Loogie-Free Zone

One day in mid-September, Tom and I walked around the block to talk to one of our neighbors about a couple of practices of his that had been causing us some dismay. This is the fellow who for years stepped out his back door several times a day, took a hit off his bong—filling my place with secondhand smoke, if my windows were open—then coughed his head off. The grand finale was when he coughed up a giant loogie and spat it onto the ground. I was grumbling about this to Tom and was surprised when he said he really hated the spitting, too. I thought he was going to say, “What guy who smokes weed and spits?”

I said I was thinking of going to talk to him about it and asked Tom if he would come with me. I was surprised again when he said, “Sure.” We picked a day, but when that day rolled around, it was too hot. We picked another day, but it proved to be too smoky. Then our neighbor seemed to be out of town, and so forth.

Finally, there came a day when, alas, our neighbor was certainly home and it wasn’t too hot or too smoky to spend 15 minutes outside. I had been rehearsing a speech, and felt quite nervous as I meditated beforehand. It occurred to me that I more than usually did not know what was about to happen, which was slightly thrilling. Tom and I strolled around the block, arriving disappointingly soon, and I rang the bell that I thought must be this fellow’s. Someone buzzed us in instantly, and we went into the lobby. A woman came out of a nearby door and I said, “Maybe we rang the wrong bell.”

She said, “Who are you looking for?”

I said, “The smoking guy.” She looked puzzled.

I said, “The guy who smokes weed out back.”

She said, “Oh! He lives here, but he’s not here right now.”

She said she was his partner, so I said maybe we could tell her what was on our minds and she could pass it on. I delivered my spiel, during which she smiled and nodded understandingly, and then she said, “I’ll try to pass that on with the grace with which you delivered it.” How nice! I thanked her for her kindness, and off we went, lighter in heart and step.

This was back in September, and I can report that the nice woman’s partner has not smoked outside their back door even once since then; sometimes I hear him coughing from far away. After a couple of weeks, I sent them a heartfelt thank-you note.

At my wits’ end one lousy day with kittens—some days the misbehavior seemed relentless—I emailed a few people to say how much I hate living with these cats. Hammett’s cat sitter immediately replied to say that maybe I would have to return the cats and adopt an old cat. A relative who has cats said she was sorry this was happening and could I send them back? This had occurred to me many times, but having it seconded by others felt heartbreaking. I should know by now how futile it is to imagine a future scenario, imagine how I will feel about it, and then try to make a decision based on that. This never seems to have much to do with reality. That is, the thought of handing the cats over and bidding them goodbye is horrendously sad, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the right thing to do.

I went and took a look at adoptable cats at the SPCA just to see if a one-year-old cat perfect for me happened to be right there, and saw two sad things. One was a cat whose owner was looking for a new home for him when I was shopping for Duckworth and Marvin. That cat was still listed there. He bites. Also when I was looking for D&M, I saw the cutest kitten and almost indicated my interest in him. In fact, I think I had visited the website to go ahead and do that only to find that his picture was no longer there. Someone else had adopted him. Well, now they wished to unadopt him. There was a photo of him, two months older, in the Rehoming section. That’s where photos of Duckworth and Marvin would be if I decided to give them up. (Which I have since definitely decided not to do.)

I had more discussion with Hammett’s cat sitter and she said a very wise thing:

I understand. We all get frustrated and then feel bad afterward. My partner and I ask ourselves: What is it that they are trying to teach us? What can we learn? Maybe what we need to learn is patience with our own frustration.

So, onward and upward with cats. When I went to put away their toys before bedtime that day, I saw that I had forgotten to put them out! That can’t have helped.