I got a call from my friend George Brewster the other day and let me tell you, it’s often hard to get a word in edgewise with him but I love every minute of our talks. He’s 99 this year and I dare say has as much enthusiasm for life as my young children.
Mr. Brewster had called me to tell me about a poem he’d received from a friend in the mail because he thought I’d like it. He read it to me and told me he’d keep a copy of it in his pocket for me for when we next crossed paths. I said I’d like that very much and I meant it.
In my experience, people don’t make ‘thinking of you’ phone calls as much as they used to. It could be that maybe people just don’t think of me, but I’m relatively sure that’s just the way things are now in general. I always delight in Mr. Brewster’s calls because it makes me feel special. If you’ve got a chance today, call somebody just because. Maybe you’ll make their day. (Just make sure it’s the right person though because young people these days would rather spend a year in complete silence than answer a proper telephone call.)
Anyway, there was a time shortly after he’d given me a copy of his book (get it at Ten Old Books at the Duncan Garage) that Mr. Brewster thought I was mad at him! He’d known our family had just brought a new kitten into our home and that I had been writing about the joys of cats. In contrast, the first chapter of his book was pretty much about how much he disliked cats as house pets.
The truth was, I loved the chapter of his book and I hadn’t been ignoring him, I’d somehow lost his phone number! I was so pleased when he reached out to me.
These days I’m leaning toward Mr. Brewster’s side on the whole cat thing. My cat, Timber — or not-so-affectionately referred to by his anagram of Mr. Bite — is eating my carpets.
People ask me if I’m sure he’s not just scratching them and I am very certain he’s chewing on them. Every night, he gets his front little fang into the loops that make up the carpet, and pulls upwards, unraveling strip after strip of carpet into shredded puffy strings. He does this mostly after the lights go out and in the overnight hours and I have tried everything to get him to stop.
He currently spends his overnights alone in a non-carpeted area of the house. This is the latest in a string of questionable behaviour from our feline friend but it’s the one that’s stumped me the most on how to solve. I’ve already tried any number of methods to get him to stop.
He’ll eat tape, tinfoil, and bite through bitter spray. Cat repellent doesn’t work. He’ll move a towel or pillow off to the side, and pick a new spot if we cover somewhere he liked to chew with anything heavier. Even the kids’ practical joke motion-detecting noise box doesn’t deter him. This cat has plenty of toys and no shortage of humans to snuggle with. He’s well fed and has clean litter too.
I’m starting to think Mr. Brewster might be right about house cats. This one anyway. As annoying as he is, he’s part of our family now so we’re stuck with him.
The children love him so much they keep asking to take him to school for show-and-tell.
I remember how important show-and-tell was when I was a kid. As a parent, however, it’s a nightmare.
The night before show-and-tell we offer our kids suggestions about what to bring and, naturally, the kids hate them all. The morning of show-and-tell day we are still offering options but nothing is ever quite right.
“Bring that baseball signed by the MLB player,” we’d suggest.
That’s not cool enough.
“How about the tooth you just lost? No. Never mind, you’d probably lose it.”
“Go look and see if there’s anything cool in the junk drawer. No? Ugh. OK…”
I’m beginning to think we should just let them take the darn cat. He could eat the school’s carpet’s instead of my own.
Actually, I have another suggestion.
They should bring Mr. Brewster.
Talk about the ultimate show-and-tell! Born into a family of aviators, his father and uncle both flew in the Great War. It was only natural for him to follow suit in World War II. Those experiences shaped his character and guide the simplicity and gratitude with which he’s carried on with the rest of his life.
“There’s something sacred about the very air we breathe and the world we live in and that we would do well to honour that, to look after it, to nurture it, to nurture the people that inhabit it, and the creatures,” he once told me. “I would love it if people would live in peace with each other, with neighbours who would help each other in times of need, not just flock in when you win the lotto.”
Something tells me that students of any age at any school would benefit from hearing Mr. Brewster’s take on the world.
I know I sure have.