If never I met you...

As strange as this is going to sound, in many ways our little fat cat, Suki, had a hand (or should I say paw) in creating what I call Team Tinsley. My family. But before we get there, picture if you will a scrawny little kitten sitting on the 2nd floor landing of an apartment buidling in Norman, Oklahoma.

You see, best as I can remember, Suki came into my life in the Summer of 1988. Mom and Dad having left my home town of Sand Springs, I was living for the first time, full time in Norman, Oklahoma where I was attending the University. My girlfriend at the time had a pretty, fluffy, white and orange cat named Ashli. Ashli (who later became my cat) liked to hang out at the window that faced the 2nd floor stoop of this apartment. Suki, who I'd guess to be 4 or 5 months old at the time, liked to come and visit Ashli at the window. She'd walk around and do what I've always called talk. Meow. That cat meowed more than any cat I've ever met. I'd talk to her as I came and went from the apartment. She'd talk back, and follow me down the stairs if I was leaving, or come down them to greet me upon my return. She seemed to like me. Being an animal lover, I liked her. I considered us friends, but felt since she had a collar, she belonged to someone in the complex. A few weeks later, noticing that she was becoming sickly (she would meow, but nothing would come out, just an open mouth, like someone had hit the mute button) and that her collar was dangerously tight, I came to the conclusion that she had been abandoned by some piece of shit college student who got a kitten in the spring and then when summer came, well they split and left her. Then again, they might have got tired of her incessant talking and dumped her. Regardless, she was on her own, and sick. I had to do something for this little cat that had attached herself to me.

So, in an act that shows just how soft hearted I am when it comes to animals, I paid (I'm cheap and don't like to part with money) for Suki to go to the vet to get well, and boarded her for an entire week, since I was going to visit my folks in El Paso. Upon my return I had every intention of giving Suki away to a good home. Only problem with that, no one wanted her. Admittedly, Suki was an ugly duckling kitten. Plus she talked all the time. Two traits most people don't want in their cat I guess. People would come over to the apartment and see Suki, then see Ashli, and well they wanted Ashli, not Suki. More than one person said, "I don't want that cat (pointing at Suki who would be talking to them), but I'll take that pretty fluffy one (pointed to Ashli who could care less about this visitor.) This went on for about a week or so, until I couldn't take it any longer and decided Suki (I got the name from Michelle Pfeiffer's character in the Witches of Eastwick) was going to be my cat. Thinking back on it, I believe Suki knew from the get go that I was her master. I just took me awhile to realize that she was going to be my cat. Maybe no one else wanted her, but, I did.

Suki got that. At some instinctual level, she realized no one else wanted her, and that I took her in, took care of her. Then again, maybe I just fed her, and she liked that (Suki always liked to eat.) Regardless, our relationship went beyond the typical animal/owner bond. I'm not sure if Suki thought I was her mother, or dad, hell maybe boyfriend. All I know is that she loved me real hard. She was crazy for me, and I was crazy for Suk.

In fact, so much so that Suki served as a litmus test for women in my life. If Suki didn't like them, well, I figured something was wrong. I can still see Suki, in my minds eye, approaching the sofa where I sat with a date. She'd of course, talk the whole way to the sofa, hop up, and wedge herself between me and the date. Then she'd lay on her side, and push her legs toward said date, trying to literally push them away from me. She'd then cock her head, look at me and start talking. I'm sure in cat she was telling me all the reasons I needed to get away from this particular women. Why they were no good for me.

Then one fine day, something magical happened. I met the woman who would one day become my Lovely Bride, and when she eventually had the pleasure of coming to my pad, Suki didn't do her go to move, and try to keep her away from me. In fact, Suki liked Carter from the get go which didn't go unnoticed by me. I took the paw up as a symbol that this lady had something special. That this might be the one. You know what. She was. Ob-La-De, Ob-La-Da, Life goes on. Carter and I got married. We had Boy(s).

Suki was there for all of it. In fact, I was quite concerned when Carter was pregnant with Ethan that Suki was going to freak out when we had the baby. I imagined her in the crib trying to smother the infant. Or probably more realistic, going on a pee and poop rampage in the house.

Suki did none of that. From the get go, she was accepting of the Boy(s). Since the early days, Ethan has been all over her. Cat wrestling is what I called it. Wy too, loved to lay all over her, liking the way her fur felt against his face. Suki graciously put up with all of this, never once hurting one of the Boy(s) even though at times they hurt her by accident.

For the past month I've had what can only be described as a sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. I'm uptight and superstitious. I know that. I kept trying to tell myself to shake it off, that it was in my head. Let go. Easier said than done for me. That is what makes Monday, June 27th all the more strange. I woke up around 5am so I could watch the last Alias on a DVD. To be honest, I didn't noticed, which is unusual, that Suki wasn't at the door talking to get in from our backyard. Normally she will stand at the door and talk for over an hour, until everyone is up, and then we let her in (otherwise she would wake up the entire house.) I'm normally quite annoyed by her early morning talking which usually starts as soon as I turn on the kitchen light. But, all was quiet on this morning. As I got up to get a refill on my coffee and to put the DVD in the mail back to Netflix, I was struck with that feeling of dread. I was trying to shake it off as I opened our front door and saw, what was once Suki on our front lawn. No more than 7 steps from my front door. It was horrible. Gruesome. Helter Skelter bad. So much so that we called both the police and animal services because we feared it might be some sicko freak who did it to our cat. It was that bad. They both said it looked like a Coyote kill. I won't go into the details just that I'm thankful that Ethan didn't see it. It was hard enough telling him that Suki died, but to tell him what actually happened, and to see the results for himself, well, how would a 3 1/2 year old Boy understand that. I'm nearly 38, and I'm having trouble undestanding it.

The fact that it went down on what I thought was my safe little neighborhood, on my front yard, has shaken me. We often play in the front yard. Run around. The thought that Suki was brutally killed on that yard, drug and torn apart where we've all run around as a family is eating me up in ways I didn't think were possible.

I've had that damn cat for 17 years. She has been with me all the way back to my college days. She was with me (talking the entire trip I might add) when I made the big move to Dallas. She was with me when I broke up with a long time girlfriend. She was with me when I met Carter. When I got married. When we had the Boy(s). Countless apartments, and a few homes. Suki was with me. When I was sick or sad. When I was happy. Suki was with me. She is so interwoven into the fabric of my life, that I'm having an extremely hard time with the reality that I will never hear her talk again. That I will never see her sweet little face again. That I didn't have the chance to say good-bye, and to pet her one last time. That not only did she die, but she died in a cruel and savage manner. I only hope that it happened quick. I'll never know of course, and that is one of the things that wakes me up laste at night, her last moments. Laying in bed, in the dark, my heart aches for my cat. So much so that I have to get up and move around. I end up walking around the house in the dark. Checking in on the Boy(s) in their golden slumber. I look outside to our front yard, and, remember the horror of what I saw on Monday morning.

Things often come full circle...In Suki's later years, she spent a lot of her time out in our backyard. She had a spot, more of a wallow really, near the garage, where she would hang out, lay her head on a railroad tie. She was almost always in this spot, when I came home from work. She would greet me, talking the entire time, and follow me to the door, just like so long ago in Norman. When I came home on Tuesday, some part of me expected to see her in her usual spot. To be able to reach down and half way pick her up by her tail (which sounds mean, but she liked it when I did it to her.) To say, Hello Suk, how are you doing. To give her a few pats. For her to talk back. Her spot was still there. But no Suki. Instead of saying Hello and picking her up, I cried. I still cry for my cat. I lover her. I hurt. Bad.

I've heard it said, that when you die and go to heaven all the dogs and cats you've ever had in your life come running to meet you. Considering my shaky history with organized religion I'm not sure where I stand on that..but thinking about Suki, how I feel about her, and how her life was ended, sweet mother of all that is good, I pray that if I'm worthy of heaven, she does greet me me at the stairs, talking the entire way to the door or gate. She deserved a better death. She was a good cat. She was my cat. I miss her.

Until I BLOG again...Suki had her own theme song. Because of her talking, I made this song up, and would sing it to her, and she would sing it with me. So, one last time with meaning...

There once was a cat named Suki
And everyone thought she was kooky...but me, BUT ME!
People would come from miles...to see Suki smile
And dance...and Sing!!!! (at which point Suki would start talking on cue...)

F (bomb) me. I need a hug.

Like Henry Dad!

If you’ll pardon a bad analogy, Henry and his trusty companion Teddy serve as our sherpas on the trek up the Mount Everest that is potty training.

Henry is the protagonist in our go to propaganda tome on potty training, aptly titled The Potty Training Book (for Boys). I find the for Boys distinction funny, even though I dig the fact that it is required, since girl do it differently. Number 1 at least.

The Elder Boy is very close to being potty trained, whether he likes it or not. Regular readers of this here BLOG are well aware of my feelings on the infernal diaper . I for one can’t wait for Ethan to be potty trained. My Lovely Bride being a stay-at-home Mom changes far more diapers than me. I'd go so far as to classify it as a shitload of diapers on a daily basis, thus she is certainly ready to jettison #5 diapers in Casa Tinsley. For those playing along at home, #5 is the Elder Boy’s diaper size. The Little Warrior recently graduated to #4.

My Lovely Bride is so ready in fact, that she has declared that the current stash of #5’s is the last we’ll purchase at Sam’s for the Elder Boy. When they are done, we're done. I love my wife for many reasons, one of which is her ability to draw a line in the sand in regard to making a big decision. She last employed this strategy with Dog-Dog, another major change we kept procrastinating. Same deal with Ethan and potty training. We haven't been adamant enough about it even though he is ready. He can actually urinate quite well on his own. Poop is the hard one. But, he's done it (in the toilet) before. At any rate, Ready, Steady, GO!

Unlike Henry, I’m not the best role model for potty protocol. You see, like Dog-Dog, I urinate in the backyard. Truth be told as much as I urinate indoors. It is a curious habit of mine. Could I be a closet tree hugger on a quest to save water? Perhaps I’m just cheap and I want to save on my water bill? Or could it be that I’m lazy and would rather walk the few steps from the den out our back door (we have a privacy fence by the way) versus walking all the way to the back of the house? Whatever the reason, I pee outside all the time, all over the yard.

I tell you all that, for this.

A few weeks in the rearview, the Elder Boy is running amok in the den sans pants. This is part of our potty training strategy. We strip him from the waist down so he is aware of his pee pee and poo poo areas. That way if he has to pee and does, well it gets all over him and the floor. Then next time, he’ll think, Hey, I got to pee, I better stop what I’m doing and take care of business.

My Lovely Bride, being uptight in regard to the condition of our floors and not wanting to create more work, always tells the Boy to remember that he’s not wearing a diaper. If he needs to pee or poop, let her know, or take care of business. Although not uptight about the floors, I’m all for not causing myself more work, so I do the same thing with one exception. I tell him he can also go out back to take care of business, like me.

So, on a fine Saturday at Casa Tinsley, me on my Throne of impotence while Ethan and Wyatt played and watched Hi-5. The Elder Boy (who was sans pants) got an urgent look on his face, and quickly hopped off the coffee table (both Boy(s) can often be found on top of our coffee table) and opened the back door. He then took two steps, just enough to position him at the edge of our one and only back step, and proceeded to urinate. Right smack dab in the middle of the patio. Right in a spot that you’d have to walk through if you were going to enter our house from the back, which is the way we gain access to Casa Tinsley 99% of the time.

When he was done (sans a shake I might add for those playing along at home with a penis,) he came hopping back into the house quite pleased with himself and climbed back onto the coffee table to watch Hi-5.

Counting to 5, as they suggest, I gathered my wits and asked, “Ethan, did you just pee on the patio?”

He gave me a sheepish grin that suggested, of course, didn’t I do good.

Counting to 5 again, I fought the impulse to react negatively. He did take care of his business. He could have urinated all over the coffee table, which would have been far worse than the patio. The more I thought about it, How could I be mad? If anyone was to blame, it was me. I figured he knew what I meant by go out back. That whole Ass/u/me thing. He was doing what he thought I did. To be clear, I don’t urinate on the patio. I always make it to the yard. But still, Ethan did what I told him to do, and was quite pleased with himself in doing it. Good job Ethan.

On further thought, I better explain to the Boy that Daddy only does Number 1 in the backyard. Last thing I need is him taking a shit on the back step.

Until I BLOG again…

"Escalators aren't scary."

I talk fast. Mumble at times. My diction sucks. That was the only explanation why the Elder Boy, with the straightest of face, was telling me that "escalators aren't scary."

Trying hard to keep a straight face myself, I told ET, "alien invaders...not escalators."

He shook his head, batted his freakishly long eyelashes (he gets those from me by the way,) and said, as if talking to a whack job, "Dad, alien escavaders aren't scary." As if I needed some reassurance, he added, "It's OK Dad." Placated by a three year old. Welcome to my world.

You see Dear Reader, Ethan and I were embroiled in a late night (by his night night standards, it was only 8:20pm) power struggle for the Team Tinsley TV. He wanted to watch Scooby Doo and the Alien Invaders. I did not. Thankfully this was a struggle between Dad and Lad. Not Lads. If the Little Warrior had been involved (he was already night night) I would have truly been up shit creek without the proverbial paddle. He is a true warrior. Being just me and E, I thought I could possible dissuade him to watch something else. Reason with the Boy. I decided to hit him with a true and lengthy tangent on his original point.

"Daddy (I'm not sure why I speak of myself in the third person when I address the Boy(s) but I always do) lived with a guy from Cali, Colombia named Juan Carlos Munoz who was scared of escalators. He lived with Daddy and Granny and Pops in Oklahoma when Daddy was in high school. Daddy was a Sandite. Juan was terrified of escalators. I'm not sure why, but they freaked him out. Juan was in AFS. That's why he lived with Daddy..."

The Boy wasn't buying any of it.

"DAD. Aliens aren't scary. They're funny." To show how funny Ethan erupted into a crazy and loud laugh. I feared he would wake the Little Warrior from his golden slumbers. That would not be good. On further thought perhaps that was Ethan's intention. Shrewd move. Ethan Son was proving a lot wilier than I had anticipated. I decided to change my tack.

"Son, Daddy isn't sure you should watch a spooky movie so close to night night time. I don't want you to have nightmares."

Oh. Bad Daddy. BAD! I'm going to lose my Father of the Year status for that one. You see, Dear Reader, as far as I know, the Elder Boy has yet to have a bad dream based on something that he watched on TV. Thus, my argument was total bullshit, sadly selfish, and all because I did not want to watch Scooby Doo and the Alien Invaders again. In my defense, I'd already watched this title, 20 plus times in less than three weeks. You try watching Scooby Doo 20 plus times in less than three weeks. It isn't pretty.

"Dad. Scooby Doo isn't spooky. It's funny." Thankfully with no laugh, but with a definite whine in his voice that could be a harbinger of a meltdown. "I want to watch Scooy Doo." Brief pause as he remembers he should be polite. "Please."

At this point, I'm coming to the realization that I'm going to cave. I placate myself with the thought that it is for the greater good. That pick your battles thing. I simply didn't have the stamina to fight for something as silly as watching Scooby Doo. Plus, I knew there would be a good chance for Ethan to pitch a shit fit if he didn't get to watch Scooby. That would be no es bueno. He would wake up the Little Warrior. The Little Warrior would not be happy. He'd be screaming. Ethan would be screaming. I'd be pulling my hair out, trying to simultaneously calm them both down enough to go to night night while my Lovely Bride was off at Booze (code name for Book ) Club deconstructing Valley of the Dolls or some such.

Still, I figured one more attempt. Perhaps a filibuster was in order. I could simply run the clock to E's night night time.

"Juan came to America from Colombia. That's in South America. Which way is South?" Brilliant move on my part, a question might just do the trick...Wrong. The Boy simply pointed South, which is impressive considering he's three, but even more impressive, he cut me off again and said. "Dad, I want to watch Scooby Doo and the Alien Escavaders, PLEASE!!!!"

I gave up. Threw in the towel. Punched the buttons on the DVR that got him to Scooby Doo and the Alien Invaders and promptly spaced out, wondering how in the hell I lost control of my TV. I'd been reduced to a remote control jockey for two young Boy(s). The irony. You see, that was my biggest pet peeve pre-breeder. I was amazed that people let their kids control what they watched on TV. I cringed at the thought of non-stop cartoons. Kid friendly movies. I told myself, that won't be me. Looking back, I was simply clueless. Full of crap. If the Stu of then, could see the Stu of now, hunkered down on his throne of impotence (my recliner), he'd laugh. Hard.

"Rewind please. DAD?!? Please rewind."

Considering we were less than a minute into the movie I deduced that Ethan wanted me to fast forward (in Ethanese rewind and fast forward are interchangeable) to the "How Groovy" song sequence. This segment is the Boy(s) favorite part of Scooby Doo and the Alien Invaders (from here on out known as: SDATAI.) They love it. Shaggy and Scooby have love interests in this outing which has everyones favorite meddlesome kids in the American Southwest. Shaggy and Scooby (stoned no doubt if you buy into the counter culture conspiracy theory) crash into a large cactus. Thus, they are stuck in some small town awaiting repair on the Mystery Van. Soon, the Gang hear of all this strange stuff happening in the surrounding area, which is supposedly caused by aliens. Meanwhile, the Gang meet some Government employees who are monitoring for extraterrestrial (sort of like in the movie Contact, if you dig that reference) intelligence in deep space. Fast forward a bit, and Scooby and Shaggy get abducted by the aliens. Hilarity ensues during a chase sequence on the alien ship. They eventually get caught and it appears they are going to be probed! At that part, they black out and the next thing you know they are in the desert waking up, pants around their ankles. Kidding. Scooby doesn't wear pants. Kidding x2. Actually they are approached by a girl and her dog. Crystal and Amber. Shaggy and Scooby are smitten. A match made in heaven, since the girl is a hippy chick in bell bottoms, and well, the girl has a bitch (literally) for Scooby. I've seen a lot of Scooby in my day, and well this has to be the first time Scooby has had a love interest. After a lovely day in the desert with the girls, Shaggy and Scooby meet up with the gang at the local diner. Instead of devouring everything in their sight, Shag and Scoob tell the Gang that they aren't hungry!!! So in love. So much so that Shaggy has this psychedelic daydream that turns into him singing "How Groovy." This is what Ethan wanted to watch, so I rewind to the start of it.

"Thanks Dad."

There is a very strange segue into the "How Groovy" song sequence. Very trippy. Shaggy is sort of daydreaming as the Flo like waitress sashays off from their booth. As Shaggy is watching her hips go from side to side, Flo morphs into Crystal sashaying off into the desert, but she quickly morphs into a tie dyed silhouette which is the intro to what is basically a whimsical music video of Shaggy singing "How Groovy," a song that is all about his love for Crystal.

Man, oh man. How is that I always let the Boy(s) hijack the TV? I literally have to get up at the crick of the crack (as in early) to watch what I want to watch. Just sad. You'd think I'd at least be able to watch what I wanted around the Little Warrior who is still pretty young. Wrong. The Little Warrior is a fearsome adversary. Uable to fully verbalize what he wants to view, and with a temper that is scary, he wants to watch what he wants to watch, now. If he's not quite sure what he wants to watch, by golly, you'd better know or there will be hell to pay.

His go to move is to run up to the TV, grab a DVD case, hold it up, turn and look at me in the recliner and start babbling. I mean babbling babbling. He can babble for over a minute. If he has the infernal Plug (read: pacificer) in his mouth, he'll pull it out so he can babble more clearly. He then will start shaking the DVD case to stress whatever point he is trying to make. Then he turns around and thrusts the DVD case at the TV (never once stopping the babbling,) then he turns and thrusts the case at me. Repeat as many times as needed to get me off my behind to put on the DVD of his choice. As soon as I get up and he realizes he's going to get his way, he goes into a victory ritual that is worth the price of caving. He gets a big goofy smile on his face, and starts making this funny Ah Ah Ah Ah Ah Ah Ah sound. Sounds like what I would think a jungle monkey would sound like. Sometimes, if he's really torqued, he does a victory dance as he does the Ah Ah Ah Ah Ah Ah Ah. We're really in trouble when he some how commandeers the remote. He does the same thing he does with the DVD case, only pushing buttons. He often ends up cranking the volume so high I fear the TV speakers will explode. Worse yet, is when he grabs a DVD that he actually doesn't really enjoy that much - remember he can't read - does his victory, you're putting it on dance, only to realize that its not Shrek 2 or Teletubbies (two of his favorites.) This infuriates him. He'll charge the TV and smack it. Or hurl the DVD case at the TV or ground. If he has the remote, well, he throws it, the back busts open on the tile floor (which we recently had redone - wonder why?) Batteries go flying (actually, I finally got wise and taped the cover down so this won't happen again.) Trust me, its easier to watch Shrek 2 for the 100th time.

Ethan is a bit more diplomatic in his quest to gain control. His go to move is to ask, "Daddy, is this an adult movie." This always makes me smile. In my sicko head, Adult movie is synonymous with porn. I certainly wouldn't be Father of the Year material if I was watching an adult movie in front of my 3 year old thus I simply reply, "Yes, Son. This is an adult movie." My smile soon fades though. Ethan quickly informs me that, "I want to watch something else." I usually ignore him. Hoping he'll lose interest, move on, do something else. Go read a book perhaps. Color. Play. Sometimes this works. Most of the time, he'll just keep after me, "Watch something else. Watch something else, please, Watch something else. Watch something else, please." On and on and on. If he's high on sugar or tired, he might fade into the whine and soon loses it. The older he gets the less he does this, mainly he just keeps on and on and on, until I give in, and let him watch something else.

"Scooby is funny Daddy."

Still in the "How Groovy" dream sequence, and for some odd reason, Scooby is on a pogo stick hopping around a whale? Don't ask me? Scooby isn't the Scooby of my youth. I remember when the monsters, we're just bad guys dressed up as monsters. Trying to steal a treasure or some such. Now, they are really monster monsters. In SDATAI it turns out the Government employees are the bad guys. They discovered gold in some old mine. They dress up as the aliens and abduct people to scare them away from the truth. However, in what is a pretty good twist for a Scooby Doo flick, there are REAL aliens. Crystal and Amber. Yes, Shaggy's hippy chick and her bitch, Amber are in fact, intergalactic cops. They are the good guys. Help the Gang defeat the faux alien bad guys, one of which is voiced by Mark Hamil.

About this time, getting very close to night night time for ET, he decides to come over and sit with me in our recliner. Sitting next to him as he watches Shaggy and Scooby save the day, I'm reminded of why I did lose control of the TV. Why I've been reduced to a remote control jockey. For these little moments. Side by side with one of the Boy(s), doing what they want to do. It is priceless, and watching a Scooby marathon is a small price to pay to be able to sit so closely with them. I'd watch damn near anything for the privilege. Well, except for Hi-5.

Until I BLOG again...Ah Ah Ah Ah!!!

Home Alone

Kevin McCallister. That was me. Not in the defending Casa Tinsley from hooligans sense. As in the Home Alone, by my lonesome sense.

We had the tile floors in our den and kitchen redone (they look great for those playing along at home.) This required the Team (sans me) to split on down to Houston Town to visit with Granny and Pops. Thus, it was just me and Suki (the Cat) for three nights.

Three nights probably don't seem all that long to you. But dig this. I've only been alone in the house twice since Ethan was born. January 17, 2002. Two nights. One of which was the night of the day he was born. The other was in May 2003 when we had some painting done and the fumes stunk up the joint. Carter was knocked up with the Little Warrior then. That's how far in the rearview we're talking.

As you can imagine, I was somewhat excited about the prospect of being Home Alone after such a long time. Imagine...watching whatever I wanted to watch on TV (without having to get up at 5am to do so.) Not having to do bath duty for a few days. Night Night rituals. Just me (and the Cat.) Sounded down right appealing...or so I thought.

Wrong.

I realize now why they say that older Men die soon after they lose their spouse, whereas a women who loses her man can keep on going. Left to my own devices I ate three meals in three days (sadder yet, it was the same thing from the same place each of the three days.) I worked 12 hour days. Came home, drank a beer or two, slept, did it again. Probably the most exciting thing I did was forgo our bed and sleep on the sofa each night.

People, I learned that the grass is most certainly NOT greener on the other side. For me at least. I also relearned a valuable lesson. That my family, that the Team, is quite simply my life. My everything. Sure, it is crazy at times. Stressful too. I need to always remember to embrace that, because without it, I'm sleeping on the sofa with an overweight Cat and quickly becoming Rice Cafe's number one customer.

Until I BLOG again...