Reward, Lost Cat, The Search for Spock. Donald Jr. Weiser
was sort of backwards from the way it should actually be. Things like fighting wars to gain peace. Things like loving a person so much that you tell them little lies in order to preserve that love. This doesn't work as we all know and you often end up losing the love you lied to keep. Friends also tell little lies to their closest friends simply because they are good friends. You know, things like, yes, that book you're working on is very good or, yes, I think quitting your job and becoming a guide on the Rio Grande is a great idea. The universe seemed a little backwards to me at times and still does but I've been able to make my peace with it. I think I gave a speech on this once in Speech 101. People laughed and had a good time. I shook from nervousness but got a good grade.
Anyway, Beth was separated from her husband; she belonged to Mensa also and placed an ad in the personals section of the monthly Mensa newsletter. I remember it being a nice ad saying something like FM (female Mensa) likes canoeing, music, and sports cars. She never said she was pretty even though she is. I wrote a reply to her ad and one evening in November she called me. We spoke for two and a half hours and I remember liking her and thinking what a nice Southern accent she had. Beth grew up in Ohio but had lived in North Carolina for the past 14 years.
We spoke infrequently because I was dating in Albany, N.Y. and she was dating in North Carolina. When we did speak however, it was grand. I highly recommend getting to know someone over the telephone. It’s mind talking to mind. No groping, no worry about clothing, etc. Beth and I talked more and more often and eventually she sent me some pictures of herself, after some pleading on my part.
I don't want to malign the U.S. Postal Service (I really think they do a fine job) but I was very excited to receive these pictures of this lovely person I was getting to know. One day my mail came and there was the envelope from Beth mutilated by automation but no pictures or anything inside! I tracked down the Postal processing plants (one in Albany and one in Greensboro, N.C.), described the contents of the letter, and the Postal Service actually found the insides of the letter with Beth's pictures. They were sent to me immediately. This disembodied voice I was getting to like more and more was also a very attractive woman! We spoke on the phone from that November to the next April when we agreed to meet.
I have a friend, Michael, in Albany who has his own video business. He makes training films for various government agencies. That's what he does to pay the rent and to eat. For his soul, he writes and films plays. My car made it into one of his plays but I somehow never did. The plays are about male/female relationships and are both funny and sad. I enlisted Michael's help, not to mention his professional video equipment, and he and I made a video of Albany for Beth. In Mike's studio, I narrated the video and laid down some music. Beth enjoyed the video and one weekend I rented a video camera, set it up in my living room and read things like poetry, Beth's natal horoscope chart which I had cast, and, oh yes, began it all with a half hour episode of the Pee-Wee Herman Show.
It must have helped because Beth flew to Albany for the weekend and again the following weekend. Two weeks later it was my turn to fly to North Carolina. We kept this up for over three years (though neither of us likes to fly) until I finally moved to North Carolina and we were married. I like to think of our finding each other, our courtship, and our marriage as a very happy story. I also think it will last because we both hang the toilet paper over the top. Never get serious about anyone who hangs the toilet paper differently than you do.
"If man could be crossed with the cat, it would improve man, but it would deteriorate the cat." Mark Twain. I have this black cat, Mr. Jones, named from the Dylan song about there being "something happening here but you don't know what it is, do you Mr. Jones". As of this writing he is going on 21 years old. I take him to the vet now and then and the vet checks him out and says "your cat is deaf, has a heart murmur, is hyperthyroid, and his kidneys are almost nonfunctional; this cat is in wonderful shape!" I always smile at that.
I had an apartment in Port Jervis, N.Y. after graduating from college (1973 for you "time" people) and was working for the local newspaper. My apartment was on the Delaware River and was six or seven houses from my Mom's house. Jones was allowed outside at this time and would frequently go for walks. One Saturday I was talking to my Mom and she spoke of how this black cat would come to the door and meow. Mom was had a soft spot for animals so it was natural that she would let this black cat come in and she would feed it. The cat would hang out at her home and ask to be let out just before dark. (Jones knew I got worried around dark if he wasn’t home.) The cat turned out to be my Mr. Jones and my Mom's house is the only house he ever went to. Maybe he smelled me in that house or somehow realized the connection between us or, if you're not ready to believe in the sentience of animals, it was just a coincidence. I like that story and I love Jones for ferreting out my Mother's home. Since that time, my Mother has had several all black cats, one at a time. I have heard that black cats live to the oldest age with solid gray cats right behind. White cats tend to live the shortest.
I picked Jones out at an animal shelter or he picked me, I'm not sure anymore. He was six weeks old, had big green eyes and ears and fit in the palm of my hand. I have a wonderful old black and white photo of him on my kitchen table at school standing next to a small pepper mill which is dwarfing him. He has been, for most of his life until recently, a wonderful combination of craziness and caring. He actually climbed walls (or tried to) when he was younger, out of exuberance. He has slept with me each and every night we have been together since I brought him home almost 21 years ago. He would wake me mornings by rolling his paw into a small fist to hide his claws and ever so gently tap me on the eyelids. I always thought it was pretty smart of him to make the connection that no food would be given until my eyes opened. I wish I could have cloned him but cloning, like the internet, was yet to have been invented. That probably sounds funny but it's something maybe you have thought of too if you have ever had a very special animal.
Jones was always sleek with big beautiful green eyes. Until late in his life, I never remember him making a clumsy movement. He ran fast, climbed great heights, and jumped with the agility of a gazelle.
Except once!
One of my many apartment incarnations in Albany was an upstairs (second floor) flat. The people downstairs controlled the heat and one winter day it was extremely warm upstairs. I opened the door to the back porch for some nice cool Albany air. It had snowed the previous night about 6 inches and the porch railing was covered with the white stuff. Jones would sometimes get this wild look in his eyes from pent up who knows what and would tear around the apartment as fast as he could go. Anyone who has a cat has experienced this phenomenon where the cat goes crazy and peels out around corners sliding as they go. Jones decided to go crazy this particular morning and came tearing out of the bedroom and then had a long straight runway to the porch. He'd done this many times before jumping up on the porch railing and stopping himself. This morning I think the snow surprised him and I heard frantic scratching like holding on for a brief moment. I investigated but no Jones on the porch. I looked down and sure enough Jones was in a snowdrift on the ground. A small black, easily seen, fur person, surrounded by snow. I ran downstairs to rescue him and to make sure he was o.k. and Jones did something cats all over the world do when they make a mistake. This was obviously a mistake Jones had made. Jones acted like he did the whole thing on purpose. "I planned that whole episode because I was bored", he said to me. Only his heart beating wildly gave him away.
When Mr. Jones was about 18 or 19 he started to just lie around the apartment and sleep all the time so I thought it might be a good idea to get him a little playmate to get him interested in life again. The "normal" cat, have YOU ever known one, sleeps approximately eighteen hours a day, off and on. Jones was sleeping more than that. I have always been an afternoon napper and strongly believe that the world would be a much better place if more people took more naps. Less stress, less grouchiness from being tired, not to mention less time awake for getting into trouble.
We had a cat sister (Katy) living with us for most of Jones' life but she was a more normal cat (aware of cat actuarial tables and such) and passed away at a normal age for cats. I'm not sure of her exact age because she came to me as a stray, fully grown. Jones is trying for the Guinness Book. To be 100% truthful, I was also thinking of myself being without Jones one of these days and of having another cat to ease that bump in the road when