The Cat's Meow

Dear Boo and Bubble,

When your great grandmother Mary died, it ripped a big tear in the fabric of 3 Lakecrest.  Not only was she the hub of all activity there and the coordinator for all the household pieces, she also was the manager of great granddaddy Schaefer – a task which required great intuitive acumen.  She saw to it that his life ran smoothly, that his every need was met.  For over 40 years, the interaction between them created a reliable routine that operated like clockwork.  To say Granddaddy was spoiled might be putting it mildly.

In a wonderful stroke of mutual accommodation, your great Uncle Gene moved his young family into the house with Granddaddy.  The arrangement was truly a blessing. Your cousins Sassy (Chelsea) and Noodle (Natalie) brought childlike energy which delighted Granddaddy.  Every night at the dinner table, one of them would hop up into his lap and listen intently as he read from Dr. Seuss or A. A. Milne or J. M. Barrie.  Squeals of laughter rose to the ceiling as he practiced the magic of “Fly Away Jack…Come Back Jack” or squeezed their knees to see if they had a “laughing monkey.”  In other words, Granddaddy never had to be alone.  It was an incredible salve for the wound of losing Mamaw.

The responsibility for maintaining Granddaddy’s routine fell to Gene’s wife, Lisa.  She took the task very seriously and - on top of juggling all the requirements of her own family - incorporated his quirks, preferences and habits into her daily schedule. 

One such habit was Granddaddy’s lunchtime ritual.  Every day at noon, he’d leave the office to come home for lunch and a 30-minute nap.  You could set your watch by it – at 12:10, he would bound up the back steps into the kitchen where lunch waited.  At 12:20, he slid back from the table and made his way down the hall to the bedroom.  At 12:50, he arose and came back to the kitchen.  By a few minutes after 1:00, he was back at his desk.

Most of the time, Lisa greeted Granddaddy at the back door.  A pot of soup might simmer on the stove or a sandwich rest on a plate on the table, each ready so as not to interrupt his schedule.  When she could not be there, something tasty always awaited Granddaddy in the refrigerator.

On a particular day, Granddaddy arrived to a locked back door.  Since Lisa’s car wasn’t parked in its usual spot, he knew she must not be home.  He let himself in and wandered over to the refrigerator.  At first glance, he didn’t see anything specific that she had prepared.  Then he noticed a plate in the very rear of the second shelf wrapped in Saran Wrap.  It appeared to be some sort of liver mush. 

“Bless Lisa’s heart,” he thought ecstatically to himself.  “She’s gone and made me some of her special pâté!”

Granddaddy retrieved some Ritz crackers from the cabinet, pulled a knife out of the drawer, and poured himself some milk.  He sat down in his chair and eagerly ate about half of the loaf on the plate.  By then it was 12:20 and automatic naptime.  He carefully re-wrapped the pâté and placed it back in the refrigerator.  When he awoke at 12:50, Lisa still had not returned.  He relocked the back door and left for the office.

That night, everybody gathered at the table for dinner.  Lisa served Granddaddy his plate.

“Thank you,” he said.  “Oh, and by the way, thank you also for that wonderful pâté you left me today for lunch.  It was fabulous.  What was in it?”

Lisa froze.  She dropped the serving spoon back into the saucepan on the stove and raced over to the refrigerator.  Pulling out the half-eaten loaf, she turned to Granddaddy.

“Tell me you did NOT eat this, please.”

“Well, I most certainly did and it was delicious.  Why?”

“Because….because…THIS is CAT FOOD.  And, not only that, it’s filled with medicine that I got at the veterinarian because one of the kitties is sick!  I need to call him right now.  This is awful.”

Granddaddy tried to reassure her that he was fine, but Lisa could not be dissuaded.  She called the emergency number for the vet’s office and got an answering service.  Sensing her frantic urgency, they promised to have him get in touch with her as soon as they could track him down.

After an hour or so, Granddaddy decided to go on to bed.  While he was still reading his book, there came a quiet knock.

“Yes?”

Lisa stuck her head around the door.  

“Well….I talked to the vet,” she said.

“And…”

“And, he said that what you ate shouldn’t hurt you.”

“Good.  I figured as much.”

Lisa hesitated for a second.  “But…”

“But, what?” Granddaddy asked.

“He did say that if you happen to start ‘meowing’ during the night to call him immediately.”