Day 25: Naughty cats

Between You, Me and the Lamp Post

Day 25: Naughty cats

Whenever I hear or read that cats shouldn’t be fed table scraps, I can’t help but smile. I never feed my cats scraps, but occasionally they’ve helped themselves or at least tried to.

Yesterday I was having lunch, a sandwich with Baby Bell cheese. I got up to pour myself a drink and when I came back Charlotte was eating the Baby Bell.

Over the years there have been other incidents but none funnier than the stunt Pitoe pulled.

Pitoe was a big white cat who loved to go hunting at night. This was before indoor cats became popular, when I lived in a suburb, in a quiet street with hardly any traffic.

During the day Pitoe would sleep or groom himself, but come nightfall he would position himself at the backdoor, look at us over his shoulder and the message was clear … let me out.

He would come back a few hours later with or without the catch of the day. Sometimes it was a mouse, other times a bird.

He caught his most famous catch on a Saturday afternoon. He’d strutted into our neighbor Christiana’s garden and a few minutes later we heard her shrieking “Pitoe, come back here! Pitoe, drop it!” Then to her husband “Constant, stop that cat!”

Hearing the commotion I went outside and saw Pitoe come running into our garden with … a string of sausages in his mouth and dragging them between his paws.

Somehow we managed to stop Pitoe, take the string of half fried sausages away from him and return them to Christiane. She told us that Pitoe had taken the sausages right off the frying pan.

Having lost his loot, Pitoe was set on revenge. And he got it.

One night, Mom took three pork chops out of the freezer. Knowing that we had to go out, she put the pork chops on a plate on top of a high cabinet to defrost. When we came home Mom started dinner and took the plate off the cabinet. She was more than a little surprised when one of them was missing. Not the biggest one, not the smallest one, but the middle one.

Sometime later another stunt.

Mom had made brochettes. I was the first at the table and tried to push the meat pieces off the wooden stick with my fork. After putting some effort into it, a piece of meat suddenly came off, flew off my plate, and skidded across the table. Quick as lightning Pitoe’s paw grabbed the meat and he ran off with it.

It was only later that I learned how dangerous it is when cats eat human food. I had given one of our cats, Rocky, a piece of meat. Shortly afterward I noticed him under a chair making strange movements with his head. 

With a shock, I realized that he was choking on something. I rushed him to the vet who managed to get the piece of meat out of his throat. That was the last time I ever fed a cat off the table.

That’s not to say that they never get anything. Holly, for instance, is very fond of strawberries. 

Day 36: Hopes and dreams

My Project: 365 Creative Writing Prompts.

Day 36: Hopes and dreams

Did you ever think that your ship just came in, only to find out that it was a dinghy and it was leaking? I had such hopes and dreams yesterday.

Around 11:00 a.m. I went out to buy a cup of coffee and noticed a zippered wallet laying on the side of the road. An open wallet and it looked like it was stuffed with banknotes. The wallet was actually bulging to the point that the zipper couldn’t close.

I wanted to pick the wallet up of course, but I exercised restraint as I’ve seen enough YouTube videos of pranksters making ordinary people look like fools. So, a looked to the left, and I looked to right, scanned the people across the street and when all seemed okay, I ever so casually sashayed over to the wallet.

I stole a sideways glance at it and tried to determine what type of banknotes it held … 10-dollar bills? 20-dollar bills? Maybe an even higher denomination? Whatever the value, I already had visions of a healthy addition to my savings account. The way the wallet was bulging there could have been between $2,000 or $5,000 or even more.

Once again, I looked to my left, to my right and across the street. When I felt sure that no eyes were on me, I bend to pick up the wallet. And oh, the disappointment. There was no money in the wallet, only a deck of playing cards. So off I went to buy my coffee with some lose change I had in my pocket and then it was back to work.

Speaking of finding money though … many years ago, my mom and I were shopping for school supplies when she noticed a bag in a telephone booth. She retrieved the bag and looked inside if there was a wallet. She found not one, but three wallets, all stuffed with cash. The wallets belonged to a certain Helena Vermeer. There was also an address and a telephone number.

Once home, mom took the money out of each of the wallets and counted it. One wallet held 3,000 franks (the setting is Belgium), the second wallet held 1,350 franks, and the third wallet held no less than 7,220 franks, altogether 11,570 franks. A considerable amount back in those days.

Mom called the given phone number and asked to speak to Helena Vermeer.

“Helena Vermeer is my mother,” a woman said. “Or shall I say, was my mother, she died two weeks ago.”

We were all stunned into silence. It was highly unlikely that a dead woman took her bag with her to go shopping.

To cut a long story short, the daughter had taken her mom’s bag and in her state of grief (or whatever) forgot the bag in the telephone booth.

She agreed to come over to pick up the bag and once she had arrived had the audacity to ask if all the money was still there. “I know exactly how much was in each of those wallets,” she stated. Then she snatched the bag off the table, asked if that was all, got up and left.

“Next time when I find something,” mom said. “I’m keeping it.”

She got her chance less than a month later. Mom, dad, my brother and myself had taken a trip to Brussels to shop for clothes. A friend’s wedding was coming up and we all needed a new outfit, a dress for mom and me, a new suit for dad and my brother.

We visited several stores in the city, but none had what mom was looking for.

“What are you looking for?” dad asked, slightly exasperated as we left the fifth store.

“I don’t know,” she said, “but I’ll know it when I see it.”

And she saw it alright. When we passed a particular store, she pointed to a dress on one of the window mannequins. The dress was expensive though. So expensive that dad peered at mom over his glasses with a look that said ... are you serious?

“I hope they’re not closed,” mom said, glancing at her wristwatch. “It’s after six already.” When she reached for the door, she found that the door was slightly open and when pushed a silver bell tinkled overhead.

Right away we all knew that something was wrong. Not only was there no staff behind the counter, and were there no customers browsing the merchandise, all the lights were off.

Mom, never one to give up easily, proceeded to call out. “Hello! Hello! Anybody here?!” Nobody answered.

“Just my luck,” she stated. “I finally find the dress I want, and now there’s nobody here.”

“We can come back next weekend,” dad suggested.

“No way,” mom said. “With my luck, that dress could be sold between now and then.”

Dad reasoned that the store probably had more than one of those dresses, but mom was having none of it.

“So what do you want to do?” dad asked. “We can hardly stay here for the night.”

“There’s only one thing to do,” she said.

To our surprise she legged it to the mannequin, deftly removed the dress, folded it and placed it on the counter along with her name, her phone number and the request to call her.

The phone rang shortly after nine o’clock on Monday morning. From what we could hear, mom had a short conversation and then smiling put the phone down.

“That was the store,” she informed us. “The manager promised to keep the dress for me. We go back next weekend to pick it up.”

As soon as we walked through the door of the store the next Saturday morning, it was as if the manager (a lively Italian chap) recognized us. He came from behind the counter, asked if we were indeed the XXX family and shook hands with us as if we were long lost friends. The other customers in the store eyes us with interest.

Mam was shown to a luxurious dressing room to try on the dress that she had left on the counter the previous week and not only did it fit like a glove, she looked fabulous in it.

“And now for the rest of the family,” the manager said, waving at a nearby hovering salesman, who approached my dad and brother. Dad protested that we were only shopping for a dress, but the man waved his objections away. He happily chatted, in a way only Italians can, that my dad and brother must try on some of his suits.

As for me, I was whisked away by yet another sales person to look at party dresses.

It all went so fast, we hardly knew what was happening, but an hour later we were all kitted out in outfits that would raise more than one eyebrow. I had already raised my eyebrows when I saw the price of my dress. To say that it was expensive was putting it (very) mildly. Add to that mam’s dress, dad’s suit and my brother’s suit … the total would be astronomical!

Much to our surprise though, the dresses and the suits were boxed, bagged and handed to us without a stop at the cash register.

“We haven’t paid yet,” mom reminded the manager.

“My dear signora,” the man said. “I couldn’t possible charge you for your purchases. Everything is on the house and you will notice that I have supplied you and the young signorina with suitable handbags.”

Seeing how stunned we were, the manager went on “You could have walked out with anything you wanted last Saturday. But not only were so honest to leave the dress behind, but you closed the door so nobody else could walk in. Such honesty has to be rewarded.”

We left elated and happy that some people still appreciate honesty.

 

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