Of Cats and Naps

Ah, springtime! Fresh air filling the house! Colorful bulbs bursting into bloom! Stray cats lurking on our lawn—hoping to be held, expecting to be fed, wriggling their way into our garage for the night, or just a snooze. One time last spring, I found a black cat dozing in the rafters out there. He came to be called “Midnight.” Then there were “Smoky,” “Jingle” and “Mangy Cat.” I found homes for all of them—two at nearby no-kill shelters, one with a neighbor, one with a rich guy in Rochester who dotes on the formerly feral feline like a proud papa. (Smoky’s living in the lap of luxury!)

Anyhow (sigh), word has gotten out, apparently. Our house was built in the 1920s. I’ve wondered whether there might not be one of those stray cat hobo symbols hidden somewhere strategic on our property—you know, the one that indicates: “Nice, generous, can’t-say-no lady lives here. Check it out!” The cats are drawn to the Waters residence like sharks to fresh blood, mystically, magnetically attracted to my compassionate, codependent nature. But this year, I’m drawing the line. I’ve placed the following advertisement in the local paper—and I mean it!

Missing Your Meow? Stray Feline Magnet seeks Concerned Cat Owner: Fluffy orange/white kitty found, (Our Street, A-Town). Can’t fund neighborhood feeding frenzy like last year. Claim cat by 5/1 before delivery to shelter. (our email address)

I know it’s a meager effort, but it’s all I’ve got to give this spring. I have other concerns, more-pressing projects, and less expendable income. “This is Bob Barker reminding you to help control the pet population—have your pet spayed or neutered!”

P.S. A TVTOW Update: His first day back—his first day period “participating” in TV Turnoff Week—and Will turned on the tube! He claims he needed a nap after last night’s grueling Greyhound bus trip back from the Big Apple. So he sought the assistance of a trusted tranquilizer: PBS Kids—more specifically, Calliou. As penance, I am insisting he post an entry describing the collection of colorful characters he encountered in his travels. Watch for that in the next day or two.

Cruel Mother Enforces National Pastime Prohibition (and it ain't baseball!)

It’s National TV Turn-Off Week, and the Waters Family is…well, turned off by this strenuous exercise of restraint and renewal. But we’re participating anyway, because Mommy is in charge!

We don’t normally watch a lot of regular TV, but we do DVD our way through many-an-evening—Little House reruns, Harry Potter snippets, Little Einsteins and other sing-song fare we can “enjoy” several times before we enjoy returning them to our local library. Honestly, I’d guess about 3-4 hours of “screen time” per kid, per day (including computer games—PBSkids.org for Ben and Pearl, Webkinz.com for Vi).

Most of the stuff we watch is arguably educational, engaging or otherwise edifying, especially when we discuss what’s happening and why, as we often do. On-screen characters and scenarios make their way into off-screen play and everyday conversation. My dear friend Jean stopped by from London the other night and experienced a common occurrence with Ben: He pulled up a chair to bend her ear about the merits and vices of various Star Wars characters. “Count Dooku is a bad guy—he has a red lightsaver; Han and Luke are good guys—they have blue lightsavers. Jar Jar doesn’t have anything to fight the bad guys, but he’s really funny.”

I’m not truly worried about television’s effects on our youngsters. They seem to be thriving, our household is (mostly) happy, and—hey—I watched too much TV as a kid, and I turned out OK. Even so, this is our third spring banning the boob tube for 7 days straight, and it’s a breath of fresh air. It’s a break in our routine. It forces us to come up with other things to do: At this very moment, Vi is upstairs in her room, racking up minutes for her fourth-grade reading competition. Ben and Pearl are perched on chairs at the kitchen sink, thoroughly soaked and soapy, discussing (what else?) the merits and vices of various Star Wars characters: “I’m the Emperor!” Ben declares in his scratchiest, scariest pre-K voice. “My get to be Darth Vader!” pipsqueak Pearl chirps enthusiastically. (Why are they role-playing evil characters? Hmmm…maybe I should be more concerned about their moral development.)

Will is missing the fun, experiencing a TV-free adventure of his own. After a few days of conferencing in our nation’s capital, he was supposed to land in Flower City later tonight. However, no planes will fly out of foggy New York tonight, he called to tell me, so he’s (ugh!) riding the Greyhound back to nearby B-Town. May the Force be with him. (I doubt their seatbacks feature flatscreens.)