AUTHOR STUFF

From my earliest memories I wanted to be a writer. Yes, even though those first crude attempts were discouraged by my critics I persisted. (Critics, by the way, are not nice creatures.)
Even though there were two great, almost overpowering obstacles standing in the way of my journalistic endeavors, mainly mom and dad, I persisted.
How could anyone in their right mind see my early efforts as anything less then genius? Instead of collecting those early works my parents repainted the walls and took my crayolas away from me.
As we all know authors do stuff. Some of the stuff authors do probably wouldn’t make sense to the average, non-discerning non-author but sense or not, those things are important.
One of the most important things an author can do is sharpen pencils. Yes, having a big coffee cup filled with sharp pencils reposing upon ones desk is good for the author’s mental well being.
You might think that pencils have gone out of style what with the use of word processors but in reality they are just as important today as they were… well, when they were important.
Pencils have saved more than one author from being cast upon that dreary and dreamless shore that demands that they write.
A writer, skilled in pencil sharpening, can while away many hours otherwise spent in writing, sharpening and re-sharpening until ones hours have been spent and one can escape again into relative normalcy where one can journey to ye olde pencil store and replenish the pencils he sharpened into nubbins during the last writing session.
Another thing that authors do is sign books. Have you ever heard of an author who didn’t have book signings?
At one of my recent book signings I was signing away when the manager approached me with one of those self righteous manager expressions that gives one the idea the man was sucking on a lemon.
The first thing out of the managers mouth were the words, “And just what do you think you are doing?”
I gave him my best all knowing author look and answered, “Well, as you can deduce by the pen in my hand and this huge pile of tomes, I am signing books!”
To which he replied in a somewhat haughty tone, “Bibles and Webster’s dictionary?”
That is probably something one should remember about book signings it would probably be good to sign your own books.

GIVE ME A BEAR ANY DAY

It is downright dangerous being around people these days. Compared to some people bears are very sociable folks.
I was in a hardware store the other day looking for a left handed whatsit to fix my gallyrimple and as I walked down an isle I sopped and moved aside to allow this gent to pass. And pass he did. He bulled into me, shoved me aside and half raised his cane as if to hit me as he exclaimed, "Git the hell out of my way you, go on, git!"
My first reaction was surprise, after all, he darned near knocked me down, then my surprise turned to alarm as I noticed that he was brandishing a heavy wooden walking stick!. I mean, hey, I was there to get a farfanoodle for my glammersnit not to have some rock troll club me with his shelaliegh!
Now, as you probably know I am of a somewhat sensitive and docile nature, but about the time I saw that cane lift menacingly over my noggin I reached for a three foot long piece of steel pipe that resided conveniently on a nearby rack. Woe is me, I wasn't able to utilize said steel pipe for its intended purpose because the gentleman hustled past without smiting me and as he went he was mumbling incoherent somethings about my ancestry, some of which certainly surprised me because he obviously had information about my paternal stock that I was unaware of.
In all of my years following and photographing bears I have been bluff charged, trampled, cussed at, and "run" over and threatened by them but then one might say that is what one would expect from bears. (I wanted to say 'ran' over but my wife said it should be 'run' over, but then what does she know, she wasn't there when the damned thing RAN over me! People!)
After my encounter with Mr. Knee Anderthal in the hardware store a Japanese gent walked up to me and with great concern in his voice asked, "You O.K.?" I answered to the affirmative to which he shook his head and said, "That man clazy!" I certainly had to agree with him, that man was definitely "clazy.".
Yep, you can give me a bear any day.

HOW TO BE YOUR CAT’S BEST FRIEND, or, THE CAT FROM HELL

Cats, being cats, do not need us. They stay with us by choice, not necessity.
-- Charles Towne --


Lets see, where were we last week? Oh yes, we had just summarized uncle
Timmy’s most exemplary character. And as you remember uncle Timmy was my mother’s favorite cat.
Today our story begins with old jack, a big black and tan hound and daddy’s favorite coon dog. Jack was the ugliest, most worthless, no good, shifty eyed, disreputable, lying, chicken killing, egg sucking, mangy, fornicating, vulgar scoundrel of unblemished and exemplary character it has ever been my honor to know. His one redeeming quality was the fact that he could turn any room into a gas chamber at a moments notice. He was the ‘green air’ king, a veritable gas generating machine, and though, for obvious reasons, Jack was rarely allowed in the house, daddy was very proud of him.
Jack had somehow managed to stay out of uncle Timmy’s way for quite some time but the day arrived when the dog decided that the cat had been walking too tall around the yard for much too long.
They met at high noon out near the corral and everybody knew that one of them was going to fall.
Jack, courageous, disgusting old Jack, sauntered up to uncle Timmy, curled back a lip exposing a huge sharp canine, and said, “Ah am goin’ t’ tear down yore meat house katt. Y’all been askin’ fer this fer ah long time!”(Jack always talked with a western tang known as ‘early cowboy.)
With those words Jack slapped uncle Timmy right smack dab in the mouth with one of his big floppy ears. Uncle Timmy, terrified by Jack’s vicious attack, split the ear down the middle. Then in a lightening move old Jack hauled off and stuck one of his feet in Uncle Timmy’s mouth while at the same time he struck all of the cat’s claws with his nose. Then, in a daring move, old Jack began bleeding all over Uncle Timmy.
It was about this time that old Jack decided that he had punished Uncle Timmy enough so he calmly turned and began casually strolling back towards the house at a rather high rate of speed. Feeling sorry for the cat he considerately allowed Timmy to ride on his shoulders part of the way.
The screen door leading into the kitchen was closed but Jack, in a move of quick thinking and lightning reflexes decided to remove it completely in a remodeling effort.
The cat followed the dog through the house, and across the dining room table.
Chairs were knocked over in the mad dash, as was mama’s potted fern.
The dog and the cat fought their way the length of the sofa disregarding the preacher who had come for a visit and who probably would never come again.
They finally crashed through the dining room window that was open at the time except for the screen. The last we saw of old Jack and Uncle Timmy that day the dog was still leading the way as he headed into the cornfield with the cat, doing a good imitation of a tornado and a berserk buzz saw, obviously insane with rage, heavy on his heels.
They both returned the next day, Jack, poor Jack, somewhat the worse for wear. As far as I could tell uncle Timmy didn’t have a scratch on him and he immediately resumed his job as head honcho of the premises. I don’t remember old Jack challenging him again.
Have a beautiful day and may your cats teach you

HOW TO BE YOUR KAT'S BEST FRIEND

As the years pass I am persuaded that I am becoming more cat-like all of the time. Please don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining and I don't lounge around grooming myself with my tongue or leave little dead critters such as deactivated mice on the carpet for my wife to find. No, this 'becoming cat' phenomenon is most evident in the area of afternoon naps. Cats take a lot of naps and so do I. Naps are definitely a cat thing. Naps are good.
But we are not going to discuss naps today. No, we are going to discuss cats and their abhorrence to anything snakish.
There is an ancient Arab proverb that states, "A cat, once bitten by a snake fears even a rope."
I was watching Vociferous, my bull puppy cat as he stalked whatever wee beasties should cross his path in our garden. Nothing escaped his scrutiny. From the butterfly that wisely flew away upon his stealthy approach to the leopard frog that judiciously leaped into the koi pond, even the dragonfly that helicoptered overhead, just beyond his reach.
Suddenly the cat's hunt was interrupted. He stopped, leaped backwards and sideways, almost collapsing onto his side in his haste.
He recovered, glanced at me with an expression of embarrassment upon his face and then, composure restored he tentatively extended his head toward the cause of his fright.
Cautiously he approached. His head moved back and forth, up and down so that he might better see the threatening snake in the grass.
He stopped; one paw slowly lifted, then, faster than my eye could follow there was a flash of movement as that paw stabbed forward tapping the short piece of garden hose coiled in the grass.
What is it that causes cats to fear anything snakish?
A kitten, even though it has never been exposed to snakes, knows the serpentine race is to be avoided. A puppy on the other hand will approach a snake no matter how deadly as though there was nothing to fear.
Could it possibly be that the cat's tendency to avoid snakes stems from its ancient forebears, such as the African wildcat?
Those ancestors must have encountered poisonous snakes, sometimes with fatal consequences but then there were the survivors that told their offspring to avoid the snake at all costs.
Another indication of this deep ingrained fear can be observed in the cat's response to the hissing phenomenon.
Many snakes hiss, thus warning creatures to stay away.
When your beloved pet is being naughty, perhaps using the end of your new $3000.00 designer sofa as a scratching post, if you hiss, what is the response?
There is the likelihood that puss will leap sideways and run away, thus saving the sofa from any further damage, or not.
Hissing is a snake thing, cats do not like snakes and tend to avoid them; therefore hissing can be a powerful deterrent to abhorrent behavior.
Understanding that there are exceptions to every rule, years ago back in Illinois my mother was befriended by a walking disaster of a cat that she called Uncle Timmy. He was a big cat, fifteen to sixteen pounds, and gray.
I called him Gimp due to the fact that he was missing a leg. He was also missing an eye and half of his tail. Parts of both ears were gone due to a combination of fighting and frost bite. He had lost enough body parts to build another cat and he was beautiful in an ugly sort of way.
Uncle Timmy loved snakes. Yes, he loved to eat them. No snake was safe from him.
The fact that there were few, if any poisonous snakes in our part of Illinois was probably one reason Uncle Timmy lived a long and snake filled existence.
I remember coming across him one time as he was finishing up a serpentine snack. The cat laid there in the grass drowsily blinking as the last three or four inches of a fox snake's tail protruded from his mouth waving a feeble farewell to the world with little, spasmodic twitches.
From my experience Uncle Timmy was unique in his penchant for a snake meat diet but there are other exceptions such as my neighbors Siamese that likes to carry small snakes through the cat door and leave them, somewhat worse for wear, still twitching on the kitchen floor as gifts for her mistress. It goes without saying that these reptilian endowments were not all that appreciated
Thankfully, for most of us, cats avoid snakes at all costs.
Have a beautiful day and may your cats teach you.