Author Archives: The Night Writer

4th of July: Forefathers

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We’re visiting my folks for the holiday, and right now we’re about to go out in the country to Red Oak to try and find the cemetery on what was the old Ficke farm and to check on some ancestors. My great-great-grandfather, George Marion West, married Henrietta Ficke in 1878, but she died of complications after giving birth to my great-grandfather in 1881. George would outlive two more wives (the second, Martha Brown, bore him 11 children) and is buried beside Henrietta and Martha at Ficke. I have a picture of him that I’ll scan and post in the next day or two.

George died 18 years before I was born, but my grandfather would tell stories about him. One of the things my grandfather often talked about was how his grandfather George could remember being five years old and his father, John, waking him up to say good-bye because he had enlisted in the Union army to fight in the Civil War. Great-great-great-grandfather John West died of pneumonia at Vicksburg, and George never saw his father again.

In his later years, my grandfather (another John West) would write a brief memoir of his grandfather. In thinking back over the hard times and trials that have made this country, it seemed like a good day to share a slice of a long ago life and death.

George Marion West
by John West

Grandpa George was nearing the age of sixty when I was born. From memory he was a large, robust man. Circumstances played a role in my getting to know him in his later years. The last days of his life were spent in our home.

On rare occasions he would engage in conversation about his boyhood life. It was seldom that he discussed events that pertained to himself and never in a boastful manner. He was a congenial “man’s man”, however children were not drawn to him for reasons that cannot be explained. He never showed anything but kindness toward children. His father left home to enlist in the army when he was about five years old and he never returned. Grandpa George never forgot the experience of his father’s leaving their home on the Bourbeuse River to go away to war. He spoke with sadness of the memory even in his last years. He had memories of the war as it affected the home life of the people in the community where he lived. There was conflict between neighbors and frequent raids by Bushwhacker elements resulting in the loss of livestock and anything of value in the homes. There were frequent skirmishes that resulted in loss of life.

In the early years of his life most every family experienced hardships in everyday living. Grandpa George perhaps suffered more than a fair share of such experiences. He grew up fatherless in a period of extreme poverty that was made worse by the long-suffering that was brought on by the war. In his words, he was “kicked from pillar to post,” living and working hard wherever food and shelter were available. He worked during all seasons clearing land and planting crops on the Bourbeuse River. His rewards were food and shelter.

In the year 1941 through coincidence I met a gentleman in Owensville, Missouri who grew up from childhood with Grandpa George. The gentleman’s name was Homer Michel. Mr. Michel was in his late 80s and very alert. He and Grandpa George were near the same age. They were from the Bourbeuse River communities of Walbert, Strain and Champion City. Mr. Michel described Grandpa George as being a rough and crude young man in his teen years. He was large and robust with extraordinary strength. Typical of the times, many disagreements were settled by fist-fights and Grandpa George always accounted himself well in such fracases. He could be a mean man physically when circumstances warranted it and the “bullies” of the community were content to let him be. At the same time he was respected throughout the community for his kindness and honesty.

In a rare exchange with Grandpa George I recall asking him if he had ever had a fist-fight and, if so, had he ever been whipped. He told me that everyone had fist-fights when he was a lad. He seemed proud to admit that he had been whipped once. The story, as he related it, was that he had got the better end of fights with two grown men in separate fights. He was no more than 18 or 20 years old at the time. The two of them together teamed up on him at night and beat up on him. he did not think they fought fair. They used “lap” rings for knucks and managed to pull his shirt up over his head and one of them held him while the other poured it on. He carried and wore with pride several scars on the back of his head that he used to remind himself that fighting was poor business.

Unusual circumstances prompted Grandpa George to move his family and home from Franklin County to Crawford County. Legend has it (Grandpa George never related the story to me), that a farm trade was made between Grandpa George and a friend wherein the exchange was made on an even-up basis with no money or other consideration involved. The reason behind the exchange was that the friend who owned and occupied the farm in Crawford County was involved in a serious feud with his neighbor on an adjoining farm and the problem had become so acute that lives were in jeopardy. The feuding neighbors were more than just neighbors, they were also brothers and each was a friend of Grandpa George. The exchange of farms solved the problem. Grandpa George was rewarded by acquiring a farm that was considered much more valuable than the one he exchanged for it.

Lengthy conversations were not a habit and were always to the point, using a minimum of words. He appreciated humor in moderation when circumstances were better served by it. He was not an emotional being. Happiness or sorrow were seldom expressed outwardly beyond a stoic acceptance of the situation at hand. He was an orderly individual. His home, farm equipment and farm animals were well cared for. Neatness was a virtue.

In spite of being handicapped due to a lack of formal education, Grandpa George progressed from poverty to prosperity during his active years. His compassion for ungrateful members of his family reduced him to poverty again before his death. His last years were spent in declining health and, against his independent nature, he was forced to depend on others for daily care. During this period of illness he never complained and displayed quiet dignity. He died January 12, 1940 and is buried in the Ficke Cemetary at Walbert, Missouri.

Next: the hidden and unnoticed past.

Bumper stuck

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Our family drove to Missouri for the holiday today. On the highway we overtook a car with a bumper sticker that said:

Men are idiots. And I married their king.

“I bet she’s real easy to live with,” my wife said. “Not like me. Then again, I’m not married to the King of Idiots.”

“Well, no,” I said, “but I am 27th in the line of succession.”

“Well that’s really something,” she said, brightly. “I bet some of those guys ahead of you have got to be pretty old, so you could be moving up if they die, say from natural causes.”

“Or if their wives throttle them,” I said.

“Sounds pretty natural to me,” she said.

Friday Fundamentals in Film: Boys’ Night Out #5 – Glory

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I had a coach and gym teacher back in junior high school that used to call us guys a bunch of “Yo-yos”. We knew that wasn’t a good thing, but it also seemed like kind of a silly insult. Now that I’m about the age he was, and have deliberately subjected myself to the company of 13-to-15 year old boys, I know exactly what he meant by the term.

These kids can’t sit still, and bounce around mentally just as much and as fast as they do physically. You can get their attention, but it’s like having it on a string; it constantly goes off in different directions and has to be pulled back. Similarly my own experiences with them are up and down. I’ve gotten involved because I want the lads to be of future benefit to society, but there are times when I think society might be best served by me drowning them in the river. Then there are times…

Last night we got together to watch Glory, the movie about the black regiment, the 54th Massachusetts, during the Civil War. The movie quickly got their attention (exploding heads in the opening scene will do that) and it appeared they were soon caught up in the story, even taking the unusual steps of raising their hands to ask questions about what was going on at different times in the movie. I’d stop the movie and answer the questions, giving them additional history about the Civil War and the politics of that time and using the opportunity to point out contrasts between different characters and how the actions of various men reflected their thoughts, assumptions and expectations (good and bad) of their fellow soldiers.

The boys became so engrossed in the story that they started offering exclamations and commentary when certain things happened on the screen, showing their own frustration with what the men in the movie were experiencing. When the 54th arrived in the South and was put to work felling and hauling timber one of our young men made the observation that, “They’re still just like slaves!” At the end of the movie when the written epilogue revealed that the fort the men had sacrificed themselves to storm was never taken, another young man exclaimed, “What a waste!”

This was an excellent opening into discussing the movie, because I could ask him why he thought it was a waste. His response was because they had been killed with nothing to show for it; I asked the rest of the group if that was true, which led to some good responses as they started to grasp the significance of the “blood sacrifice” the regiment had made toward earning the respect of the nation for themselves and for their people. We also spent a long time talking about the dynamics of the flogging that one character received in the movie and whether or not it was “just”, what it “cost” different people in the movie and whether it served a greater good. It was a very interesting discussion with some saying it was a racist act, while others saw the need for discipline to be enforced for the benefit of the regiment.

The boys were energized by the movie, and I was energized by their interest and the quality of their questions and answers and by the way they listened to the observations from the dads in the group. Before the movie started I had told them to watch for how different people had different expectations about the soldiers (even among the soldiers themselves) and how these expectations were reflected in different actions…and led to different results. A key thing I wanted them to understand is that “hard” doesn’t necessarily mean “bad” and that “no pain, no gain” doesn’t just apply to one person at a time. (Click on the link earlier in this post to see the original study guide and questions I use with this movie if you want to know more).

It was a good for me to review the lesson on expectations as well. Both the men in the movie and the boys in the class have to deal with the expectations — positive and negative — of others. Whether the boys made the connection or not, they, too, are judged by others simply because of their age and the “expectation” of their behavior. Sometimes they are dismissed as uncontrollable and barely human; other times they are held to an idealized and unrealistic standard; often the person holding both of those attitudes is myself.

What the men of the 54th needed, and what these boys who will be men are needing, is to be seen for the value that they have and for what they will be. Training can be hard and unpleasant for all concerned, but training exercises are a piece of cake compared to the real-life lessons that await. We do them no favors by thinking of them as just so much fodder to be thrown away, or by cutting them slack now out of mis-placed pity for how tough things are going to be for them later. Thinking back to my own days as a “yo-yo”, I can see the difference others have made in my life.

A graduation present

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Time of passage,
time is passing,
the leaves are here and gone.
Turn the page,
start an age,
and hear the faint old song.

Distant rhythm,
always driven
like the thread that weaves the linen,
Soft but binding,
knit but winding,
what wondrous cloth we’re given!

Go and come back,
give and get back,
but never the same again,
Familiar sights,
seen in different lights,
are like old but distant friends.

Momentous starts,
kept in our hearts,
guide all our decisions,
While faith and fate,
will always wait,
to shape our future missions.

Experience counts,
but in different amounts,
by the memories it’s based upon,
So pick and chose,
for you’ll win and lose,
with those that you take on.

But as you go,
please always know,
we can’t change our view of you,
With love and pride,
for what’s inside,
and all that you will do.

– John Stewart

Take me in to the ballgame

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Today my work unit had a scheduled outing to watch the Twins play the Dodgers at the Dome, so I woke up this morning looking forward to seeing Johan Santana pitch. This was probably the exact opposite of what the Dodgers were feeling when they woke up.

When the time came our little group strolled the seven or eight blocks to the Dome for the 12:05 start, enjoying the lovely summer weather. There was an impressive crowd of all ages swarming around in the plaza and around the Dome, jostling through the gates. It was a very festive atmosphere and one you’d have thought impossible a month ago. One we got inside the lower bowl was almost completely filled between the foul poles with healthy representation in left field and the upper deck (we would have an announced crowd of 34,157). There were a number of banners and hand-held signs cheering on different players or begging Twins’ announcer Bert Blyleven to “circle me,” as in, “Circle me, Bert, I’m an illegal alien!” (They’re not quite that bold, yet.)

We found our way to our seats in rows 13 and 14 of Section 114, which turns out to be a funky little cul de sac with only one way in. Does the Fire Marshall know about this place? The section angles toward home plate immediately behind the visitor bullpen along the right field line, and is a great place to see the game, or to get your grill rearranged when Justin Morneau gets out ahead of an off-speed pitch. Our seats were all the way across from the one, narrow entrance to the section, against the far wall. Once I realized the lay of the land I knew getting out for concessions was going to be difficult and the alternative was to have my food and beverage passed hand-to-hand by 20 people. I like to leave the food-handling to the trained professionals, so I pivoted and made for the concession stand even though it cost me seeing the Dodgers first three futile efforts against Johan.

Nevertheless I was in place in time to see the Twins load the bases with two outs in the bottom of the first. This brought Torii Hunter to the plate, which caused some minor groaning in our section. “Don’t worry,” I said to my friends. “There’s already two outs, so he can’t hit into a double-play.” Sure enough, this time Torii laid off the eye-high fastball and eventually deposited one over the fence for a grand slam. Yes! In one inning Johan has gotten more run support than he received in a typical three-game stretch last year.

With the game already well in-hand, the rest of my group decided to try to make their way to the concession stands, sidling the length of the row and snaking their along a smaller aisle to get to the main aisle and out to the concourse. They missed a Morneau double and a great play by Jason Bartlett who made a running, diving stop to his left and came up with a smoking throw to first to beat the runner by a step. When our snackers got back two innings later the woman sitting next to me opened her container to reveal — a salad.

“Salad?” I asked, incredulously, channeling Tom Hanks. “There’s no salad in baseball!”

“Well, the line was short,” she said, by way of a weak explanation.

“Yeah, go figure,” I said. By then my attention was distracted by my boss returning with a jumbo, half-pound Dome Dog. Gawd, the thing looked like it ought to have come with an NC-17 rating. I wanted to take a picture of it with my camera-phone, but my boss wouldn’t let me because he was beginning to feel self-conscious by the uproar it was causing.

Winning makes everything look better. Once between innings they drove a cream-colored Dodge Ram 1500 extended cab truck out into right field in front of us and I actually found myself thinking, “Dang, that’s a mighty nice lookin’ truck!” There are limits to this aura, however. A little while later a beer vendor finally made his way down to our little section. I think he may have made a wrong turn and was trying to get back on the main thoroughfare. I thought we might make it worth his while, but then I saw the buttons he was wearing promoting the beer and the price. “$6 for a Miller Lite,” I said to my boss, with more than a little wonder.

“It’s better than waiting in line forever,” he said.

“No, no,” I said. “Say it slowly and out-loud: ‘$6 for a Miller Lite.'” He did.

“Hey, that’s only $72 for a 12-pack!”

The rich truly are different from you and me.

Meanwhile, back at the game, Morneau had hit a pair of doubles and the Twins had added two more runs. Santana had only given up one hit through six innings and was throwing a shut-out but had began to struggle a little bit, going deep into the count and even walking a couple of guys. In the seventh, Olmedo Saenz led off for the Dodgers with a strong double and there was concern that perhaps Johan was beginning to tire as he was up to about 90 pitches. If the Dodgers were thinking or hoping that, however, they were soon disappointed as Johan struck out the next two batters in a row and then said, “Say hello to my leetle friend,” striking out an overwhelmed Cesar Izturis on three pitches of 92, 92 and 93-mph.

Gardy had the lad take a seat to begin the 8th, but we were still feeling pretty safe because Kyle Lohse had already pitched last night. In came Juan Rincon, but this had the effect of making the game more interesting as he allowed three runs before getting out of the inning. But just to show you that everything is going the Twins way right now, the only thing this did was to turn the 9th inning into a save situation for Joe Nathan. Nathan has been so seldom needed of late that he has had to look into Tai Chi classes in order to get in the stretching and twisting that he normally puts himself through when he takes the mound. He was plenty loose today, however, greeting the first batter with a 93-mph first-pitch strike and getting faster from there, punching out the last batter of the game with a 96-mph blazer.

Oh, and Joe Mauer went a ho-hum 2-for-3 with a walk and double, raising his season batting average to .392 after going a mere 11-for-13 for the three-game series against the Dodgers. I don’t think I ever went 11-for-13 in a softball tournament, and this guy is smoking major league pitching.

Darn, let’s play two!

The blog days of summer

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It’s easier to pound away at your blog on a more or less daily basis in the winter-time when it gets dark right after lunch, the wind-chill chaps your face and you might as well be indoors anyway, even if it’s in your basement. When the summer breezes carry the smells of barbeques, softball games and well-manicured golf courses (I love the smell of sprinklers in the evening), however, it is harder to maintain your focus. Whatever outrage at the worldly injustices and political dunderheadedness may have met you with the morning paper or drive-time radio on your way to work, it can’t help but be tempered by the time you meander home from the office with so many comely alternatives to occupy your mind.

Frankly, there’s always been kind of a summer-school feel to blogging in the hot months for me anyway. Lately some excellent blogs have heard summer’s siren call (or was that the tornado siren?) and have, like a favorite tv-show, gone on hiatus. Ladies first, of course, as Kathy at Cake Eater Chronicles and Sandy, the stalwart of the MAWB Squad, beat feet, no doubt in their flip-flops. Kathy has arranged for a Llama to keep her place warm in her absence, though. Then Noodles limped off.

More recently, Ben has gone deep-sea diving and only comes up for air now and then, and Scott the Pinkmonkeybird abandoned his solo nest in order to join a group blog and run with the Freedom Dogs, where he seems to be a tough one to keep on the porch. Yesterday, Doug at Bogus Gold first left a note as cryptic and foreboding as an empty pair of shorts and pair of sandals sitting by edge of the water before coming back and offering a more detailed “gone fishing”. It looks as if he’ll be back, and we can hold out hope for the others as well (just as Jo has returned).

This is not a preamble for my own, “hasta la vista, chili con carne”, by the way. I’m still enjoying doing this, and the Mall Diva and Tiger Lilly joining makes it even more fun (proving the adage that “if you raise a child up in the way she is to go, when she is older she will blog about it.”) One thing that my recent three week vacation did accomplish, however, was to show me that I could walk away from the blog for a day or two at a time and it would still be there when I got back. I think I always suspected that, but I was afraid to test it (or I was afraid of my own laziness if I cut myself any slack). It is as freeing and invigorating a feeling as putting on a new pair of sneakers the first day of summer vacation (an old Ray Bradbury reference for you well-read types).

I’m liable to take a day or two off here from time to time through the summer, though, and when I write it is likely to be just playing with words and images rather than to trying to make a point; not that I’ve made that many anyway. I might even slip some more poetry in on you.

Now, if I can just figure out how to position this laptop comfortably while I’m in the hammock, I’ll be set.

The Mall Diva? What do you want with her?

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I don’t know what is going on, but this blog has already had around 250 visitors today (about 3x what I get in a full day), and almost all of them are going to the Mall Diva’s category archive.

The other common denominator is that the visitors are coming from different radio stations via something called listenernetwork.com; e.g., “kzst.listenernetwork.com/SearchWeb.asp.” Clicking on the incoming reference doesn’t show anything helpful. The only thing I can think of is some mention or reference from a network-syndicated show or quiz is driving this, but I can’t find any useful information about why this is happening from SiteMeter, Technorati or TTLB (or maybe I just don’t know how to ask the question).

If anyone can explain this sudden rush of interest (not that I’m shocked, given it is the Mall Diva, after all), I’m all ears.

Update:

For those searching the Mall Diva archives, only the last 17 appear on the main page under this category heading. You can browse previous entries by selecting her category, then clicking on the monthly archives on the right hand side of the page. Her very first post (about having her wisdom teeth pulled) can be found under March, 2005, but she didn’t appear again until September (the thrill of being shot at) and then began writing more regularly in October of 2005 (with an account of a former classmate being charged with murder). NW.

Challenging Word of the WeeK: objurgate

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Objurgate
(OB jur gate) verb

To objurgate is to denounce harshly, to upbraid vigorously, to berate sharply, to reproach in no uncertain terms, to give ’em hell. Objurgate is from Latin objurgatus, past participle of objurgare (to scold, chide, reprove), based on prefix ob– (against) plus jurgare (to rebuke), based in turn on jur-, stem of jus (law, right) plus agere (to drive). Objurgation (ob jur GAY shun) is the noun, and a geat deal of it is heard at the United Nations (which is given as an example of oxymoron in another part of this book).

My example: I was going to go into how the Harry Reid, et al, think objurgate and obfuscate are the same thing. Then I realized that more expressive examples of admirable objurgation can be found over at my friend Andy’s blog.

From the book, “1000 Most Challenging Words” by Norman W. Schur, ©1987 by the Ballantine Reference Library, Random House. I post a weekly “Challenging Words” definition to call more attention to this delightful book and to promote interesting word usage in the blogosphere. I challenge other bloggers to work the current word into a post sometime in the coming week. If you manage to do so, please leave a comment or a link to where I can find it. Previous words in this series can be found under the appropriate Category heading in the right-hand sidebar.

Friday Fundamentals in Film: Update

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I’m trying to get up to speed again on this weekly film series after my trip. I had ordered a couple of movies from Netflix based on recommendations from some of you and I watched these but they weren’t right for the series. They were a couple of WWII movies, The Longest Day and A Bridge Too Far.



This series is about finding examples of strong character and to demonstrate character. War movies, with their crucibles of courage, sacrifice and heroism, can be a rich source of material (as well as providing examples of less than admirable behavior as well). These two movies are acknowledged as classics but they left me flat. It took me a little while to put my finger on it, but watching them close together helped. Both take the “grand spectacle” approach to filming a war movie with casts of thousands and dozens of big stars. Additionally, both take an almost reverent view of these historical moments. This is justified, but in these movies “reverent” means “slow.” Both drag on ponderously (especially the aptly named Longest Day) while the big name stars make their brief cameo appearances. There’s very little chance to examine a particular character, or small group of characters, or identify with them.



In contrast, a war movie such as Saving Private Ryan or Glory brings you up close to the men. For my purposes, this is essential because you have to see and relate to them being tested, not only by outside forces but from within. War movie or otherwise, this will be a key factor I’ll look for when considering including a film that’s new to me.



You might recall that we currently have a “second front” (to stretch the war analogy) going on with this series. A couple of months ago I started going through these movies again with a new group of boys, this time accompanied by their fathers. Initially the boys were kind of silly when it came to the discussion part after the first movie (High Noon) , but they started to get into the rhythm and purpose of it as we went through Zulu and The Tin Star.



In fact, we watched the latter right before I left on our trip and we had a very good discussion on motives, behavior, the nature of a bully, and how to use your brain before you use a gun. One of the questions I always ask with this movie is, “Who do you think the best man in the movie was?” We went around the room with boys and their dads saying either “Ben” or “Morg”; to my delight, however, one of the dads said, “Dr. Joe.” This was what I was looking for because the elderly doctor displays a lot of good qualities that can easily be overlooked in a movie like this because he’s “old” or doesn’t carry a gun. It was a good class.



After the trip hiatus though we had a “technical difficulty” and the boys also seemed to revert a bit to the silliness of our first get-together. The technical difficulty was in getting a copy of the movie I wanted to watch, the Gary Cooper classic, “Sergeant York.” This film is not available on DVD yet, and the Hollywood and Blockbuster stores near me (where I had originally rented this a few years ago) no longer carried it in their stock. I may have to buy a VHS copy from Amazon, but on short notice I pulled my copy of John Wayne’s The Quiet Man from my shelf and went with that. It’s a good story with a great fight scene at the end, but it’s also “mushy” and mainly a love story (including Director John Ford’s love of Ireland) so I may have lost the lads a bit. It was harder to keep them on focus during the discussion, but they were all interested in hearing what the next movie will be. I’ll either get a copy of Sergeant York or go with Glory.



There might also be a chance to move this class in a third direction. Our church has been approached about hosting a Boy Scout “lock-in” this summer, and it’s been suggested that I put on one or two of these movies during that. We’ll see how it goes. At any rate, next week I’ll be back in this space either with a new film in the series or a report from the next group gathering.

Psycho cat sentenced to house arrest

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A housecat has been sentenced to house arrest following a reign of terror that included attacking the local Avon lady (must have been the Skin-So-Soft). The judge’s options included euthanasia (for the cat, not the Avon lady), exile or being kept indoors, with repercussions for both the cat and its owner if the terms are violated.

“There are no exceptions. None,” said Judge Patrick Carroll, who also granted accelerated rehabilitation to Lewis’ owner, Ruth Cisero. That means her record will be expunged if she successfully completes two years of probation.

Cisero had faced a charge of reckless endangerment because neighbors complained that the cat’s long claws and stealth have allowed it to attack at least a half-dozen people and ambush the Avon lady as she was getting out of her car.

Cisero had fought to keep Lewis alive and in Connecticut. She rejected a previous offer of accelerated rehabilitation if she agreed to euthanize Lewis.

Carroll said Lewis cannot leave the house, even if he gets out accidentally. He said the case is not about a cat, but about people having the right to live in safety in their neighborhoods.

The case drew national attention. Lewis has appeared in People magazine and his own page on the social networking site MySpace.com.

It all sounds a bit like our own cat, which has been known to show an antisocial side. Once he even sunk four teeth into the young Mall Diva’s cheek and then got to explore his aerodynamic capabilities as I “cat”-a-pulted him out of the kitchen door. Fortunately for him, the door was open at the time, though I don’t think that was something I consciously took into account.

Another time when the girls were young he thought it would be amusing to lurk under a chair by the hallway to the bedrooms and then run out and slash at ankles. First the youngest toddled down the hall to bed: pounce/slash/tears. A bit later the eldest daughter went the same direction. Same result. Later still my wife made her way down the hall: pounce/slash/”you stupid cat!”

I couldn’t believe his tenacity and attention span. When it came time for me to retire I started down the corridor of death, with my ears open. When I heard the telltale rush of little feet I turned quickly, crouched, spread my arms and shouted, “WHAT?!”

I swear, it was like a cartoon as the cat slammed on the front brakes while the rest of his body accordioned into his displaceable collarbones. Then he tried to act all innocent while taking a keen interest in a piece of fuzz on the rug. Yeah, right. I knew he had blood on his claws.

Anyway, I wish the woman with the sociopathic cat a lot of luck in keeping him indoors. We keep our cat (cats, when we had two of them) indoors and he/they were always trying to convince strangers that came to the house that they were, indeed, outdoor cats, and if the visitor would just kindly step out of the way, they had a pressing engagement. They once successfully conned the Schwann’s man in this way, but the joke was on them.

That afternoon the temperature was about -20 F windchill. Not only that, but we didn’t realize that they were outside. It was not until about two hours later when we realized we hadn’t seen the guys for awhile, and when I thought I heard something a bit higher-pitched than the winter wind outside the front door. I opened up and there were two cat-sicles most definitely interested in coming in, though they moved a bit like the Tin Woodsman without his 40-weight. After they’d had a couple of minutes to warm up, one of the cats hauled off and took a whack at the other one, as if to say, “I told you that was a stupid idea!”

One of the cats has since gone to the Big Sleep (but not for capital punishment purposes) but the remaining one still tries to make his escape whenever possible, though I think it’s more like a game. The last time he got out I happened to look outside and saw him standing at the end of the sidewalk to our driveway. I matter-of-factly opened the front door and said, “Get your butt in here.” To my utter amazement, that’s exactly what he did, trotting in right past my feet like an obedient beagle.

It’s not clear from the story whether or not the cat in the headline will be euthanized if he gets out, but one option is moving him to an animal home out in Nevada where the nearest neighbor is four miles away. That neighbor, however, is a guy after my own heart.

… Victor Sandonato said he has already been warned that Lewis might be moving to his neighborhood.

“I live with a cat just like Lewis, and I live with danger every time I go home at night,” he said, adding, “I’m from South Jersey, so I don’t take any crap from a cat.”