Hating Meeces to Pieces

"Why does she just stare at it, why doesn't she kill it?" asked Mr. Ginley for the umpteenth time.

I explained once again that our cat is not a mouser or a bug killer. She will stare in the general direction of where her "prey" is located, like a lab technician stares at germs in a microscope. Never really engaging in the whole activity, just observing. She'll look at you, look at the prey, look back at you. Like she's done her job, and it's up to you to dispatch the offending critter.

So off I went to the store to acquire a mouse trap. On my first trip, I had a choice of two types. One was the traditional version you see in old cartoons. A little too graphic for me. The second, which I chose, was semi-covered. I went with that one.

I went home and set it up behind the stove, where the last-known sighting had occurred. Later in the evening, as we sat watching television, I heard a snap.

"What was that?" Mr. Ginley inquired.

And just like that, Mr. (or Mrs.) Mouse was dispatched to the great beyond. 

Unfortunately, given that the trap was somewhat exposed, I was witness to a pair of beady eyes, suspended in the throes of sudden death, that will haunt me for quite some time.

The mate to the now-deceased vermin turned up at 1:30 a.m. in a garbage can. Mr. was able to take care of him/her without using a device. But the next day, I went to a different store to look for a new set of traps.

This time, I found a model that's completely closed. So if any of these critters show up and take the peanut butter bait, I won't have to look into its accusing eyeballs. 

I'm knocking wood...so far, no more bodies. Given it had been several years between sightings, I hope we don't have to deal with this problem again for another 10 years or so (if ever). 

Critters are free to roam outside. But if they come in my house, all bets are off.

I'm a stone cold (rodent) killer. 

As long as I can't see their eyes.

Day Break

Every morning I wake up and go over everything I need to do that day.

What articles am I going to write? Do I have any appointments to keep? Any errands to run? Bills to pay?

All this consumes my waking moments until Maggie Cat starts banging her head against mine, and I drag my sorry ass out of bed to start the day.

This morning, I got up and fed Maggie. Passing the windows to the backyard, I heard the crickets still at it, and Mr. and Mrs. Cardinal chirping back and forth to one another. I  went back to bed and snoozed a little more, then I rolled over and looked out the window. It was Saturday-morning quiet. A little bit of traffic noise and a choo choo. But mostly just birds. 

And a glorious sky.

I lay on my side for some time and watched the clouds shift and crawl across the heavens, the sun winking in and out like a child's peek-a-boo. Instead of reviewing my itinerary, I watched the specs that were birds soaring up and about, and I wondered what it would be like to fly. 

And wouldn't it be so cool to take a train someplace today. Where would I go? Whom would I see?

There are times when I miss having cable television and Netflix. 

And then there are mornings like this, when Mother N. provides all the entertainment I need.

Plumb Amazing

She was the perfect foil for the saccharine-sweet Shirley Temple. Franklin Roosevelt admired her ability to mimic him. And she sold a lot of cleanser. 

Jane Withers, a child star whose career took some interesting twists and turns, passed on this week at the age of 95.

Pushed by her mother, a wannabe actress, Jane Withers began in vaudeville at the age of 2. By the time she reached the age of 4, she was starring in her own radio show called Dixie's Dainty Dewdrop. Her specialty was imitating celebrities and other famous people. 

At 6 1/2, Withers headed to Hollywood, where she started applying for the roles that would make Shirley Temple a star. Temple, with her buttery curls and icky-wicky sweetness, was the soothing balm to a country dealing with the Great Depression. It turned out that Withers was the perfect salty to Temple's sweet. 

The two came together in Bright Eyes, with Temple playing the poor little orphan to Withers' bratty rich girl, a character that must have been a hoot to perform. Eight-year-old Withers bangs on the piano, chases Temple on her tricycle, makes rat-a-tat machine gun noises and tears a doll apart so Temple can't have it.

Withers appeared in several films during the remainder of her childhood, including one with W.C. Fields. Playing out a 7-year contract with Twentieth Century Fox, Withers gradually eased away from her bratty persona, acting in films, doing hilarious impressions and performing song-and-dance routines throughout the 1930s. 

There were bit parts and voiceovers. A leading role in a low-budget flick. And a hiatus during which she had three children and focused on family. One marriage ended, another began, and Jane returned to the screen with a role in the blockbuster film Giant. Other films followed, but it was TV that saved Withers' career.

From 1963 to 1974, Withers was the spokesperson for Comet cleanser. As Josephine the Plumber, she played a friendly, down-to-earth character who demonstrated the power of Comet to clean stubborn stains. Some have said she was the precursor for Progressive Insurance's "Flo."

Withers made appearances in a number of lightweight TV sitcoms in the 1960s and 1970s, and she took on voiceover work for Disney. Occasionally, she did interviews and appearances at conventions. 

Withers' second husband, with whom she had two children, was killed in a plane crash in 1968. She married again in 1985. Her third husband passed away in 2013.

Outside her acting career, Jane Withers took part in charitable work and animal rescue activities. She taught Sunday school. And Withers collected a ton of movie memorabilia, including a pair of Fred Astaire's (autographed) dancing shoes and a dining table owned by Mary Pickford.

Withers' daughter summed it up nicely: 

"My mother was such a special lady. She lit up a room with her laughter, but she especially radiated joy and thankfulness when talking about the career she so loved and how lucky she was."

Benchmarks and Bookends

My mom was the same age when I was born as I was when my son was born.

This fact has given me pause from time to time, as I consider where my mom and I were in relation to where my son and I are now.

At my current age, my mom was working at Hill's department store part-time and my dad was nearing retirement. I had just moved to Alexandria, Virginia, having accepted a job at Kay Jewelers, which had bought out J.B. Robinson. Mr. Ginley followed me there later in the year after his stint at JBR came to an end. 

Flashing forward to the present, my son started his dream job at about the same age as when I was moving to Virginia. 

All of this is apropos of nothing, I supposed. It's just that we always think of our parents as being older than we are. It never feels like we're going to catch up with them. But here I am, facing the same challenges they did at this stage of the game.

I heard the Simon & Garfunkel song, Old Friends the other day. And the words struck me, Can you imagine us years from today, sharing a park bench quietly, how terribly strange to be seventy.

Simon & Garfunkel are seventy-nine.

Well, time flies and there you are. I guess the moral of the story is, don't squander your time. It's so cliché but it really does fly. 

I confess I didn't cut the hedges this week. Instead, I went to a cruise-in where I bopped to old music, chomped a cheeseburger, savored some ice cream and admired vintage automobiles, which are pure art, as far as I'm concerned. Today, I went to Lakewood Arts Festival and strolled among throngs of other art fans looking to enjoy an event that didn't happen last year because of you-know-what. Not exactly setting the world on fire, I grant you that.

Still, I'm not quite ready to sit on a park bench, lost in my overcoat, waiting for the sunset.

There's time enough yet for that, I think.

(Old Friends, lyrics by Paul Simon)