Newsletter
Howdy folks,
I'm sorry to report our ancient tomcat, Leopard, died last
year. Had he lived until April he would have been 21. Panther is
still here and doing well at 22. He makes "patrols" through the
woods in back of our house and chases his tail. He'll sit in the
living room, tail twitching. He glances over a shoulder looking at
the enemy until he can no longer stand it taunting him. He has an
Osama tail, a Taliban tail that persists in cowardly attempts to
ambush him. Suddenly, he spins around to catch it, round and round,
in a search-and-destroy mission, working himself into a frenzy,
reversing course one way, then the other, until his skull slams into
a piece of furniture, or worse yet, the brick fireplace wall.
Everyone hears a loud thonk. Everyone but Pan, who puts
himself to sleep, only to awaken and begin again. We considered
getting him a baby brother (as in kitten) but after a week or so of
searching for Leo, he settled into being an "only child" with
considerable relish. He has two laps, two sets of hands for petting,
feeding and generally living to serve him. Life is good for a Henke
feline.
Speaking of sons, our human one nearly lost his buddy
Max while bring him over for a visit with "grandma" and "grandpa."
Max is not a good car traveler and suffers from, how to put this
delicately...indisposition while in transit. Eyes watering, Matt
pulled over to clean Max's carrier and the startlingly agile brute
(Max is the size of a small bear) jumped out and dashed across a
busy road into dense woods on the opposite side. Matt made a frantic
call to his mother and Shirl dashed off to help. She found Matt
standing by the side of the road calling over the roar of eighteen
wheelers. With the practicality of her gender, she immediately
sensed the futility of the plan and dragged him deep into the brush
where they could see a small clearing. There was Max, hidden beneath
a rotted log, meowing piteously. In cat talk, he was paraphrasing
Chief Joseph's famous line: "Rescue me, and from where the road now
roars, I will crap no more forever!"
Shirl's mentioned our
research trip to Miami. I was the designated driver of our rental
car. What a harrowing experience! She got to take pictures and
interview police officers, Coast Guard folks and yacht owners. I had
to deal with Miami motorists. Now, I spent four years in the Navy
and was stationed in Florida. The drivers haven't improved a bit. In
fact, in modern parlance, I'd call it "Suicide Salsa," circa Havana
during the late '50s before Fidel's calming influence. If you drive
less than sixty on a residential street, you're taking your life in
your hands.
Our stay was in south Miami Beach over the
Halloween weekend. The nice folks at our hotel advised us to take
advantage of the big costume parade up on Lincoln Avenue just a few
blocks up the street. Talk about a way to get local color for the
books! We saw super heroes, ghosts and ghouls, drag queens (who
probably were) and dominatrixs in leather and five-inch heels (some
of these were even female). The favored costume seemed to be
Egyptian pharaohs who wore tiny gold lame miniskirts, gold collars
and hats. All the rest was skin. Very popular for men and women and
even a number of dogs. A good thing the temperature was in the 70's
that night or everyone but the canines would've frozen. I sat there
thinking that this is Florida, Bush country. Hence, these folks
streaming by must be American mainstream...don't tell G.W.
I
began a joyous holiday season by having my right shoulder operated
on. The joy quickly ended. My cutter assured me that it would
probably be an arthroscopic procedure, nothing to worry about. When
it comes to doctors, I've always said that professors deal in
veracity while physicians deal in mendacity. I was again proven
correct. The surgery ended up requiring a slice the size of the
Grand Canyon across my shoulder and the application of metal screws
to reattach a torn tendon to the bone. Six months of physical
therapy to follow. Happy new year.
Shirl insisted I add that
I should make a complete recovery and be happily out yanking
lawnmower and leaf blower starters by summer. And, besides, as she
said, it was all my fault in the first place for playing judo and
being tossed around. Seemed I usually managed to land on my right
shoulder, so it serves me right. As I've mentioned before, redheads
can be very cruel. Talk again in the spring when she'll have me hard
at work in the yard,
Don't forget to visit
http://www.dorchesterpub.com.
Jim
