Search

Tyler Talks Poe-Etry

February 19th, 2015 by Magdalena Tabor

Hi! It’s me! Tyler! Here to save the day……while perusing the blog site, I was horrified to learn that the entries of late (and I do mean LATE) have been somewhat sporadic and scant intyler content. I mean, if you like poetry, fine but there has to be a little more substance, don’t you agree? Blogs with a little more bite to them. That’s where I step in, to pick up the slack.
I admit I’m not a big fan of poetry. Anyone can do it, even a cat. That’s not to say we’re in any way inferior to the human bean, let me clarify this by saying, it’s quite the opposite. Cats choose not to write poetry for the simple reason, we just don’t want to. Oh, we can do it all right, in fact with the utmost of grace and eloquence, however this restricts us from rising to greater aspirations some of which you may be more likely to associate with the feline of species. But just to make my point that even a cat can do it, here’s one example…”Once upon a midnight mousey, As I pondered feeling lousey, Over many a volume of forgotten gore….” Pretty good, huh? Written by a cat named Poe.
Now, what troubles me is the ever apparent neglect in blog submissions. What have the Beans been doing with their time??? Oh, don’t give me that dried up old excuse…..shoveling snow, scraping ice, shivering in your bootstraps nonsense. I’ve seen you out there. Doesn’t look like that much work to me. You don’t even look cold. In fact you’re sweating. Then you come inside and groan (just to make sure I know you’re tired) and pull off your wet things and have a hot bowl of something nice to eat. And when I ask for some, I get a teeny tiny nibble that’s supposed to satisfy my lion’s appetite worked up from watching you at the window. This is very distressing to say the least.
Then to top it all off with the proverbial red cherry and chocolate sprinkles (make that multi colored) you expect me, a quiet unassuming feline, to contribute his valuable time and (yawn) energy to utilize his creative writing skills in a pinch? Well, all right then! You asked for it! (I think this is what’s called venting.) I’m through with the pair of you! After this, you’re on your own. And don’t give us another one of your hokey five second poems. Let’s have a blog entry with a little meat on the bone, like mine. Now go make yourselves useful and get my dinner. (This has been a public service announcement brought to you by the Tyler Talks Foundation….If it’s worth spilling ink it’s because I knocked it over).

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
line01

There Was A Cat

November 23rd, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

There was a cat named Snowshoe. Oh! He was the cutest thing. Ten months old and “loves people more than food” she said. L J was right. And he loved food. A lot. You can just snowshoeimagine his devotion to humans.
Anyone who spent just ten seconds with him immediately liked him. Even if they didn’t like cats. “This is a cat?” they’d say. “You sure he’s not a dog?” Most cats run when they hear the doorbell ring. Hiding in the far reaches of a closet or under a bed. Not Snowshoe. He came running to answer the door….”Who’s that? Are you friend or foe? Never mind, we can change all that.”
He always had to be in the midst of things. (What’s that you’re doing?) Putting on make up at the bathroom sink. (You don’t need that stuff if it’s not food.) In the shower. (Can I join you?) Yes. Snowshoe was a cat who loved water. A cat in the shower. Who ever heard of such a thing? What pleasure to be found in a dripping faucet! He’d come out of the bathroom with his spiked hair-do. Never needed gel. It dried that way just fine.
Snowshoe was a Snowshoe Siamese breed. Rather rare. A recognized breed created by mixing a Siamese with a domestic cat having white markings on the chest, muzzle and feet. The perfectly marked ones share unilateral whites on either side of the muzzle and/or chin. Showshoe, however, was adorably flawed with one small white mark on one part of his muzzle. A spot of milk, we used to say.
We got him from a rescue shelter. They found him hanging out with some German Shepherds. Could explain his dog traits.
What to name him? Why, Snowshoe of course.
Snowshoe, the Singular.
Snowshoe, the One and Only.
Snowshoe, the Best Cat Ever.
Don’t get me wrong. There were plenty of times I scolded him for getting under foot. (I’m sorry for that, Snowshoe. I have my flaws too.) But even now, I find myself watching my step at the kitchen sink. And wishing he was there to trip me up. (What I wouldn’t give to yell at you now.)
We could fill a volume with his teddy bear qualities. This is just a small hug. You know that feeling when you’ve lost something cherished? And you just can’t get another? That, my friend, was Snowshoe.

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
line01

Dog Days Of Autumn

November 17th, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

What is it about autumn that resonates like a cigar box banjo? There’s something so inherently “down home” about this particular season that invariably invites one to burrow into a nest dogdaysof woolen blankets with a cup of spiced cider from the local mill and an out of date movie. Seeking solace in the familiar, cinematic legendary heroes dramatize the ordinary and we settle in to enjoy an afternoon of what can only be described as sheer comfort while the wind howls outside. (Or was that Old Yeller?)
When legs have gone numb and require one to mobilize, what could be more enjoyable than pulling on a well worn pair of boots (and houndstooth jacket) to step out into the crisp clean air? Crunchy acorns underfoot and a whiff of wood smoke from a neighboring house revive the senses as our tracks bear down into earth softened with decomposing leaves. (This time of year always makes me wish there was a dog alongside for a romp through the woods.) It won’t be long before we hasten back to our own hearths spurred by the thought of another cup of steaming cider with something freshly baked. Or some of that chili made earlier in the day with a hearty chunk of bread. (Here, boy! Now where’d he go?)
As the day dims and the horizon bruises with purples and pinks, we turn our reflective gazes from the window and flick on a lamp. Darkness descends all too soon these days but the clock’s insistence that it’s early enough offers a browse through a favorite book. Lost in reverie, we dog ear a page or excuse our absence in our dog tiredness with a brief nap relishing these days spent at home. With those we love. And cherish. In this space of time we call “fall”. (Now where’s that dog to curl up on the rug next to the fire? And can you make sure you walk him before bed?)

So……………….whadayathink? As we come full circle to another year spent, what endears you to this apple crisp season? Perhaps a slice of the well loved pie itself. Or, as the English are wont to ask, “Would you fancy a biscuit?” (You old tail wagger).

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
line01

We Celebrate Isis

August 10th, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

In Loving Memory of Isis Tabor, July 3, 1994 – August 4, 2014we celebrate isis

If ever there was any doubt that Isis was an ordinary cat, the following exerpts from her long life will dispense with all that. She was a unique and loving personality but more, she was full of fun and mischief. In short, she had a sense of humor, albeit “biting” at times. In later years we saw less of this but glimmers of it still “punctuated” who she really was. It is with these moments we reflect and celebrate the life of a very special human type cat.
We should have known in the first few days of acquiring little Isis, what we were in for for the next twenty years…..At four months old she was already getting into trouble. She fell into a urine filled toilet and had to have her first bath. Afterwards, we would always remember to either flush or close the lid. Isis gave us our first lesson in good hygiene.
I never understood the concept of the next fixation (or the many others) which would prompt us to dub Isis as “high maintenance”. Each morning we would find all of our socks and underwear on the floor with the drawer empty of its contents. It sat in a mysterious pile with no clue as to how this might have happened. Warily, each thought to accuse the other of this bizarre prank. As it happened, Isis was caught in the act one day and chastised for her foolishness. This did not stop her from continuing the practice for several years. The scratch marks are still on the drawers that, oddly, spur a slight smile in recognition of her antics.
Another queer ritual was finding a neat little pile of toilet paper on the floor each day, still attached to the roll hanging on the wall. Again (this time, neither of us with so much as a thought to ask why, how or what the….?) Isis was found to be the culprit. We’ll never know for certain but maybe she was counting how many sheets to a roll.
All plastic, such as grocery bags, cellophane from movies and cd’s or the like, were kept out of sight. Isis had a peculiar habit of eating said plastic, whether for the crunchiness factor or an indefinable epicurean taste, it will always remain inexplicable. This, and the consuming of curling ribbon, another appetizer kept from paw’s reach, would ultimately lead to loud belly aching and the spewing forth of the ingested material. It would not, however, stop Isis from pursuing her passion.
No matter where Isis roamed in her midnight ramblings about the house, she always announced “I AM HERE! GET UP AND SCRATCH MY HEAD!” or “I HAVE TO USE THE LITTER BOX AND I HATE THE STINKING THING!” or “DON”T STEP ON ME, YOU CLUMBSY BLEARY EYED HUMANOID”. Isis had a way with words.
For many years, before the arrival of other cats in the neighborhood, Isis was never happier than when she was outside tethered to the deck. The trick was getting her to come back inside. No, she did not come willingly. Michael had the unfortunate task of donning oven mitts to avoid serious injury. If she could have, she would have had a t-shirt made up with her credo….”Live to go outside. Go outside to live”.
Making the bed each morning was no easy task for me. Isis reigned. She woud sprawl regally and with a look of utter disregard, permit you to make the bed around her. In other words, do one side of the bed first, then go around the other side where she would cheerfully consent to reposition herself to another part of the bed I would still need to reassemble. This would repeat itself over and over until the entire bed was finally made. Strange idea of fun, but there you have it.
For awhile, Isis had a habit of pulling my hair in the morning with her teeth in an effort to wake me up for breakfast. If this didn’t work she would bestow a series of sandpaper kisses on my eyelids. Her trick with Michael in the middle of the night was worse; stepping on his solar plexis just for a head rub.
Woe be to those who got up in the middle of the night to relieve themselves. I’m not sure but I think Michael may still have the vampire scars on his legs. An anguished cry of “OW!” was the resounding echo followed by a steady stream of blood running to the ankle. This, thankfully, stopped with the progression of Isis into maturity.
If Isis were a lion, she would more than likely have the loudest roar in the jungle. Her announcement entering a room was enough to startle you into grabbing your chest. Had she been human she might have been an opera singer. Perhaps this is what her next life will bring her to.
And finally, the Fenster Bear Mystery; a tiny Steiff bear who mysteriously disappeared when we lived in Briarwood. He was found when we moved to Seaford and then immediately vanished once more. That was 14 years ago. I have no doubt that when we move the next time, his whereabouts will become known. When we find him (and we will) he will feature prominently as Isis’s most loved treasure.
Isis believed herself to be an Only Child, regardless of the fact there were other adopted siblings of which she either ignored or resisted with repulsion. Her deep and abiding affection for both Michael and me was unsurpassed. She made it quite clear that only we two were the center of her universe. She was most definitely our STAR. Isis, your voice will forever echo in our hearts. Life without you is impossible to imagine.

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
line01

Tyler Talks One Year Anniversary

July 4th, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

Hey! It’s me, Tyler! I am now an official NY State resident, having reached my one year anniversary and I couldn’t be happier. Oh sure, tylerSnowshoe still kicks my butt every now and again but I’ve learned to read his body language, and believe me, there are some choice words in there! The difference is, I no longer care. I just make a fuss so the Beans will yell at him and lavish me with the attention I so deserve. Five minutes later, I sprawl defiantly in front of Alpha male daring him to do it again. Invariably he does, much to my bitter dismay but more often than not, the old man just falls asleep. He’s not as tough as he pretends to be. His whiskers are old and his underwear is older. Oh. I’ve just been informed he isn’t wearing any. I don’t know what to make of that so I’ll just leave it alone.
Clementine still spurns my advances. All I want to do is pat her head and say, “It’s okay, my lovely little snicky snack.” But I guess I just don’t possess the eloquence of de Bergerac and therefore all she can see is my big nose. I just want to sniff her a little and say’ “My, what’s that perfume you’re wearing? Essence of organic catnip?” She just spits at me like I’ve just uttered the most ridiculous thing. What’s a guy to do?
I have grown increasingly fond of the Beans and seek their presence at all times. They smile at me adoringly and say things like, “Isn’t he cute????” That’s a rhetorical question and yet it’s always answered with such enthusiastic conviction. It just melts my heart when Lady Bean comes home from wherever she’s been all day and makes the biggest fuss when she sees me. I get so happy I claw at the rug and she just laughs. I think she’s genuinely glad to see me although she acts the same way with the other kids and then I don’t feel so special anymore. I think she still likes me best and just doesn’t want to hurt the feelings of the others.
Bean Daddy’s birthday is the 4th and I’m throwing him a surprise party. The surprise is to snub him when I see him. I think I’ll throw myself a party instead to celebrate my year long vacation in NY. Here’s the invite:
Come one, come all, to Tyler’s ball and bring me lots of presents. And if you come with nothing at all, you’ll be turned away at the door and never so much as looked at sideways and wish you never were born and shipped to that god awful place called Nacogdoches, Texas!

So…………….whadayathink? Are you as pleased as I am about my one year anniversary? I accept gifts of all kinds. Did I mention to bring me something nice? I especially favor live mice (not the fake kind you buy at the supermarket) and creepy crawly things of which there are a lot more to be found in Texas.

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
line01

Saying Goodbye

June 22nd, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

I shy away from calling our kids “pets”, our cats “animals”. They are nothing less than family and as they age we mourn the passing of isistime in their fragility. And we dread “the day”. We say we’ll know it when the time comes. We’ll know when the time is right. We say it with such conviction.
But when the day actually arrives, we procrastinate. No, she isn’t eating. And yes, she is emaciated…..but look how she greets us! See how she perks up whenever we enter the room! What we fail to realize is that her deep love and devotion is unfailing. She will greet us with her dying breath. Living on love alone.
Are we being fair in letting her wither away? Aren’t we suffering alongside by refusing to let one another go? Do we stave off the inevitable with prolonged treatments that will ultimately end in bitter disappointment? Tortuous visits to the vet that only place more stress on both her and us? Or maybe, just maybe…..we should try this….
A favorite home cooked meal. One she cannot possibly resist…..C’mon baby, it’s easy. All you have to do is eat it. Just a little nibble.
But food no longer has the appeal it once had. Food is sustinence. Life. A life that no longer requires what food has to offer. The body is, quite simply, shutting down. Why is that so hard to comprehend?
Today, I’m spending time with her. Sharing the bed on a lovely summer day. The quilt is like a picnic blanket spread with a banquet of her favorite foods, all of which lie untouched. But no matter. Today, we’re celebrating her birthday. She’s just about a week shy of 20. Long time. Lots of memories. I tell her about the day I first brought her home while Dad slipped away to a Giant’s game: “Remember when we were on the back of the bus? I took you out of your carrier and you snuggled up close under my chin. You were so small.” She’s heard that one a thousand times. I can see her practically rolling her eyes. But it bears repeating. It has weight.
Her blanket is freshly laundered. There are soft murmurings of “I love you” spoken between us. Her restlessness tells me what I still refuse to accept. But I know it in my heart.

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
line01

Tyler Talks Cats That Kick Butt

May 17th, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

tyler

Hey! Did you see that awesome news clip about the cat that saved the little boy from the dog attack? Who says CATS can’t be Man’s Best Friend???
This little boy, minding his own business (a rarity in itself), was riding his tricycle in front of his house, when suddenly a nasty little hound comes sneaking up behind him, viciously grabs him off his trike and like a crazed pirana tosses him about like a rag doll.
Here comes the good part…..the kid’s cat charges the dog with all four paws ninja-like, BAM! and the dog goes yelping down the street with the cat in hot pursuit! That cat, Tara’s her name, is one feisty feline. I think I’m in LOVE! (Sorry, Clementine. But you have to admit Tara’s stripes are very appealing). All she needs is the Super Hero cape! I propose they feature her image on band aids alongside Cat Woman.

So…..whadayathink? Everyone needs someone to look up to. Who’s your hero? And don’t say Underdog.

 

 

 

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
line01

Tyler Talks Spring

April 2nd, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

Some of you may have been wondering where I’ve been all winter. Then again, others may have muttered “I’m glad that cat’s finally stopped writing”. For those of you tylerwho’ve missed me, this blog’s for you. To the rest, go bark at the dog next door.
It’s been a long first winter here in New York and I have been preoccupied with the business of napping, chasing snowflakes at the window, napping, writing my memoirs, napping, running scared from Snowshoe (the Alpha male cat), napping, mooning after Clementine who hates me with a passion, and napping. So, for us Texas cats, all this talk about Spring has me anticipating what this new season has in store for me.
They say Spring is when everything turns GREEN. I’m happy with my coloring the way it is, thank you, and have no imminent desire to appear in the form of a moving topiary. Someone may just clip my tail.
They also say Spring is when everything buds and flowers. I can do without the blossoms behind my ears. I am not a flower child. However, it’s a well known fact that flowers attract insects, so I may just sport one behind an ear. I’d really like to taste one or two. I have a vey discerning palate and can recommend the best varieties from which you may benefit as they are very healthful however fuzzy. Then again, if you’re the dog who’s still reading my blog with the usual contempt, you have no real taste anyway. I’ve seen you spit them out and then, with the table manners of a mongrel, put them back in your mouth. At least place them nicely on a plate and for goodness sake, use utensils. The important thing is to appear distinguished while munching the little critters so as not to arouse suspicion from the Beans. For they will scoop them up with disgust and call you a disparaging name. Honestly, they have about as much sense as the mutt next door. Not you, Chip. You’re very nice. I think there a mutt a couple of houses down.
Anyway, I am quite looking forward to Spring, aren’t you?

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
line01

Tyler Talks Santa Claws

December 8th, 2013 by Magdalena Tabor

There’s been a whole lotta talk about this cat named Santa Claws. He sounds like one crazy dude who claws his way up and down chimneys and for what? To leave some tylertrinkets in some smelly old socks hanging by the fire to dry. He must have a foot fetish. They say he has a long white beard so I’m thinking he must be a Persian but why is he hanging out with reindeer??? We cats usually stick to our own kind. Anyway, as long as he’s doling out gifts I thought I may as well jump on the band wagon (or is it a sleigh?) and make a list:

1) New paratroopers gear……I misplaced the original and have not given up hope of escape. If I don’t get one I can grow my nails long enough to try the chimney like Santa. But I think the fireplace may be fake. Darn.

2) A personal chef…….In case I’m doomed to stay here I may as well be fat. Look, the Beans try really hard to provide me with a variety of cat food but it is what it is…..CAT food. For those of us with a sophisticated palate, a personal chef would be just the thing.

3) Some new buddies……The two cats I hang with are not the friendliest of creatures. But I still LOVE Clementine. Can’t stand her spitting at me though. So although she can still stay, that other guy has GOT to go. He thinks he’s Alpha Male. Let’s get another female and give Clem some stiff competition. Then maybe she’ll warm up.

4) Real mice…….Are they kidding me with the fake catnip things? Cats know a real mouse when they see one. They think a mouse is a thing you move around on a desk top. Let’s get REAL.

5) My own room…..I hate sharing space with the whole gang. I want my own room where I can close the door any time I want, instead of THEM closing the door on ME. See how THEY like it.

6) A one way ticket to Spain…..Why Spain? I don’t know. It’s the first place that popped into my head and I think it may be affordable on Cheaptix.com. Besides, it’s warm there. What is it with this cold? I’m a Lone Star cat, remember? Oh, that’s right…..Texas dipped to freezing this week. Spain it is.

7) A personal trainer…….As long as I’m getting fat, I may as well trim some of it. And I don’t want one of those cat “trees”. A real in-home gym or a life time enrollment at Gold’s Gym. This would also come in handy to put that alpha male cat in his place in case he gets to stay.

8) A heating pad……..As long as it’s cold I may as well be comfortable with a temperature controlled heating system built into a cat sized bed. If you can’t get one, Mr. Claws, can I at least have my own fleece blankie?

9) Bunny slippers……There’s just something so cool about a cat dressed in bunny slippers, doncha think?

10) A personal supply of Temptations Cat Treats……It may be for cats but in my opinion, no personal chef could do better.

 

So……..whadayathink? Some pretty neat suggestions for that Santa Claws cat. Let’s see what he can come up with. Hey, wait a minute! I don’t have any socks to hang up! And that fireplace doesn’t have a  real chimney! Maybe I can find a way to crack open a window. And as long as the window’s open, I won’t need ANYTHING from Santa. I’d have the world at my at my claws! Nah, too cold out there. Scary too. Maybe I can shove a key under the door.

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
line01

Tyler Talks Lounging

August 25th, 2013 by Magdalena Tabor

tylerI’m a cat. Synonymous with the word “lounge”. Beans do it too but not on as grand a scale as we felines. Dogs? They have their “dog day afternoon”. We have our morning, noon, and night.

Pick a spot. Any spot. The rug. The bookshelf. The stairs. Anywhere the Beans call “underfoot”. “Tyler, are you underfoot again?” No. Your clodhoppers are looming like a three toed Brontosaurus trying to balance on a golf ball. But it’s always MY fault when they topple over . Graceful they are not.  And always complaining about having to “two step” around me in front of the kitchen counter. Why don’t they one step then? And why does it have to take so long for them to prepare their own meals? They only need two seconds to serve me mine. Flip! Plop! There! Right out of a can and couldn’t be yummier. I much prefer my “Sea Captain’s Choice” over their “Rosemary Chicken (who’s Rosemary anyway?), Potatoes a La Magdalena (I know her)and Toasted Almond String Beans” (Oh, my Catnip! They’re cannibals!) Then they make so much of it, they have to eat it AGAIN  the next day! They always lie and say it tastes even better.

The stairs are a wonderful place to lounge…. I have an aerial view of the entire living space, just like a tree top retreat! But Oh No, “Tyler, you’re in the way again!” they lament as they come clodhopping their way into my space. Why do they always have to go up and down, up and down? Look out! A storm is fast approaching! The room is going dark! Oh. Never mind. It’s just the shadow of Dad’s foot hovering overhead like a helicopter out of designated airspace.

The bay window is a favorite and a much sought after place of refuge we cats vie for. Why they call it a “Bay” window when there’s no water in sight is a mystery, especially when we live  on a street called “Lakeview”. The only water is a pond down the street you can’t even see from the window hidden in the woods. But this so called “Bay” window is nice and roomy where I can      S-T-R-E-T-C-H out and enjoy the sun or watch a parade of dogs go by with their Beans attached to leashes. The Beans are always dragging behind and just can’t keep up. And some of them scoop up the poop like it’s gold. Very peculiar. What do they do with the stuff?  It’s obviously worthless which is why the dogs got rid of it in the first place. They don’t covet the poop in my litterbox. They just throw it away! Hmph!

The Beans always come home and lounge about in “recliners”, “sofas”, and “beds”. Why don’t they try the floor? Or the coffee table?  Or the bathtub? They apparently don’t know how to relax. Just one time I’d like to take a ride in the Jeep and see a Bean sprawled out in the window watching the world go by. 

So………..whadayathink? Why are Beans always in the way? Why don’t they sit on the rug in front of the kitchen sink? And why, oh why, are their feet so big??

Share and Enjoy:
  • Digg
  • StumbleUpon
  • Facebook
  • Twitter
line01