I was in the living room the other day and my son had left his mouse on the couch.  I reached over to pick it up and turn it off and the cat leaped up off the chair where she had been napping and began to watch the little red light go up the walls and all over the ceiling.

 Now our cat is a huge couch potato, weighing in at at least 300 cat pounds.  Getting her to move was a challenge any day.  Blimpo usually ignored all toys, but this little red light was to her liking.  She could lay and look at it, and when it moved it was unpredictable. 

She chased it up the armchair, leaped to the couch, across the couch, and down onto the floor, moving so fast she was skidding all over the place.  I got so engrossed that I was laughing.  The light kept jiggling and so did the cat. 

From the other room I heard swearing start, followed by, “What the heck?”  Those weren’t his exact words, but close enough for a mother to repeat.

Cat and I kept playing.  It was as good as a flashlight was when she was a kitten and could actually move. 

“Who’s playing with my mouse?”  My son yelled.

“Your cat is.”  I ran the little red light across the carpet.  “Besides, how do you know?  You can’t see it.”

“Stop it.  I’m trying to type in here and the letters are ending up all over the page.”

“Okay.” I turned it over and was trying to figure out how to turn it off, when the cat jumped on me and clawed her way up my back.

“Put the mouse down with the light down so the cat can’t see it, and come here with your hands up.  I’m trying to get my assignment done and you’re not helping.”

You’re no fun, I said.  But my devious mind was thinking.

computer mice could take mousing to a whole new level. What cat wants to chase a real mouse when they can chase these little red things and not have to deal with a disgusting carcass afterwards?   I suspect it won't take long before all mice will realize that they are perfectly safe.  Cats will no longer be chasing the non-technology mice. Mice will overrun the area crawling over napping cats to hijack the food in people’s houses.

Then some brilliant inventor will realize that cats can be useful and entertaining if the cats actually chased real mice.  He will find some way to have a mouse use little infrared lights for headlamps.  People will have to buy those little headlights and put them at the door to their house with a sign that says,

                                       “Food detecting device.  Please put on before entering.”

Once inside,  the chase will be on.  Fat cats, and dead mice, just like in the olden days.

As for me, I’m going to make a cat exercise toy for the 21st century.  It is a computer desk with a Plexiglas top equipped with an infrared mouse.  That way I can exercise Blimpo with the flick of my wrist while I’m typing.  It’s the only rodent I’ll let in my house – a techno  mouse.

Remember the lost screwdriver?  Well here is what happened after that.  I had been boiling mad, muttering under my breath. 
“Is something wrong?”  He noticed.

“No!  I need one of your hidden flat bladed screwdrivers and I can’t find one.”

“Have you looked in the tools?”

“Of course I’ve looked in the tools.  Do you take me for an idiot?”  I hoped he wouldn’t answer that.

“I’ll get you one.”  He cheerfully marched out to the tool bench in the garage.

I waited… and waited… and waited.  There was no noise in the tool area.  After a half hour of getting angrier by the minute, I got out the hidden table knife that I use in emergencies, and tightened the screw.  I couldn’t get it as tight as it should be but that was the best I could do with that knife.  Then I baked a batch of cookies.

Two hours later, Dear finally returned.  “I can’t find one.  I wish the boys would put them back where they found them. Here, use this.” He handed me a rusty, chipped chisel the size of a crowbar.

“What are you babbling about?  The boys are now thirty five and thirty seven and haven’t lived here for fifteen years.  I know you’ve had some since that.  Didn’t you use one just last week to fix the car?”  I looked at my fingernails and noticed that I had a chipped one.  I didn’t ask him for a fingernail file.  I’d probably end with a chain saw.

“If you knew where one was, why did you send me after one?”  He stomped out and I heard the car doors slam. 

I went outside to the garage.  Dear was peering under the hood.

I raised my eyebrows and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Looking for a stupid screwdriver.”  He sounded mad.

I couldn’t resist.  “You know, if you put your tools away, you could find them when you needed them.”

“It’s not me that needs one.  It’s you.”  He reached into his front jeans pocket and retrieved the car keys.  He slammed the hood and got into the car.

“Where are you going?”

“To get you a fat ass screwdriver.”  He squealed out of the driveway.

“I hope you don’t see a policeman.”  I muttered on the way back into the kitchen.

Twenty minutes later he burst into the kitchen.  “Where’s that screw?”  He was carrying the biggest, hurkiest screwdriver I’ve ever seen.

“I hate to tell you, I used the chisel.  But that screwdriver is wonderful.  I mean it will be hard to hide it.  Here, let me put it away for you.”  I handed him a cookie I had baked while he was on search of the Great American Screwdriver. 

“Ummm.  Good.  Be sure to put it away where it goes.”   He had the nerve to say it to me. 

“Yes, Dear.”

How could I get the man to understand putting things away where they go when he is done?  His mother obviously hadn’t ever managed.  I came up with a brilliant plan.

The next morning while he was at work, I washed all of the dishes and then, instead of putting them away where they went, I put them just anywhere all over the house.  There were spoons in his underwear drawer, a fork between the cushions in the couch, plates and pans were on top of the dresser, and the remaining items were hidden away in the closet in the spare bedroom. 

That night when he returned home, I had dinner all finished and in the oven.  The hot pads were conspicuously missing, as were the serving spoons and plates. 

“Sorry, Dear, I have a meeting.  Dinner is in the oven all ready to eat.”  I walked out the door, got in my car and escaped the raging that was sure to come.  I calmly drove to a restaurant and sat by myself in a booth, waiting for the inevitable phone call.   I waited for two hours but heard nothing. 

In another hour I couldn’t stand it.  I wanted to see how he had eaten dinner with no utensils or dishes.  I drove home and quietly sneaked into the kitchen through the back door.  The casserole dish was on the counter and it was half empty. Beside it were two oily rags.  What had he used to dish up the food?   Had he accidently found some of the utensils?

“That you, Honey?”  The TV blared and he was parked in front of it. 

“Yes, Dear.  How was your dinner?” I tried to sound innocent.

“It was great.  By the way, we’re out of dishes.  They must all be dirty because I couldn’t find any.”

“So what did you eat with?”  I came right up to his chair.

“I used this blue electrical box for a bowl.  And then I made this glass from duct tape.”  He held up a gray ‘glass’.  Beside him was the screwdriver that I had needed this morning, and I don’t mean the hurking one either.  I mean the one he couldn’t find in hours that morning.

“By the way, I found the screwdriver.  It makes a great fork.”  He was so proud of being independent and resourceful.

I shook my head.  In case you are going to try this method, I have some advice.  This method of retraining husbands does not work.

    Welcome back.  Have some patience today while I explain a few things.  Then I'll get to the basic problem of the day.   The last two posts have relied totally on humor.  There is little if any plot and that makes them simply...drum roll...jokes.
     Plots are very interesting.  They all have a common thread.  The plot is based on finding a solution to the problem you set out to solve somewhere in the first part of the piece.  The sooner the problem is introduced, the better. The entire rest of the story consists of  the attempts at a solution to that problem.  Often there are three or more attempts before a final attempt works.  Each attempt must make the protagonist (hero) more frustrated or intent on finding the solution.  Each attempt must also be more of a failure than the previous one because otherwise the middle sags like the middle of a hammock with the dog in the middle. 
    Today I get my inspiration from real life... sort of.   There are a few embellishments involved to make it more fun, and of course I wouldn't be talking about my own husband, but you'll get the picture.

The Screwdriver
    I went out to get a screwdriver from my husband's tools this morning.  I didn't need anything fancy, just a plain old screwdriver with a flat blade.  I found a Phillips head screwdriver, a bunch of miscellaneous screws, nails and washers, part of a half eaten apple, and receipt for a pack of gum, but no regular plain old flat screwdrivers
    That's pretty odd since every Christmas, birthday, Father's Day, Fourth of July, or any other interesting occasion, someone in the family gives him a new set of screwdrivers.  (It's the handyman's replacement for the obligatory tie.) 
    After an hour looking through the assorted containers in the too area and in all of the known hiding places,Dear puts things, I gave up..   If I were in a good mood, I would have said, "Honey, where could I find a screwdriver?"  After an hour of searching, I was in no mood to be nice, so instead, I paced the floor and muttered under my breath.

    Now you know what the problem is.  You have already seen the first two attempts at the solution:  look for the item myself, and pace the floor waiting for Dear to notice.  Come back next week to see the solutions I come up with.  I can think of a couple of duzies.

  

Last week I told you about how mascots of a game made the game more interesting.  Well, I've been researching and here are a few more pairings that would make football more interesting.  Down South, the University of Arkansas Boll Weevils could play the Horned Frogs of Texas Christian University.

I can hear the announcer now,"We're almost to the end of this game.  With one minute left here in the fourth quarter and the score is Frogs 76 and the Weevils 12.  The frogs have really eaten up the Weevils.  The poor Weevils couldn't find the Boll.  Next week we'll see how the Weevils and the Anteaters of the University of California at Irvine do.  Will the Anteaters snarf up the Weevils, or will the underbug Weevils hit the Anteaters in the nose?  Tune in next week for the exciting tossup."

The headlines in tomorrow's paper could read, 'Frogs Jump As Weevils Lose Boll'.  Or maybe not.  Speaking of headlines, here's one 'Evergreen State and University of Santa Cruz Slug it Out in Seasonal War'. 

That's what would happen if the Evergreen State Geoducks play the University of Santa Cruz Banana Slugs.  Let's listen in to the announcer, "Here come the Slugs down the field.  The Slugs are starting to cross the fifty yard line.  Their antennae are across the beginning."  that's as fast as lugs go.  But hey, no problem.  They're playing the Geoducks. (That's a clam). They just burrow down and wait,... and wait... and wait.  We have all season.  "There, the Slugs are almost across the fifty yard line.  In only another hour they will be a t the fifty one yard hash mark."  Talk about having to provide small talk.  Wow.  I could write a novel during that game. 

Tune in next week to see what else I have been up to.  Until then, read a good book. 

It's football season and I've been watching the names of mascots of college teams.  They can be quite interesting.    For instance it’s bad enough that in Washington State, Cougars and Huskies set off against each other, with fighting like, well, cats and dogs.  And that in Oregon, you have to decide whether you are a Duck or a Beaver. No fierce animals involved here.  But think about what happens if Delta College of Mississippi and North Carolina play.  It is a real mix when the Fighting Okra and the Fighting Pickles get together. 

I can hear the announcer,  “The Fighting Pickles have more vim and vinegar than the fighting Okra.  They’re really mixing it up out there on the greens.  Anybody have a tomato?  Lettuce resume play.  The Fighting Okras are stewing in the huddle, and in my gizzard too!  Whew!  That stuff is strong.  Both teams are at the line of scrimmage. The ball is snapped, at least I hope it was the ball not a pickle.  Oh, oh, the Fighting Pickles are pushing the Okra quarterback back. He looks and cannot find a receiver.   The Okra Quarterback is in a Pickle.  Ouch!  I think he got squashed. Next week the winning team will play the fighting Artichokes of Scottsdale.  I guess the headlines will read Pickles Stew Okra.” 

Looking for interesting college mascots seems to be a great sport in itself.  Tune in next week and see if I have found any that are worthy of this blog.  In the mean time, don't let football get you in a stew.