suprised that my page might inspire envy, and that this envy might manifest itself in feline-type comments. A puppy dawg starts to feel loved and cared for, greets each day with happy anticipation, eagerly checks his blog to see what new friends have dropped by. He forgets that there are two-legged cats out there just waiting to show their claws, Tal.

MB is going on a trip next week. She is going to visit her family, including my uncle Talbot. Guess who doesn't get to go? Is it really because there's "no room at the inn?"

I am troubled by the possibility that MB is afraid that I'll exact some sort of vengeance upon Uncle Tal for his "comments." Yeah, I could do it. Notwithstanding suggestions to the contrary, I can dig a pretty big hole. I could bury Uncle Tal like last week's bone. But see, I don't "visit" people's websites or houses and then insult the host. I would be a good boy.

They'd all see if they'd only let me join them. I promise I wouldn't bring the fleas. I wouldn't chew anyone else's stuff. I wouldn't dig. I wouldn't shed. I wouldn't steal the mutts' toys. I wouldn't beg during cocktail hour (I should say hours), and I wouldn't stick my head through the railing and growl at them from the top of the stairs.

I wouldn't pee on Talbot's suitcase and then act like it was an honest mistake, or confiscate his tennis racket and make adjustments to the frame; I wouldn't get up on his bed and roll around and then leap off in shameless delight while he screamed in outrage, and I wouldn't then scamper away before he could do anything about it. I wouldn't sigh loudly when he is telling one of his interminable stories.

MB says it's just that the house will be very crowded and that I shouldn't read anything else into the fact that I am being left behind in a cold, impersonal purgatory while she's gone.

Sure, MB. You and Uncle Tal just have fun without me.