Extra cheese? Nevar neok bebek?

A Letter of Appreciation, Rx by Richard Carlson, Ph.D, author, “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff, and it is all Small Stuff.”

 

I used to know a pizza man in the 90's. Well, he owned his pizza restaurants. He drove like a cop because he said that's what pizza guys do. He calls me once a year around the holidays. This year is not an exception. He is a great impersonator and he can have me in stitches within the first three minute and that is why I take his calls. Besides, I respect him.  His life story is compelling, this pizza man.
 

He escaped from Iran at 16 when the Shah's regime fell. He came with $15,000 cash, crammed into a pouch stitched to the inside of his shirt. He did not speak English and he waited for a distant cousin for two days to pick him up at the airport in Ohio. The cousin was not interested in having him live with his family and put our future pizza man on a plane to Washington, DC to live in a group house. He worked as a dishwasher, left the group house because it was infested with drug use, became temporarily homeless, and slept in movie theaters. He bought a bike, stayed with the job, took kindness from strangers, and worked his way up to becoming the restaurant manager, owning only two shirts, a pair of dark pants, a pair of shoes and a bank savings account. He saved up enough money and bought the restaurant from the retiring owner. He also earned a bachelor's degree from George Mason University in the process.

 
His siblings are all working in the medical field- one brother is a neuro-surgeon in Azerbaijan, one is an oral surgeon in France, and a sister is a pediatrician in Tehran. He told me that his first dream was to become an ophthalmologist. I told him I am horrified at the thought that he would be an eye or brain surgeon and I am happy he is not practicing medicine anywhere!

 
He missed his mother sorely; he never quit talking about her; how the smell of nail polish and perfume reminded him of her.  I listened when he learned of his Mom’s death. He drove his car somewhere in the countryside of Montgomery County, got out of the car, knelt on the roadside and wept for his beloved mother, unable to go back to Iran for fear of persecution.  Between the time he left Iran and becoming 28 years old, he longed for his Mom’s embrace, her words of wisdom. I was the closest friend he had. I never hesitated to call him out when I think he was getting out of line. I was his mother, critic, supporter, and sometime lover. I also vowed to be a good mother such that my son would love me the way Hussein adored his.
 

Today he sounds like he's American born, married, and has two young sons and he calls me to ask how my son and I are doing, happy to know that I too am happily married. He likes reminiscing the good old days. Unfortunately, I do not share the same view because I do not think I had good old days when I was a struggling single mom.   I tell him to move on and rejoice in the fact that we did not end up together because I told him I never thought he would make a good husband and father. He assures me he is. 
 

We start our phone calls by a boisterous exchange “Hey, nasilsin!!?? Nevar neok, bebek?" Chok iyem, bende, nasilsin?!”  Then we switch to English, “Howya doin, jerk?”  He responds with “I am doing well, how ya doin Habibi?” “Habibi bad bakti, Hussein!” I tell him, "You are a cheap jerk. You are a hopeless jerk!" He laughs and says, "I have changed." Then I say, "You were such a jerk, I was actually seeing someone else when you assumed we were seeing each other!" He says, “We had something.” I say, “We had nothing, nada!!” He asks, "Who were you seeing then, your husband?" "No, Rabih!" "Where is he from?" "Lebanon!" He mocks an attitude, "I will kill him!" Then we both guffaw. I say, “I always knew you were some Arab pretending to be a pizza man! Honestly, know that I never loved you." He feigns pain "My heart, you show no mercy Habibijim!" Then he goes into his impersonation of a Persian woman, a Turkish man, and Americans calling for pizza! This is our Holiday routine, the script is always the same but it never ceases to amuse me. It even gives me some joy to hear the voice of my old friend whom I love to tease and "abuse."  "Habibi, do you think I am handsome?  Because I think I am, hahahaha." I tell him, "Do you want to feel good or do you want me to be honest?" He would say, "Na, na, na, na, you are lyen! You are lyen! No more free pizza for you, kanjik!"   Then we would laugh.  He was in fact good-looking as I remember.
 

We needed each other then. We were both struggling to find our places. I still do not know what it was we shared. It was a symbiotic relationship that expired in due time. From Hussein, I learned that life changing decisions and emotional attachments are mutually exclusive. I learned that kindness never, ever goes forgotten for however mislabeled our relationship was, he and I were kind to each other.  Sometimes, “love for one another” is not a Hallmark card moment. Rather it is giving someone dignity and an opportunity to run away from disaster! And so to my old friend and sometime lover, Hussein Sayef Azabdaftari “Chok tashekur ederem Sayefjim! Evet!” 

 

No Running in the Hallway!

A Letter of Appreciation, per Rx by author Richard Carlson, “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff…and it is all small stuff.”

 

 

Dear Mr. Bob Farrar,

I thank you not only for sitting with me daily to teach me the inner workings of an IBM Mainframe three and a half decades ago but for encouraging my never-ending pursuit of education to make me a better employee. You said, "You can call me Bob." I said, "No, I can't.  I was raised to respect my superiors if not my elders." I have you to thank for some very important lessons I carried with me through life:

      When I was all of twenty (and has since discovered BOXED wine),  you gave me an advice as we approached the holiday season:  

1)      Stop drinking once you get the buzz. The fun starts at the precise moment you get a buzz. If you drink more after that moment, you will not remember the fun you are supposed to be having.  I passed out when I “tried to prove you wrong.” I could not even remember what I was doing on the floor of my friend’s bathroom. I missed the whole party and when I came to, the party was over.  Never again.

 In my thirties and about to become a mom to a boy I already named, you sat down with me  and gave the following advice:

   1)  Do not get too worked up if your son comes home with a problem.  Listen, think  through, and give  appropriate consequences.  If you overreact at a little problem, how will you react when he gives you bigger problems like drugs or teen-age paternity?  My advice is for you to sit down with your son and listen without being judgmental.  Love him unconditionally. You do not have to love what he has done and it is okay to tell him so.  Be ready to set boundaries and make him respect them.  If you cannot afford to send him to a private school, move somewhere where public schools are excellent.  You will appreciate this later.

      In my early forties and about to get married, you commented:

    1)   You have done very well and I am happy to see what you have become from the young       woman  I have interviewed many years ago.  You and Kris are going to be part of your husband's family soon. This will be a much different life with a husband to help you raise your son.  I wish you the very best. I congratulate you - live well, travel far, and enjoy the buzz.

   I still hear your voice as you stood by the door of your office while I approach:

1)       “Miss Vil-lorente, NO RUNNING IN THE HALLWAY! You are so full of energy but I don’t need that report this soon.”

2)      “You are the happiest person I know.  Don’t ever stop laughing.”

3)      “You took a class to get rid of your accent?  You do not have an accent, what you have is a melody.'”

  I have tried to live up to your words of wisdom. I appreciate your glowing reviews of my work and my promotions you gave me!  Alas,  that was not the only the point.   I appreciate your support when I “fell out by the roadside” and like a surrogate father, you sat down with me and told me that I was not expected to be perfect.  I was invited at your retirement party, after your distinguished career first with the US Senate Sergeant at Arms Office and then from the Secretary of the Senate's Office. 

I hope your retirement is as happy as you planned. I hope you are sunning in Bora-Bora, having dim sums in Hong Kong, eating paella in Salamanca, and sipping a robust Soave in Florence with your wife.  My son is now two years older than I was when I worked with you.  I have given him Lesson 1, "The Buzz" already.  Thank you ever so much, "Mr. Farrar."

 

Photo credit: Mr. Robert C. Farrar, Jr. - 2nd fr right was my Manager both at the Senate Computer Center  (Operations); much later as my Manager in the Budget and Procurement Dept where I worked as his Senior Financial Specialist. Photo taken when I received my 13 years of service appreciation plaque at the US Senate.  My son would be born four months after this photo was taken.

"Haha. Everything good, mama!"

I rushed through traffic.  I was a woman on a mission. I had to grab lunch, take clothes to the cleaners, go to the pediatrician, go to the pharmacy, and teach an ESOL class.  I have five hours to do all of these tasks.  I do not get home till ten pm.

It is a month after spring break and my son is about to complete his first year of college in the Midwest.   Only 19 years ago, I watched in horror as he threw up his formula in a projectile vomit.  As I changed his bed sheet over and over again, I realized how much I really loved this little guy that I cradled.  I knew the drill: BRAT and flat coca-cola. In the early hours of the morning, I called the on-call pediatrician to ask what to do.  She asked me if the baby had a fever and I said his temperature is 99.  She then quipped, “It is 99 and you are worried?”  I tersely said, “You tell me. You are the doctor, are you not? I am just the ignorant worried mom. So why don’t you tell me?”  She said, “Oh, okay, if it gets any higher, then you should take him to the emergency room.  Do not show your baby that you are stressed because you are going to cause him to get worse.”  I said, “I did not know that. So now you know I am stressed. Thank you for your time.  I hope you appreciate the contribution I make to your salary.”  I then bundled my son and took him to the emergency room of the Children’s Hospital in Washington, DC. 

Of course I worried when I heard him crying but the nurse assured me that she was more the nervous one than my baby as he was kicking and screaming as she tried to get blood from his little feet.    Countless times, I advocated for this little guy.  When one nurse told me with the six month old baby on my lap, “Make him calm down so I can draw blood.” I told her, “You want me to make a  six-month old to calm down?  I tell you what, why don’t you calm down so you can draw his blood?”  There is not one person in the world who would be a better advocate for your child than you. 

At the instant moment I now recall, I was rushing to the pediatrician so I can get my son's medication refilled.  This is the same doctor who has been seeing my son since he was six.  I still take him to her for many good reasons. She has children almost the same age as mine. Her children went through the same growing pains as mine did. They went to the same school where mine did and most of all, what she says echoes what I say when it comes to issues I care about.  It was important to me that his doctor shares the same values that my family believes in. 

However, based upon our discussion on this day, she recommended a book to read as my child has turned into a teen-ager, “Get out of my Life, but first, take me and Sheryl to the Mall.”  As a parent I have become a psychologist, a mentor, an enforcer, an advocate, unwanted presence, the controller, the one who knows nothing,  the adversary, the dork, the enabler, the terminator all wrapped up in warm blanket of nothing but love for my child. The child loves you but hate your “control” over them. You use the familiar, “I am not your friend and I am not raising your friends. My job is to….” “I do this for your best interest.”  The child throws a fit, slams the door, glares, refuses to cooperate, sabotages his/her own success  but as a parent, it is my job to be patient because this is the child that his father and I are parenting and we love no other more than we love him.  That love is tough.  It breaks our hearts to say no or disagree but there again is the question: Is it for the best interest of this child to…?  What I cannot do for my child is be his source of failure. 

Now in his early twenties, I still worry that he is not taking his allergy pills; that he is not taking an umbrella when it is raining; that he does not wear a muffler; or that he is not eating right.  It used to be my job to keep him safe and now it is his job to tell me that he is safe. 

He just celebrated a birthday. He is all tall and lanky and mild-mannered. No longer confrontational, he must have concluded that his parents were not the control freaks he had when he was 17-18 years old.  I have watched him transform into someone I like to have “my son be friends with.”  He has a sense of humor, even goofy at times but he is a smart, articulate young man who is still a work-in-progress and he is still like a sponge who absorbs and learns from his own experiences and from the counsel he seeks from his parents.  We no longer doubt that he can make it into this world; he is learning life’s lessons on his own.  We just have to let him drive and allow him to hit and recover from the bumps along the way.  My child, my forever love.

 

LaCrosse Game, Baltimore

Balong and his late grandpa, circa 1996

Lady's Choice--Tatlong Babae...Lani, Ate Vee, Nessie

stock photo/wwwdogpiledotcom
 

WARNING/caveat emptor:  all words as spoken or 'SIC'  to the speakers, wala po yang correction allowed ng Mam namin Charo.  Yun lang po. Ito po ang transcriber ng telecast. Wag na lang ninyong ilagay sa Internet at baka maBicutan tayo. --


Ladies and genelmen, magandang hapon po mga kapuso, kapamilya, at kabayan sa ibang countries na may TFC, London,Paris, Dubai.  Today, we have the pleasure of not having one, not two, but three celebrity, yes, three celebrities in our program. Please welcome Melani Marquesa, Vilma SanRecto, and Alma Ness Morenow! Ito po ang inyong showbiz central  (wohooo!!!!) program "Don't Shit with Me"  in other words ha, "don't lie to me" - tah-ray!! 

Applausa! Applausa! 

Welcome to our show, Melani, Ate Vi, Ness!!! Welcome to all of those in the studio also! (Palakpakan, yehey, yehey!!)

Melani: Thank you, I am glad to for here.

Ate Vi:  Thank you everyone, Hi Senator!

Alma: Thank you po! Luzon, Visayas, Mindanao!

First si Melani: As always, beauty ang ating very own Miss International. Eto ang question mo from the fans: What is your beauty secret?

Melani: Oh (smiles with killer cheeck bones) thank God I was blessed with beautyness with loving and fearing of God in my heart. My secrets is not a secret, as you know, I am model for Olay and that is my secrets.  So I just use what I use and never abuse naman for goodies sake.

-And to the rumors that you are also considering to run for office, what do you say to that?

Melani: I never consider to become politician but if I consider it, I cannot for now concentrate because I have many tele-seryes to do pa with offers from many studios who want to get me.  But if I think I will run, why not?  Because I think now the Philippines need beauty and brains in the government and not only brains because the brains can be confused and beauty is always in the eyes of the beholder.

Alma: Tama! Korek!

-Thank you Melani.  Now we turn to Governor Vi! Gob, kumusta na?

Vilma:  First thank you for inviting me. (Applause!) First also, hi to all fans and everyone, Senator and Lucky are watching us today.  (APPLAUSA!!! )

-Sow Gob, ikaw naman ano ang beauty secret mo? Ay, taray deba??  

Vilma: Siempre to do good for the people of Batangas.  I always make sure that I have served them and I keep young by continuing to do movies kaya ok sa alright naman ako.  By alphabetical order, lahat ng teachers sa Batangas my alibreng diamond peel sa end ng school year kaya okay naman sa alright sila.

- Oh you plan to run again for governor?  Walang limit ang term ng office mo Gob? Tah-ray de ba?

Vilma: Yes, I plan to die in office.  Waray mean, I will die as a governor if not president. That is now my home away from the mansion that Senator and I built. Alam naman ng marami na I am always given an award by the University of the Philppines, recently the Diwata Awards.  I was also given an honorary doctorate degree.  Also, Lucky will most likely succeed me kasi he is now running for councilor.  Ok di ba?  I am sure mahusay na konsehal ang anak ko, okay sya sa alright and he will follow in my footsteps. I did not need a college degree to become governor, I married a Senator and who knows, maybe I will be running for president when I become 65 years old…right Senator?  By the way, by the way, don’t forget to watch my film The Healing, palabas nap o ito, panoorin ninyo, okay sa alright!! (Super applause, walang tigil!)  Ok, ok, alright.

-Thank you Gob! (Applausa!!) Yes, one day you can be President!  Ay ang taray!!  (Applausa!)  Okay, ladies and genelmen, and now, we again welcome Alma Moreno Sultani.  (Applausa!)

-Ness, it is nice to see you. Kumusta naman?  You have been busy the past decades and so the fans want to know the secret to your stamina.

Alma: Well, ganyan lang ang life, it rebounds around di ba.  Hindi porke natapos ang isang malungkot na chapter  mag give up lalo na ang kababaihan  (Applausa!!!) Kita naman ng fans ang aking fighting spirit and my versatiliness in all and all my being wife to many husbands, with childrens of different fathers and my tv shows, my political inspirations to become if not mayor, governor e di Senator. Multiple choice is a Lady’s choice.

Melani: Korek ka dyan, Ness!

-So Ness, you have declared  that you are running for Senator 2013, ready ka na ba?

Alma: I am ready and I am going to run fast for the Senate senator of Marawi if I do not get pregrnant this year.  Naglalayag na ako e.

-You mean…

Alma: I mean it is the same, Marawi, Paraniaque, if not Congress then Senate…basta remember I want to push the rights of women.  Every women has right to marry as many times they want and a right to bear children with anyone and everyone.  That is my campaign material and all those people saying I am writing rubber checks –you are wrong, I know they are paper because I was the one who signed them!

-Ok sa alright!  Okay, ladies and genelmen, there you have it, the three most popular women in Philippine celebrity and politics these days. Wag ninyong kalimutan mga kapuso and kapamilya, a strong Philippines need stong women—wala nang dadaig pa sa  tatlong yan…Wika nga po ni Alma, it is our lady’s choice! Hanggang sa muli—abangan si Pekwang at Deonisia Pakyaw and Annabelita Rama sa next show! MAGSABUNUTAN KAYA? That is the one million pesos ques-tsen! Tah--RAY!! Aaaaaaay!!

When "Poco Rubato" means "Ano ba 'to?" (What's this?)

This I know.  A few months back, I went back to take piano lessons because I love Jim Brickman’s “Valentine” and I was so inspired after seeing him in concert at Strathmore Music Hall.  I wanted to play his music, a rather ambitious feat for someone with my skills. You see, I have the interest, but I don’t have a natural talent for playing a musical instrument. 

I knew what would happen.  I have been told the following over and over again by piano teachers:

1.      No one is chasing you, take your time.  Take it slow. (Unsaid: Playing it fast does not make it sound any better)

2.      You play with feelings.  (Unsaid: you have feelings, technique not so muchJ)

3.      That was good. You know, Mr. Bach, the composer right? He has been dead for over a hundred years and he is turning in his grave when you play this. He did not intend it to be jazz. (Unsaid: you are insulting the composer)

4.      Read the music, do not mix sight and sound.  You need more literature. (Unsaid: you are wasting your money and my time). Yes, the composer intended that to be a B flat.  Don't second guess.  Play it as he intended. 

5.      My husband (HB): I do not like that.  Oh yeah? Who does not like Malaguena music? I play it anyway but always when he is not home J (Unsaid: Tha't awful. You need to practice more)

Anyway, I took lessons last summer specifically to learn chords (did not happen) and play Jim Brickman’s Valentine (disaster).  I abandoned the lessons after the fifth session.  The MO was that I practice, I play for the instructor, her cell phone rings, she excuses herself, I get annoyed and cannot get over my mental block on syncopated (I call them psychopathic) phrases, she criticizes or critiques my playing of the same, and then we are done within 20 minutes and I am not always sure what I paid for.

It dawned on me that I can instead invite the Fedex delivery guy to listen before he leaves the packages on my  door but I am sure he does not have time and I might traumatize the poor guy.  Disappointed at my inability to play Valentine, I hid Jim Brickman’s music book at the bottom of my music sheet drawer the day I quit my lessons. 

I am my foremost critic.  HB  told me that I only have to enjoy it and that is the only thing that should matter.  I love playing during the early morning hours of Saturdays with my cup of coffee and the silence around me.  When I go upstairs, HB would say, “Thanks for the serenade.” He knows never to compliment me. When he does, my fingers would lose memory and out goes the “concert.”  I would sometimes miss a note and I could hear him upstairs softly say, “Ooops!”  My cats are a different story though.  They would stay with me and then one would start walking on the keys like saying, “Spare us, let me end it for you!”

 I adored my first adult piano teacher in the U.S. She called me Munioz.  She was drunk half the time and she played more than I did during the lessons and she was so good, she could move me to tears. I shared Francesco Buencamino’s Harana  music sheet with her and she played it by sight the first time she saw it.  I asked her to play “Kahapon Lamang” and when she played, I was teary- eyed as she interpreted so poignantly music she has not seen before.  I told her after she played what the lyrics said.  My first and only recital was at her mansion.  She knew how terrified I was so she allowed me to play while others were having their wine and appetizers. My only attentive audience was her late elderly mother, God bless her soul.  She showered me with encouragement and “bravo!” I think it was more for my chutzpah than anything else. 

I loved my second piano teacher because she was very supportive and spoke Tagalog, English, and Mandarin.  She owned a Steinway and she told me that she did not have a piano growing up so she would hang out by the UST Conservatory of Music and play their piano until she was “discovered.” The instructor who walked in on her gave her lessons.  She went to Julliard but also has a PhD in psycho analysis. She is Chinay and I met her when she substituted for my first teacher. They live in the same community so I would try not to park my car where my first teacher might see my defection.  So with Professor Li, I got lessons and free psycho analysis.  She retired and moved away to Indiana and I stopped taking lessons. She told me never to give up my love for playing, “hao ting sound when you play” (beautiful sound when you play) she would say. 

The first time I went to Mrs. Li’s house, I told her I had tennis elbow and did not play the piano for over a year.  She asked me how it happened. I told her that I wanted so much to memorize my Mozart that I took an Adderall pill, don’t ask me where I got it – so that I could focus and I played straight for more than 6 hours, so focused that I perpetuated the same mistakes over and over again. I played until I could not lift my arms anymore.  I thought it was funny but it was not fun suffering for over a year.  She then took a kimono belt and wrapped it around me so that my elbows were pinned to my body.  It looked like a straitjacket. She was a psychoanalyst alright. It helped me maintain proper alignment.  She helped me learn the theme song from The Pianist because I loved the film and then I played a Filipino love song I learned "oido" style for her and she smiled from ear to ear.  I should try and find her….I digress.  After Sutsen Li retired and moved, I played without instructions. I read my notes, I play when I want to and I do not get stressed if I cannot practice religiously.

To welcome my Steinway two weekends ago, I decided to revisit Jim Brickman.  I begin and end every piano playing with Bach’s Prelude –you know that one. I even threw in a simplified Moonlight Sonata, etc.  Curious if my fingers retained any memory, I pulled out Jim Brickman’s Valentine and played it.  Something magical happened – I played it without any problem.  Of course, I get confused about those colons J you know, the dots that tell the player to go back somewhere and go straight to the finish line…but unlike when my last piano teacher would send me into panic anxiety attack, I was pleased and light hearted when I finished Valentine.  I set my own rules and I do not get hung up with all the notations.  I follow piano, super pianissimo, super forte, lean heavily and break the keys loud, and “so help me God, don’t wake up the neighbors calm down” notations.  I do all that but for the first time, I just played like this was the most natural thing to do on a Thursday night, being reminded of my HB’s wise advice to me this morning. He said, “Don’t worry , we will make sure your piano is tuned, whatever is necessary for you to enjoy it but we cannot spend more money to tune it to concert quality. "You are after all just an advanced beginner.” I laughed and thanked him  facetiously for the “compliment.”  It is the truth. I ain't Mozart.  Poco rubato all the way.  Hey, music is awesome at  this level, thank you very much!

I Have Issues-

And so, Bosscat aka Pops started to take NewCat aka Chenji under his wings. And today, Pops learned something that has to be addressed. They were going around the house when Chenji became sick.

Bosscat: Hey listen, Madam will see your mess.  She does not like that.

Chenji:  Dude, I am sorry but I cannot help it. 

Bosscat: What the heck, you were doing so great then you start to throw up?  What's up?

Chenji:  Can I be honest with you?  I have issues.

Bosscat:  Hahahahahaha! Oh. Sorry.  Wait, seriously?

Chenji: Seriously.  Man, I feel like they will find out I’m a fraud and I will go back  to the shelter. I wish I could talk to a terrapin. I feel inadequate. 

Bosscat: You’re kidding me.  Listen, everyone has issues and I am here to listen.  Try not to throw up. Did you see how clean the carpet downstairs is?  Don’t do it there! I’ll tell you a secret between you and me, my late brother used to throw up all the time. 

Chenji: He did?  Was he aneurystic?  Did his teeth fall out? Did they hire a terrapin for him?

Bosscat: No he was not aneurystic, dumb ass. Princess Dyna of Great Brittney was.  No, my brother was a runt, see, he has low self-esteem.  Madam loved him because he was small like a  toy.  I tolerated them. He was slow.  He would go out to the deck, eat Madam’s lilies, then come back inside to throw up? 

Chenji: Yo, he must have had issues.  Remember last Saturday when they took me to Dr. Fletcher? I was dissed there big time.

Bosscat: Oh yeah, like how?

Chenji: First of all,  Madam said maybe  I had fleas ‘cause I’ve been scratching all over.  Shoot, they acted like I had some STD. And the veterinary technician  gave me some flea meds.  Then the vet said that maybe I scratch because of stress. Like, duh!  Hello, try being in a shelter for three months while everyone leaves and you stay behind! Then she said I will never be taller.  I am another Tomcat Cruise, never gonna be anything other than a short dude.  At least he lived with Nicolette Kitman, she was the cat’s meow, see? Me, I will just be short and alone.  Sorry, I got carried away.

Bosscat: Listen, you are here now. Our humans are great and you will know what I mean later.  Hey, height's not a big deal!  Look, you gotta be happy with what you are.  Napoleon Bonapark was not tall and he was a great man. I think I am something special.  I own this house.

Chenji: I know you do. You’re not a runt like me.  I need to take some stereos so I can build muscles.  All they have in this house is fish oil, man, I need to get me some stereos,  just saying.   Anyway, so tell me more about your bro.

Bosscat: His name was Jessie.  He was built like you, come to think of it.  I was older by only a week or so. He was a mellow type of guy, he sits on top of that couch, listening to her annoying sonatas.  He would sit there listening to God knows what, even when she has the headphones on and no sounds coming from that digital piano.  So lame! But I loved him.  One time we were visited by cousin Taz from Boston.  Taz tried to take over our house. He pummeled me and Jessie. Jessie the scaredy cat ran and climbed a chair.  You know, we were raised to be gracious to guests.  We were raised with manners but our cousin was a bully.

Chenji: A bully? That rocks! Wooly bully.  I wanna be a wooly bully.

Bosscat: No you don’t. A bully is a jerk who uses his size to get what he wants.  Besides you are too small to be a bully.

Chenji: See, you are such a great egg booster! Now I feel like a loser!  I feel like we are bonding big time, see, then you tell me!  Why don’t you just shoot me with that laser gun upstairs, yeah, point that red dot in between my eyes and shoot me!

Bosscat: Don’t be stupid okay? Listen, I lost my cool and I fought Taz.   Jessie looked at us like an idiot. I went for a total showdown, hissing and pawing that son of the bitch!  I swear, if they did not throw a slipper in between us I would have shredded him into bazillion pieces.  I don’t take from anyone, no way! 

Chenji: I don’t take from anyone either! No way, yo say! You're a bad ass, Pops. Did you give Taz an uppercat?

Bosscat: I gave him both a lowercat and and uppercat like this (he pushes the ball in the trench of his toy roulette; it went around with such force)

Chenji: Rockets! You rocked it, Pops!

Bosscat: (Starting to be sad)  Well, Jessie started throwing up after that whenever he was stressed. Well, I slept beside Taz' human that night, yes sir. He could not go near us.  I hated him, go to hell!

Chenji:  Yeah, I hate him, go to hell!  Honestly, I want to make our humans happy. What’s up with the shoe strings?  They are all over the place.

Bosscat: She used to play with shoe strings with Jessie. I mean no disrespect but my brother was lame, he was string happy.  He would jump and catch the string like it was snake for real.  So gay, they both looked stupid, I gotta tell ya!

Chenji: No kidding! She’s like “Good boy, catch it,  moo bien” what’s that all about?

Bosscat: Hahaha, she spoke Spanish to Jessie. She comes home saying ‘Hola Jessie como estas mi cholo chulito?’  I am like, "Just shoot me, you make me sick.  Hey lady, shut up and gimme me some food. NOW!"

Chenji: Spanish for real? I wanna learn Spanish, I wanna learn Spanish!

Bosscat:  Are you crazy? You wanna be  Madam's cleaning lady?

Chenji: Huh? I don’t wanna be a cleaning lady. 

Bosscat:  Listen, people who speak Spanish in this house clean the place, got it? Elena from Bonus Irish Argentina. I liked her; she used to give me treats. The other one was a crazy old lady named Marieli.  She’s from Bogota, yep, D Street of Colombia, Metro red, mmm-hmm!  I was afraid of her, know why? In Bogota, they kill humans for drinking coca-cola.  The phone will ring and she’d say, “Que I gordo answer por telefono, no kitten?!”  Everytime, the phone rang she would say, “Que I gordo answer por telefono, how’re you kitten me!?” She spoke Spinach. 

Chenji: Spinach?  That is hot!  I wanna speak Spinach! They spoke Spanish in the shelter, “Le gusta este gato? Ah, no, okay, este el otro…” Bunch of jerks did not want to adopt me.

Bosscat: You can speak whatever you want in here but no yelling, ok.  They will not return you to the shelter. I will teach you everything I know, I got your back.  I got the white guy well trained.  (Bojo winked) She is crazy- she speaks Tag along, ok but she will give you bacon sometimes.  So, just a friendly advice-  do not overeat, stay away from her plants, and never, ever eat a dead cricket!  You're gonna be okay.  Ok, are you better now?

 

Chenji: Yeah, I hope so. Thank you, Pops. Hey, you wanna bite this plastic trashbag?

You think your'e something special!

Finally, the Boss cat and Chenji are making progress.  We eavesdropped to hear the latest and penultimate, if not the last chapter into their intervention:

Bosscat: Ok, it is not my decision whether you stay here or not.  Let us discuss our expectations, ok?

Chenji: Cool!

Bosscat: So let me introduce myself to you. You may not know it yet but our humans love to travel.  They were in some exotic place called South Carolina and they named me after this special chickin resto, mmm-hmm!

Chenji:  That’s amazing!  So is your name Chickin?

Bosscat: No, my name is Bojangles Chickin Restorant.  They call me Bojo for short.  I’m some kind of special, see?

Chenji:  I see. I used to be Redford at the shelter but the humans changed my name on my legal papers.  They called me Chobe then they called me Nuki. I was going crazy because I did not know who I was!

Bosscat: They named you Muchenje.  They call you Chenji. Do you know why?

Chenji: Because they keep changing my name so they kept chenjit and chenjit?

Bosscat:  No they named you after a camp in Botswana, Africa where I heard that the baboons kill each other at night. You are some kind of special too, yeah right.

Chenji: For real?  Is Africa in Canada? I wish I were named after a restaurant in South Carolina too.  I wish I were named…

Bosscat: You want to be named Chili, Hooters, Macaroni Grill, or Denny’s?

Chenji:  Macaroni!  Roni for short.  Call me Ronni, ok?

Bosscat: Sorry, you do not get to name yourself. Humans give us our names.  Your name is too lame, I agree. Chenji.  It sounds like a shang-hai junkie.

Chenji: You are funny, Pops.

Bosscat: One other thing, you need to be respectful.  Don’t call me me Pops. It makes me feel old and I can still wrestle you down.

Chenji: My bad. So tell me more about this place!

Bosscat: The white guy, he is my favorite. He lets me sit with him while he plays with that Apple- panini maker. He calls it Mac.  He lets me and Mac sit on his lap.  He gives me treats. I love peanuts but not Planters’, oh I hate that crap!

Chenji: You eat peanuts?  I am not sure but I may be allergic to that.

Bosscat: The secret to not being allergic is to give them a dirty look and don’t eat it when they give you any other kind other than Balducci’s peanuts. Demand it!

Chenji:  I love the Science Diet stuff.  I love healthy choices, meow. Let me show you my biceps, look, I will flex it again.

Bosscat:  I see. You work out, eh?  Me, I love chocolate truffles and cashew nuts.  I don’t believe in diets. I work out once in a while but who cares?  I also got depressed when I lost my brother.

Chenji:  I heard about that. I am truly sorry.  I am sure he is at peace somewhere. 

Bosscat: I do too. I miss him and don’t you ever pretend to be him.

Chenji: No worries.  I respect that.  I have catnip.  Hey, you wanna try some?  Seriously, all these talk of brain damage, that’s just B.S.! Look at me, do I look mental?

Bosscat: No, I am not a doper.  But you certainly have ADHD with hyperactivity.  Haha.

Chenji:  See now that’s offensive.  You are judging me, Pops, I mean Boss.

Bosscat: No I am not, I am saying you are making good dietary choices.  So make other good choices. Don’t screw your good luck!

Chenji: I don’t use it all the time!

Bosscat: Good.  Anyway, the brown lady, she is nice.  You can trick her into giving you some of her food but I tell you, her food is funky to the max!  She eats those darn grilled fish and that fish sauce is gross! I stay away when she has that in the kitchen.  She also eats a lot of lettuce, cucumbers, and almonds.  You know how that is---BORING!

Chenji: What’s up with the skinny dude? He is tall and he comes here and they get happy.

Bosscat:  Hold your voice down, jeez!  He used to live here then his shoes started to stink, his clothes started to get smaller, he stays in the shower until there is no more hot water then he stays out late. Then he disappeared for two years and I heard he went away  to some kind of universe of Kansas.  The lady always goes to his room and start crying there, holding a pair of old stinky Nikes.  Then on Fridays, his voice comes from that big screen over there. Yup, I heard him too, saying “What up, what up Kansas? ” Then music comes out  and they are really good.  Anyway, I heard Kansas has nothing but corns and cows and no Jewish people.  Is that warped or not? He told them about how he is practially a Jewish coz of all the bar meatballs and bat meatballs he had been to. You know, the Jewish kids when they become yucky thirteen they have their meatballs.   That is funny. Hey, he came back and they were in this living room talking.   I will show you where he sat.

Chenji: What happened? The other night, he came here and he asked me if I wanted to sleep on the couch. He is cool.  Me thinks he needs to shave. And he ate all of the soup! Ok, so what happened?

Bosscat: Well, here is where he sat in this chair after he returned from the universe of Kansas. He said he wants to be a rapper. The white man sat here, his face was red and talking very seriouly. The lady sat here crying.  They talked for over an hour about many things and then they said, ” That’s fine but your scholarship is effectively on hold. You have to finance your music.”   He said he wanted to explore his options. I do not know, I think it meant he went 'Ooops' on a lot of things. 

Later on, he worked at a pizza place then he worked at this place on K Street with guys named cool storms and fat storms.  His boss was a Chinese guy named Mr. Tag Lee.  Then our humans  helped him move out his stinky shoes, his dirty laundry, his books, his bed, lots of stuff, and some furniture. See, they bought him a condom.

Chenji: What is a condom? I wanna buy me a condom.

Bosscat: That is another name for an apartment. It is a two-bedroom condom not too far from here. I want to go there but they would not take me.

Chenji: Uh-oh, we gotta see the condom, we gotta see the condom. I bet you, they have catnip there.  You know, they have beer, catnip, video games, and hip-hop. I know that! I lived with humans like that in a condom in Silver Spring! 

Bosscat: Word to the stupid, just when you think you are something special, and humans are nice to you, you will make a bad choice and where do you end up? You can end up in the pound. If you are lucky, you will be taken back to the shelter.  Or you can just kiss your butt good-bye. All it takes is  Ethan Asia.

Chenji:  Is that a shot like vodka?

Bosscat: Nope, it is an injectable poison. They inject it into you, Ethan Asia.

Chenji: Oh, euthanasia. Yes, I know all about that.  We don't want that.  But how do you know about the pound? How do you know that?  Were you not born here?

Bosscat: No, I was given up for adoption as a kitten coz my Mom was on welfare and my Dad abandoned us.  There were four of us and my Mom did not have enough to feed us and we did not have enough room for everyone. She grew up working in Poolesville in some farm where she had to catch mice for her keep.  She was young when she had us.  We were taken to the pound by the farm's owner and then they moved us to the shelter for a while. I stayed there for eight weeks before I came here. So you got the same Yoyo Ma music in the car on the way here?  Anyway...

Chenji: Dude, you make me sad.  I don’t even know who my mom is.  I was in some nice home but the owners lost it and they just let me loose on the streets just like that. I was living off the restaurant discards in Silver Spring.  I am glad some old lady picked me up and took me to the shelter.  

Bosscat:  Now that you are here, they will love you.  Listen, she will play the piano. It is always the same music sheet. She will always make a mistake on the allegro part. Always.  Just pretend you like it. When you can’t stand it anymore, hop on the keys and start walking arpeggio-that means up and down. That will make her love you more. She thinks that’s cute. Watch me next time, ok?  Watch and learn.

Chenji: Okay, that’s sounds cool.  But what’s up with the lady next door, she saw me and said, “Oh my Gawd! I will call you Jack, Black Jack!"  I got scared.

Bosscat: Oh, Judi? She’s alright. She takes care of me when our humans go on nexvacation.

Chenji: What’s that?

Bosscat: Nexvacation? That’s when they leave me alone at home and I get to scratch all the walls downstairs and drink from all the four toilets. It is really fun.  They always talk while drinking wine, "So when is your nexvacation?"

Chenji: Oh yeah? Okay, I wonder when the nexvacation will be! Can I scratch and drink from the toilets too?

Bosscat: Sure! They will go to Colorado in a month or so.  That’s where we will move someday.  Stick with me, you will go places. 

Chenji: I am lovin it!  I am lovin it! 

Bosscat: Alright, calm down.  Now, let me show you where I hide stuff. I have her old night guard, his toothbrush, his ear muffs, a Xmas ball, her eyeglasses,  the boy’s charger, and some candy bars. I will teach you the ropes, I will be the leader.  Cool?

Chenji: Haha. Cool! You’re chill.  Peace out!

Never Stop Thinking about ToMEOWrow

Those who dare to bring a new cat to an older cat’s home are brave. I am not brave, I am hopeful.  The isolation of NewCat, now being called Chenji  continues. Yesterday, I came home and allowed him out.  He is young and full of energy, leaping, bouncing around like a ball and really looking for trouble.

I decided to let him out of his isolation room and he was met downstairs by the Boss, hissing, spitting, and fluffing his hair.  Chenji ran back up and when I opened his carrier, he readily went into it.  I took him down and let him do a face-off with the Boss.  I sat down on a chair, holding a broom just in case I need to intervene.  I was sweating buckets.

The following is the transcript of this second encounter:

Bosscat:  Damn, you are still here?  Why are you not gone yet?

Chenji: Why do you hate me so much? Hey, you wanna play with my string? 

His right paw extended to retrieve his side of the string and I noticed that his little paw was trembling. I felt bad but helpless. I started hot flashing.

Bosscat: I do not have time to play your silly games, shelter boy! Hiss, spit!  Piss off! See how bigger I am than you, fluff, fluff, wag tail, licking my lips, I can eat you alive!

Chenji: L-O-L.  Seriously?  I might look scared but really I am not.  Look directly into my eyes, you will now feel love and kindness towards me.  There you go, directly into my eyes, you will feel warmth…

Bosscat: Hey punk! I am not playing with you.  This woman here, she is a sucker for little kittens.  You have her under your spell, but not me.  Excuse me while I throw up!

Chenji: Know what, I am sick of your drama.  So why don’t you try to attack me, come on Mr. Medicare, show me your muscles!

It was the longest five minutes of staring down. I decided to open the cage.  Chenji made a beeline for the upstairs landing. When he got to the banisters, he proceeded to do his pole dancing with childish arrogance. We are convinced his previous owner is a stripper.

He is agile; he would wrap his little body around the banister and turn around and around. If he was not owned by a stripper, then maybe a Cirque du Soleil acrobat.  Once he got tired, he went downstairs to the kitchen.  He then proceeded to check out Bosscat’s water and food dish.  He started eating a piece or two.  Bosscat  assumed a hunter’s gait and slowly walked into the kitchen and situated himself a yard away from Chenji. He watched the little punk taunt him by eating his food and licking his water bowl. I was eating my own dinner quietly but keeping an eye on both.

Bosscat: See this is a problem, lady!  - He was looking at me for concurrence. 

He continued: He is so disrespectful.  He has no manners.  He feels he is entitled, eating my food and rubbing his face on everything I own. These young ones feel so entitled, they do not want to work hard, they just want things to be handed to them.

I started to think he makes sense so I said, “Hey Chenjie, that is not your food bowl.  Leave it alone or ask for Bosscat’s permission, ok? Be nice, ok?”

Chenji:  For real?  Oh well,  my bad. No big deal, Jeesh.  He rolled his eyes

 
Bosscat:  HEY!  Don’t be cocky.  Remember, you are a new comer.  You gotta pay  your dues, dude.
 

Chenji: Did you just say dude? O M G  - you are weirding me! Aren’t you too old to be cool?

 

BossCat: Hisssss! One more word from you and I will beat your ass, you jerk!

 

Chenji: Well catch me if you can, Pops, you know, with all due respect…

 

Then in an instant, Chenji ran back upstairs and BossCat  went to the foot of the stairs, waiting for his moment of attack.  Chenji was looking at him with his head looking out in between the banisters. More hissing and then they locked their stares.  What to do?

 

I turned on the TV and watched the Democratic National Convention.  Bosscat approached me and sat on my lap, we watched for a while and then we took a nap.  We woke up to some movement and Chenji was back, checking out the powder room, kitchen, and dining room.  I got up to pet him “Hi little one, you okay, you a good kitty?”

 

He responded and I will never forget his response:  Lady, I thank you for bringing me home with you. I want no one to feel left out, let alone Mr. Bosscat.  I have been found on the streets, I was homeless for two months, and I have a scar on my right leg because I had to defend myself from gangsters and other haters. I am black, I am marginalized. Black cats are the first to be euthanized because no one wants to adopt us. They think we bring bad luck.   You are something special and I can see that you are a nice lady and your white guy is very nice.  He strokes me and asks how I am doing everytime Boss hisses at me.  Hey listen, I saw your son, where did you guys adopt him? Sorry,  I do get distracted.  Anyway, when you took me in, you gave me legal papers. I am no longer undocumented. I will never be homeless again. 

I would love to really be part of your world, to assimilate and learn the norms and culture in this home and learn your ways, speak your languages, and love you back.   I only hope Bosscat can learn to accept me.  I will keep on trying until he realizes that I mean no harm. I don’t want to take his job, his toys, his benefits, but I want to learn from him.  All I ask is that I am given a fair chance and I will prove that I am worthy of your love and acceptance.  For real, I will do the job that he does not like to do like killing the ants and the stink bugs. 

 

I was moved.  He spoke of sentiments that hits home.  Bosscat was staring.  Then Chenji  ran back to the upstairs landing, took Bosscat’s pink stuffed mouse and beat the crap out of it.  I understood.  He needed to vent out his frustration.

 

Upon the “death” of the pink catnip stuffed mouse, he pulled the other end of a  yarn string from me, put it in his mouth and proceeded to step backwards with his hind legs, an amazing talent that he must have learned from the stripper/acrobat. Then he took to his “pole” and started his pole dancing to Fleetwood Mac and President Bill Clinton’s campaign theme song,  “Don’t Stop Thinking about Tomorrow.”  I held him, “Chenji, no one will make you leave, kitty.  You are documented. We chose you and hey,  we are not in Arizona.”   You know this cat, I think he fits right in our home.