Walking with the little dude

The last time I went walk-about I met The Turk and coffee "that will kill you." Kind of a twist on the Hollywood Black Dahlia murder mystery, "maybe she stopped in there, chugged two spoon melters and..." -- see how you can spin out of control when all you got to play with is a keyboard? 

DISSOLVE TO TANGENT

I don't have normal TV when I'm staying -- but I do have Cozi TV, PBS 2 and 3 (if you subtract the former from the latter, maybe you get PBS 1, but I can't find it) and Jesus channels in Korean, Hmong (not be confused with Moang), Chinese, several flavors of Spanish, the usual assortment of old white Southern guys.

BACK TO SCENE

So I'm walking down the street when I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to see a little dude sitting on my shoulder.  He's sitting too close and I need readers anyway and am pretty sure he's not a book, so I wait him out.

LITTLE DUDE

When was the last time you ate something?

ME

You mean today, or since I been here?

LITTLE DUDE

That's what I thought.

(points)

You know that curb you stumbled over back there?

ME

(defensively)

I barely caught the top of it.

LITTLE DUDE

Right. But there ain't no curb back there.

ME

Oh. So what you're say--

LITTLE DUDE

How much protein do you think is in those 

five cups of coffee you had?

ME

You mean today, or since I been here?

LITTLE DUDE

It depends on how dirty the spoon is.

Go to the next restaurant you find and order

a meat milkshake or a blended tuna, whatever.

But do it before someone is checking to see if

your new medicare card works.

The big sign on the front said "Chili Beans' -- big white plastic background, a red chili pepper between Chili and Beans.  LITTLE DUDE got class, steered me right to the bowl.  I make an immediate left and walk right by the sandwich board that said, "HAPPY HOUR 4 to 6 PM DAILY." Also in big letters.  Chalk.  Multiple colors which match the color scheme of the bar next door. LITTLE DUDE also has a sense of humor.

I walk in to

CHILIBEANS

and it's like I'm on the set from Man From Uncle -- where the front is a tailor shop and the back is where they hide the chili, peppers and beans.  So I'm looking around and all they got is sunglasses, here.  Not like just a few for those opportunists who walked in for lunch when it was raining and are walking out into the Bight Golden Oracle in the sky.  I walk 

BACK OUTSIDE 

and read the sign over the door I just walked in.  Still says, "Chili Beans" with A red chili separating the chili from the beans, as God intended.  I'm not dizzy, the grounds not moving more than normal and everyone looks normal.  For L.A.

BACK INSIDE

ME

(to salesperson)

Excuse me... but the sign outside -- the big one over your 

door that says "Chili Beans" with a red chili separating 

the chili from the beans?  Did they move or something?

STARGLOW

Oh, yeah... that. We get a lot of people coming in 

thinking we're a restaurant. Especially around lunch or dinner.

ME

(still grasping the concept)

And... ?

STARGLOW

And we're not. Like we're so not. We sell sunglasses, 

just like the Sunglass Hut at the corner of the block.

ME

The Sunglass Hut is 4 shops down from you?

STARGLOW

Well, DUH!  Why do you think we named ours "ChiliBeans"?

BACK OUTSIDE

Next up was BURGER LOUNGE with a tag under it in green that promised, "grass fed." Now I want you to close your eyes and conjure up what could possibly be in a burger lounge.  Cows kicked back getting a pedi.  HUGE massage table in the middle where four Japanese guys wearing karate gis with "Kobi Massage" embroidered on the back, beat hell out of some steer on the table, his legs sticking out the bottom through comfort holes.  

And I'll eat the occasional salad, but not if you have the temerity to confess it's just grass. Pass. Hard stop. Full speed ahead, past the Sunglass Hut without even a glance and into the distance where another sandwich board signals food.

ON THE SIDEWALK

Years ago I was contemplating a business decision and had worked out every angle I could think of, had exhausted Ann with endless "what if" questions and finally came to the conclusion I needed legal advice. Preferably free legal advice from an expert criminal defense attorney. No, I don't sleep much and why do you ask?

I tell my childhood friend, Ty Settles, the whole deal.  All the known ins and outs, some of the "what ifs," the worst and best case scenarios I can think of.  I mean, he's got all kinds of clients, he's seen it all, he can be my guide through the Fire Swamp, right?

He listens like Yoda. Then carefully issues forth,

TY

(serious advisor voice)

You've done everything you can do. You've done all the 

due diligence, the business model, forecasting... everything. 

There's only one thing left you can do.

ME

(finally THE answer)

Yeah.  So what's left to do?

TY

Slowly approach the abyss,

grab your nuts and jump.

Yoda might have said, "nuts jump, abyss you grab" but the reason this is relevant is because the sign outside the restaurant said, "Sushi and Snake."  Ty and Yoda can kiss my abyss.  This isn't a take off on "Moose and Squirrel." Something bad is happening in there or will if I go in and meet the Turk again.

LATER

ANGIE

So, that's a chicken sandwich, chocolate chip cookie 

and a Starbucks Orange Mango Smoothy. Will that be all?

It was.  Stand by..

The Life and Times of Mac

McKinley "Mac" Acton

2/2008 - 2/2019

A life well lived, 

A joy brought daily.

A family ever so thankful. 

Mac made me laugh every day he was with us, from that first day in 2009 when I pulled him out of an isolation cage and instead of biting me as warned, he head-butted me.  And that was that.  Something magical happened that day, and I knew it immediately.  Through 10 years of victory and defeat, tumult and calm, Mac has been a constant companion -- a calming presence. The unflappable Mr. Mac -- or "Macaroni" as Erica dubbed him -- seemingly took it all in stride. 

A big guy about the size of an alpha raccoon, he was often mistaken for one by delivery people or workmen, all of whom he'd meet at the door and give them the smell test. He never ate people food, preferred wet in the can and only fish -- but his sweet tooth was dry food because apparently, feral cats don't get much of that.  

Shortly after he moved in, I dropped an open bag of kibble on the kitchen floor and Mac leaped from the counter, hit the floor like a sci-fi vacuum cleaner and started sucking it up in great mouthfuls.  I tried to clean it up as he pushed by me like he was going into hibernation.  Very helpfully, Ann laughed like hell and took pictures.  Finally, we threw in the towel. Mac had won and we all knew it.  This was his kitchen and he took possession by ever after laying in the middle of the floor like a dog.  "Don't move, Mac... we'll work around you" was commonly spoken at our house.

In the pandemonium of a film shoot in our house, with cameramen, sound people, on-screen talent, cables and equipment cluttering the floor, Mac walked through the chaos and found his spot sitting directly under camera #1, where he supervised the invasion for the day.  "That's a hell of a cat!" the director finally said. He was right.

Mac had been feral when we got him, the vet figured he was 18 months old and hadn't actually lived in a home before; he had FIV from fighting with other feral cats, but a more gentle creature I could not imagine. 

When Ann had her knees replaced, he took it as his job to walk behind her everywhere she went during her recovery. We've got film of her walking down a hallway doing PT, and there's Mac walking with her.

He and I chased bats that got in the house...me with the umbrella up high and he herding from the floor.  The first time we set the house on fire, I was cooking chicken in what turned out to be a non-microwavable plastic dish and would have seen the smoke if not distracted by Mac demanding his dinner, so OK, my bad. But the second time was on him because he kicked over the waffle iron off the counter with the sandwich in it -- and then went for help.

He's backed Roosevelt elk out of the yard with a growl that scared me, and then casually wandered back into the house like nothing happened.  He chased a bobcat out of the yard -- running right through the $1,500 invisible fence we had installed to keep him on the property and then AFTER beating hell out of the bobcat, ran back to me THROUGH the same invisible fence as if to say, "Nice little fence ya got here -- kinda tingley."  Not a scratch on him -- and so much for trying to control nature. 

When he brought a baby rabbit home to play with, the ladies of the family were not amused.  And when he hid half a snake under a rug that scared the hell out of our housekeeper and caused an immediate evacuation of her crew -- Mac yawned and flopped down for a nap.  Somehow he ate an entire bird in the living room, leaving only the feathers as evidence... and no trace of the bird ever showed up, not even in his litter box.   

He and I were coming back from Portland and ran smack-on into a snowstorm in the Coast Range, snarling traffic and ditching both cars and commercial trucks. As we wound through the clogged highway, Mac self-appointed himself Lookout Cat and hissed as cars strayed too close to us, growled at the big trucks.  

The Weavers came to visit and as we were welcoming them, Howard glanced down the hall and sees Mac, 20 pounds of Tuxedo Norwegian Forest Cat in full gallop to see who just broke security -- it was an impressive sight to behold, and a lasting memory of hilarity watching Howard throw himself against the wall to let Mac pass, and Mac skidding to a stop in front of him.

And here's some inter-species irony. All the women loved him. They'd come to visit Ann and sit down, Mac would strut around, do some show-stopping stretches while he's checking out the crowd; then he'd jump up on a lap, get cozy, and BAM! he's on second base. "Your cat just put his paw in my blouse" was the normal startled response. 

How can these kinds of antics not make you laugh every day?  He believed his natural enemy was cardboard and while he never played with toys, you bring a cardboard box home and it was game on; Costco day for him was Christmas.  The guy was a riot even when he wasn't trying. 

In 2016 I was treated for an aggressive cancer and the long-term diagnosis was dodgy. We kept it to ourselves because I didn't want to forever be labeled a cancer victim, having to deal with "the look" from friends and then field the ever-present question, "How are you.  Really?"  Now, I guess, I don't really give a damn.  Cancer changes you in ways you cannot imagine, nor explain to others.  

But throughout it all -- and there was much -- Mac was my constant companion, source of amusement and reminder that life isn't just about the years, but about the experiences in those years.  I'm fine now, but heartbroken he has been lost to a disease I survived.  

Life is unique and precious in all its forms. And while it is impossible for something to be "more unique" than anything else, it is possible for it to have a most unique impact.  And Mac had that... a most unique impact on everyone he met.

Mac was my friend, my muse, my playmate and only through the mysteries of nature did he happen to be a cat.  

My muse and critic. 

The legend happened to be a cat.

Lookout Cat.

The useless electronic collar.

Resting after a hard day of resting.