During my marriage to my Israeli-born wife, Thanksgiving became my responsibility. To her credit, she prepared all the meals for the Jewish holidays, of which there are many throughout the year. For a time, she even made Thanksgiving but ceded the meal to me at some point. I embraced the challenge and was soon making turkey, ginger chestnut stuffing, black bean soup, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce and apple and pumpkin pies. Before long, we had a family tradition.
Life changed after my wife and I split up but Thanksgiving was still mine. It says so in my agreement. After all, I was the American in the household and had a natural duty to protect the integrity of this national holiday.
The first Thanksgiving in my new home went well even though we were missing one daughter who was studying in Israel. Even my ex-wife came. The food was delicious and it was a happy event. Last year, however, I was unable to make Thanksgiving. At some point during the year before the holiday, the thermostat in my oven broke. Without a way to control the temperature, there was no way I could roast a turkey or make an apple pie. It didn’t matter too much because most of my children were in Israel anyway. So, instead of a big dinner at my house, my parents and I, accompanied by my one daughter who was still in the country, ate our Thanksgiving dinner at Jack’s, one of Albany’s oldest and finest restaurants. http://www.jacksoysterhouse.com/
For a long time, not having an oven didn’t bother me. I made my meals on the stove and was content with that. This year, however, I wanted Thanksgiving back in my house. I needed to have it here. My 18 year old daughter would be in town and she keeps kosher. Besides, her long-time boyfriend, also kosher, was coming and planning to ask my permission for her hand in marriage. I had two choices. Get my oven repaired or get a new oven. I went with the second option. The house I live in was a rental property for a long time and only had a cheap, simple oven. It was time to upgrade to a respectable cooking machine. So off I went to the local appliance store. http://coccasappliancestv.com/
Mike, an appliance salesman with a friendly face and a very big belly, showed me around the store. He pointed out a scratch and dent model which had been marked down from $1,000.00 to $500.00.
The scratch was on the side of the oven and wouldn’t be seen once installed, so, recognizing a good buy, I bought it. Mike told me that his delivery people wouldn’t be able to install it because it was a gas oven and they no longer carried insurance for installing gas appliances. He suggested I contact a plumber, which I did once the oven was delivered. Although part of my deal with the appliance store included removal of the old oven, the delivery men wouldn’t touch it until it was disconnected from the gas line. I would have to wait for the plumber.
Perhaps you are wondering what this story has to do with a cat or condoms. I’m getting to that. Maybe a few words about my cat are in order before I make the connection. When my eldest daughter graduated from the eighth grade, we bought a golden retriever. Her name is Buffy, after the television show, which was popular at the time. Buffy is a happy dog who likes to play Frisbee. She’s a good catch too. Years passed and my son went off to college. In his senior year, he bought a kitten and named him Monk after the jazz musician. As circumstances would have it, my son had to move into the dorms for his final semester because his friends with whom he shared an apartment had to move out. He asked me if I would take care of his cat. Buffy, who was about 6 ½ years old at this point, had never lived with any other animals and had never liked other dogs. I told him I would give it a try. At first, Buffy and Monk were like oil and water. In fact, I had to keep them separated. One morning, however, I woke up to find Buffy sitting by the door to the laundry room. I went to the kitchen to make coffee and realized that Buffy hadn’t budged. It seemed unusual to me, so I went over and asked her if she was okay. And no, I wasn’t expecting an answer. Still, I was curious as to why she was sitting there so patiently. So, I opened the door and out walked Monk. Apparently, I had locked Monk out of the house. As Monk sauntered into the house, he went over and rubbed up against Buffy, seeming to thank her for coming to his rescue. They became fast friends after that, and now, even play together.
Monk is a curious and sometimes naughty cat. He especially likes to knock things off counters and tables. Although he sometimes does this to get my attention when he is hungry, there are other times he does it for no apparent reason. My daughter thinks it’s his concept of feng shui because he usually knocks things off which don’t necessarily belong. He also loves to bat things around the kitchen floor.
So, it was no great surprise when the plumber pulled out the old stove revealing a number of things which Monk had batted underneath it. There was a toy car, a couple of caps from Snapple bottles, a red pen and two condoms. Actually, I was surprised to see the condoms. Momentarily, I thought about being embarrassed by this discovery, but hey, it was just the plumber and why should I care if he learned about my social life. Still, how did condoms get under my stove? And, they weren’t even my regular brand! I picked them up and examined them. I found two small pinpricks in one of them. Monk! Apparently, Monk snagged them out of my bedroom and brought them into the kitchen so he could bat them around the smooth kitchen floor. At some point, as with everything he plays with, they ended up under the stove.
As easy as it was to figure out how the condoms got there, I was left with one mystery. These were Durex condoms, not Trojans. http://www.trojancondoms.com/For the life of me, I cannot remember ever buying Durex condoms. Was it possible I picked them up while out one night at a club? It would have had to have been a gay bar. If it was, what was I doing in a gay bar? And why would I need condoms there? I am still straight as I am sure you know by now if you have been reading my stories. It remains a mystery. I know one thing though. Monk didn’t buy them. But, there is no denying. He is the Condom Cat. Or should that be Condom Kitty? Prophylactic Feline? Maybe he heard about feline AIDS. Curious but cautious!
After I wrote this, a friend added that Monk's adventure gives a new meaning to Cat in the Hat!
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