Squirt

Grandma caught a kitten. She set a live trap out in the backyard and snagged a darling, little, Siamese kitty. It was little and perfect, unlike the five other kittens we caught about a month ago.

We didn't use a trap to catch those, though--I caught them using agility, patience, sneaky huntress skills, and my bare hands. They lived under Grandpa's shed, and in order to catch them, I had to lure them out with kitty chow, wait, wait, wait, and wait some more, then at the prime moment, swoop down and grab them up. By the fifth kitten, I was a champion kitty catcher.

They were also Siamese-looking cats, but splotchier. Some had white paws or white spots on their noses. Despite their flawed Siamese-ness, we loved them, Grandma and I. Grandpa didn't, but he didn't really have a say in the matter, especially when Grandma wanted to keep them in the bathroom. She even made him give every single kitten a shot and put eye drops in their eyes. He must really love Grandma a lot, because I know he doesn't love cats.

Grandma and I built a house for the kittens out of a giant cardboard box that we found in some body's dumpster. It was perfect for them.

We named them: Jolene, Evelyn, Darby, Tracy Potts, and Bruce. Bruce had a stubby tail and fell asleep whenever anyone held him. Grandma named Tracy Potts after a newscaster on the TV. Darby was feisty. Evelyn was pretty. Jolene was shy.

We had fun letting them crawl all over us and fall asleep in our arms, but soon Grandma realized that she didn't like changing their litter box twice a day. She made a sign: "Free Siamese Kittens" and put it in front of the house by the road. Within the next couple of days Jolene, Bruce, and the whole gang had new homes, Grandma was relieved of kitty-poo duty, and Grandpa was just relieved.

Then a few weeks later she caught this kitten in the trap. It's a little bigger than the others and friendlier too. I guess it must be easier to take care of, because she hasn't posted any "free kitten" signs yet.

It's living in the bathroom.

My first encounter with the creature was this past Sunday. I decided I needed to make a little trip home for the weekend. When I walked into the big familiar house, my first instinct was to hit up the bathroom and relieve myself after the drive.

I walked down the dark hall toward the bathroom, and was surprised to find the door closed--the door is never closed unless the bathroom is occupied, which I knew it wasn't, because Grandma and Grandpa were both taking their after-lunch naps, and I was the only other person there. Cautiously, I inched the door open. I could feel some sense of resistance, as if the door was pushing a fallen towel along the ground. Then I saw a little tail curl around the bottom of the door, followed by a dainty paw stretching up in the air.

Squeezing through the small opening, I stepped inside and took in the site. Litter box right next to the tub, cat food in the corner beneath the towels, kitty bedding fluffed up beneath the sink, and napping on the floor in front of the door, a little, blue-eyed, Siamese kitten gazing up at me curiously.

"Well, hello there..." I chuckled, and anxiously headed off to the other end of the bathroom. The toilet was set back in a corner, hidden from view of the kitten, which I was grateful for. Taking care of my own personal business, I lightly hummed a tune to myself, when suddenly a low, grinding vibration pulsed through the air. I looked around, puzzled. What in the world is that?

The cat playfully poked its head around the corner, purring up a storm. "Go away kitty. Do you mind?" No, it didn't. Not in the slightest. It sauntered on over to where I sat on my throne of glory and began to rub up against my bare legs, weaving in and out and around. I just pretended that this was perfectly normal and not awkward in any way.

After I'd had enough friendliness, I reached down and gently shoved the cat away from my legs. Following the gentle shove was a distinct, nasty squirting noise, just like the sound that a ketchup bottle makes when it's almost out. Looking down, I saw an oozy, dark brown stream of goo trailing behind the kitty on the floor in front of me.

"Sick!"

The poor beast had a terrible case of uncontrollable diarrhea.

"I don't really want to clean that up..."

While I stood at the sink washing my hands, I noticed a scraper-looking tool on the counter--diarrhea scraper, I thought to myself.

Taking extreme care to watch where I stepped, I evacuated the bathroom. I glanced one last time, before shutting the door, at the beautiful cat with diarrhea. "See ya soon little buddy pal..." I said, knowing that I'd be sharing my bathroom-time with it for the next two days.

When Grandma and Grandpa woke up from their naps, I told Grandma, "Grandma... You've got a cat living in your bathroom."

"Yes, I know. Isn't she a beautiful cat?" Grandma glowed with pride. "We caught it in a cage out in the backyard."

Grandpa remained silent, sitting in his big green chair, calmly reading something.

"Grandma... it's got diarrhea."

"Yes, we're treating it."

"How are you treating it?"

"With medicine!" She smiled and glance over at Grandpa. I glanced too. Grandpa raised an eyebrow and gave me the "I'm a doctor--not a veterinarian" look. I laughed.

Later that night, thoughts of how Grandpa must really love Grandma kept going through my head, as I stood over the sink and brushed my teeth, whilst the cat with diarrhea, who lives in the bathroom, rubbed against my legs--purr, squirt, purr, squirt, purr... squirt.

How To Smash Garlic

Grandma taught me how to smash garlic. She wouldn't let me touch it, though, because she didn't want me to smell like garlic later that night when there was a possibility I might be around cute boys. Or, at least, she hoped I'd end up hanging with some cute, respectable, "datable" gentlemen. According to Grandma, I needed to date more. Okay, so maybe I hadn't been on a date for a few months... Alright, it could've been seven, or eight; I lost track. That didn't mean I didn't have an enjoyable social life. Grandma wasn't convinced.

"I like a couple guys in my ward, but they've never asked me for my number! What am I supposed to do?" I asked the wise old woman, as she bit into a piece of penne pasta, testing to see if it was al dante. It must not have been, because she shook her head and tossed what was left of the piece back into the pot of boiling water.

"Jessie, you have to flirt with them." She grabbed up the giant chopping knife and hacked away at a big walla walla onion.

"Grandma! I do flirt! All the time."

"Well, clearly you need to kick it up a notch." Onions, garlic, and a splash of olive oil all went into the frying pan. It sizzled and sputtered and filled the house with a tantalizing aroma.

"I don't know if I can flirt any harder!"

"Oh, I know you can."

I laughed. She was completely serious. "I'm just not sure if I'm ready to start dating again."

"Yes you are." She tested another piece of pasta--it passed. Into the pot went the broccoli. "When Loren comes home from his mission, he isn't going to be attracted to a girl that doesn't have any fun. You need to show up at his homecoming with a string of good-looking guys tagging along behind you. If he sees you going out on dates with all these other guys... Oh, Jessie, he's gonna want you so bad!" She drained the pasta and broccoli and added it to the onions and garlic. I finished setting the table, and Grandma opened the window above the sink and yelled out, "Grandpa!"

From somewhere in the backyard we heard a, "Yo!"

"Dinner will be ready as soon as you get in here. And if you don't hurry, we'll start eating without you!" Grandma slid the window closed. Thwunk!

When Grandpa walked in we were sitting at the table. He sat down, and Grandma said, "After the prayer you're going to get up and put the hot dogs in the microwave and get the mustard."

"The mustard?"

"Yes, the spicy kind and the sweeter kind, whatever it's called."

"Honey mustard"

"Yes! That one."

I said the blessing on the food. I must not have spoken up very loudly, because there was a long silent pause after I said, "Amen." But soon Grandpa realized I'd stopped praying and said Amen loud enough for Grandma to hear and say Amen too. We settled into our seats, excited to try Grandma's new pasta recipe.

"Don't forget the mustard, Duane." Grandma said as she poured him a glass of strawberry-orange-banana punch. He got up, walked over to the refrigerator, studied the vast assortment of mustard bottles on the door of the fridge, picked out two kinds, and set them on the table.

"Did you get the hot dogs in the microwave? Three minutes." Grandpa shuffled back into the kitchen to zap the wieners. Grandma turned to me and smiled, "I get to boss him around, because he knows that if he doesn't help out, then I'll stop feedin' him!" We both laughed; Grandpa winked at me.

While we sat, eating our hot dogs and pasta, Grandpa and I discussed different styles of writing. Amid our conversation, Grandma piped in, "Why are you whispering?"

Grandpa and I gave each other a look, then he said, "Turn up your hearing-aid, Dear." She did.

"I called my Medical School back today." Grandpa announced.

"You did? When did you do that?" Asked Grandma.

"I did it when you were gone, so you wouldn't tell me what to say."

"Oh, of course you did."

"They asked me to be in charge of the 50-year reunion celebration."

"Oh, of course they did."

Then he went on to describe what they wanted him to do, and his past experiences with similar assignments. Grandma looked across the table at me and said, "He just loves doing things like this. But it's so hard to go to these reunions and see all these old people show up!"

Grandpa chortled, "Yeah! All these old geezers... limping in!"

"With white hair!" Grandma exclaimed. They both burst into laughter.

"And canes! Just limping."

"All bent over and overweight."

"Limping on in!" Grandpa wheezed.

Grandma sighed and said, "You can hardly recognize people. If you stare at them long enough, though, you start to see somebody familiar behind those old, wrinkled faces."

They smiled at each other, and laughed. I laughed too. Then Grandma said, "You know, when we die and they go through this house, they're going to say, these people were crazy! They'll go through my stuff and say, what was she thinking? She must have been crazy. Then they'll go through your stuff, Dear, and they'll say, what in the world was he thinking?! They both must have been crazy."

Grandpa winked at me.

Grandma reached into her ear and adjusted her hearing-aid.

I contentedly leaned back in my chair.

Just another evening at home with the geezers.