The Pied Piper of Cats

Stray cats I never knew existed come darting out of nowhere whenever my neighbor walks by. His roommate does not approve of his cat entourage. Their house is pet-free, but that doesn’t stop a band of vagabond felines from showing up on their front porch, begging for food and affection. Apparently, the roommate became so fed up with these flea-ridden solicitors, she insisted he had broken the no-pet rule and therefore, she felt justified in breaking the no-smoking rule. The Pied Piper of cats occupies a small windowless room in their house and says the closeted nature of his living quarters make the fumes unbearable. Naturally, when I asked if he would stay at my house for a week and watch my cats while I visited family in Indiana, he came right over to meet his two furry, much more considerate roommates, Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher.

In my bathroom hang two large magnetic boards covered with souvenir magnets. “You’ve visited ALL those countries?!” he exclaimed as he exited the bathroom. “Yeah,” I said, happy that my bathroom decor had its desired effect. Visitors to my bathroom should be comforted by the aroma of my reed diffuser, delighted by my bidet, but more importantly, they should be impressed by my worldly magnet collection. The magnet that impressed and amazed him most was one I never would have guessed. “You’ve been to Ashland, Oregon?!” he asked, sounding stupefied.

“I’m from Oregon,” I reminded him. “Ashland isn’t too far away from where I grew up.” We got to chatting and it soon became clear that he did not want to return to the cannabis den, where his roommate was currently having a party and filling the house with more pot smoke than usual. We ended up ordering a pizza and watching Macbeth (the Roman Polanski version). He wanted to watch a zombie movie, but I vetoed it. As an English teacher, but also someone who hates talking during movies, I gave brief explanations about what was happening. He made an astute observation during the scene in which the inept assassins succeed in killing Banquo but let Banquo’s son Fleance get away, saying in between bites of pizza, “It’s like Macbeth hired the two robbers from Home Alone.”

When telling him about my cats, I informed him that they were both rescues from Kuwait. “Is that in Oregon?” he asked. “No, it’s a country in the Middle East,” I laughed. Since coming to Philadelphia, I’ve noticed it’s rare to meet people who’ve traveled outside of the country, let alone Pennsylvania. I’ve learned to accept this, as there are so many other attributes people can acquire apart from being well-traveled.

On my way home, my courteous catsitter warned me about Lyft and Uber drivers and told me to stay safe. Some women have unwittingly entered the wrong car and have been assaulted and murdered. I thanked him for his concern and told him I’d be careful.

When my Lyft dropped me off in front of my house, my delightful, neighborly cat sitter was just leaving. Apparently, he wanted to stay as long as possible before returning to his inhospitable roommate. We hung out some more. He showed me his sketchbook and the various things around my house that inspired him to draw. He drew the view from outside my bedroom window, saying all the lines and angles were especially satisfying for him to render. He showed me a drawing of the fold-out couch. He only unfolded it halfway and put down some decorative cushions. Apparently, that’s the more comfortable way to sleep than unfolding it all the way. I told him he could hang out and draw or come sleep on my couch again if his roommate’s smoking became bothersome. I may insist on watching movies like The Seventh Seal, Macbeth, and Bicycle Thieves, but at least I don’t smoke.

I’ve noticed since he left, a couple stray cats have shown up on my porch, looking for their friend. “Sorry, guys. The Pied Piper left,” I told them. But I’m sure he’ll be back later for more pizza and highbrow movies.

Jingle Bell Fun Run

Jogging along at my my glacial pace, I watched festive athletes in pink bunny costumes pass me, their long floppy ears and fluffy tails incentivizing me to pick up the pace. No matter how out-of-shape you are, there’s something demoralizing about being upended by characters from a Beatrix Potter book. Actually, the Brits may have their own Peter Rabbit fun run over in jolly old England (if such tomfoolery isn’t beneath their dignity), but this is Chesterton, Indiana, a hop and a skip away from Hammond, Indiana, where the acclaimed film, “A Christmas Story,” is set. Paying homage to the film by wearing adult bunny onesies and displaying leg lamps in living room windows is part of the culture here.

My mom and I participated in the fun run and were gratified to see such community spirit and glee. The run was about as competitive as a napping contest. There were no race bibs, no one kept track of the time, and the pink bunnies standing around drinking mimosas when my mom and I crossed the finish line didn’t even acknowledge our achievement. I mean, I didn’t expect the good people of Chesterton to lift me up on their shoulders and parade me triumphantly through the town, but I kind of expected a “Good job” or a golf clap or something. That’s okay. The jingle bell fun run was anti-climactic, but it lived up to its name. Plenty of runners wore jingle bell necklaces. One lady even dressed up as the Grinch and pushed her friend, dressed as Max the little dog, around in a sleigh. The running itself was not fun, but the costumes and the lack of competitiveness made it a jolly experience.

I’m returning to blogging after a year-long hiatus. I don’t know how active I will be on here, but I want to make more of an effort to have adventures and to document them. The pandemic has made this blog seem totally insignificant and inconsequential, but it’s something I enjoy. It’s the written equivalent to a fun run. Just like the pink rabbits drinking mimosas, no one seems to notice when I post something new. But that’s okay. I’m an inconspicuous person wearing normal running clothes, blogging about my adventures. 

Adventures such as eating deep dish Chicago-style pizza for the first time and holding my new nephew, Quintus Lorenzo, for the first time. I’m feeling tremendously lucky. Mele Kalikimaka! Feliz Navidad! Merry Christmas!