My World With Words

I have Pavlovian cats.

Typically, when I get home from work at 4:30, I scoop out their litter boxes right before feeding them. They know the rustle of the plastic bag means they’re about to be fed, and they hover around me. I have to be careful about that rustle.

Today I was emptying out my bathroom garbage, where I use the same plastic bags (specifically, Walmart bags). I put a new bag in the garbage can, and the cats heard the rustle. It was like Pavlov’s bell. The cats came running. They wanted to be fed.

Problem was, it was 1:30, not 4:30, way too early to feed the cats. I considered giving them a small amount of food to appease them but decided against it.

I’m not sure if it’s possible to condition my cats to know that the rustle could mean any number of things, but the reality is, the vast majority of the time it does mean food. So I’ve given up on that idea.

I guess I’m going to have to remember to empty my bathroom garbage at 4:30 instead of 1:30. After all, I’m the one who conditioned the cats.

And they’re still waiting to be fed. It’s only 2:30.

Image Credit: Two Cats Running © OleksandrZastrozhnov–stock.adobe.com

Well, one of his favorites, anyway. He likes to use this one as a pillow and hauls it all over the living room. He has another favorite, not pictured here, that he tosses around frequently and likes for me to throw to him. Which I happily do.

Image Credits: Cesar Cat © Belinda O; Paws In Heart © Bigstock Photo; Favorite Things © Polina Tomtosova–stock.adobe.com

I was never very impressed by cars, and it may have saved my life.

At the age of 13, my family lived in the Santa Cruz mountains. It was a half hour drive to the nearest town, and I loved to take that drive with my mom every Saturday when she worked at a local kitchen ware store. I’d spend the day in town, window shopping, going to the library, and best of all, going to the Bumbleberry restaurant to get a hot fudge sundae and 7-Up. What I didn’t know was somebody was watching me and tracking my every move.

One Saturday, wearing my typical garb of a t-shirt and overalls, I was approached by a man I’d guess was in his late 20s. He started chatting me up, telling me how foxy I was (“foxy” was a term in the 70s that meant “sexy”) and how cool it must be to be 13 and going to high school soon. I was immediately suspicious, as I knew I wasn’t foxy or anything close to it. I had braces, glasses, and an abundance of acne. I also had a full figure, although I wasn’t really aware how dangerous that could be on a 13-year-old.

After a few minutes of his sweet talking, he pointed to a convertible that was parked in the street and asked if I wanted to go for a ride. I said no and marveled at the thought that he believed I’d be stupid enough to take a ride with a stranger just because it was a convertible.

People walking by had noticed him talking to me, and they were suspicious of the situation. A small crowd had gathered, and when this man saw them, he bolted for his car. I thought that was the end of it.

I headed for the library, and as I was walking up the hill towards the front doors, I saw another man, about the same age as the first, running to me, asking me if I knew what time it was. While I was wearing a watch, I said “no” as loudly as a I could and ran for the safety of the library. Something in me told me to hide. It should have told me to go to the librarian and tell her what was going on, but I didn’t know that was an option. I headed downstairs for a deserted part of the stacks, where I saw a small bathroom. I dashed in there and waited. For hours.

At one point a woman came in. I was sitting on the floor in the furthest stall, which she opened and then took a good look at me. I didn’t say a word. She used the restroom and when she left, I heard her say, “no, she’s not in there.” I didn’t know what to make of that, so I waited another hour. When I left, I knew my mom would be closing up the store and looking for me, so I ran all the way. It was about a quarter of a mile, and I wasn’t used to running, but I made it safely back.

I didn’t tell my mom what had happened. Our relationship wasn’t that good, and I didn’t want to hear what she might have to say on the subject.

I never went into town with my mom again, something she attributed to the fickleness of teenagers.

Over the years I’ve thought about that day. Initially I knew it was not a good situation, but it wasn’t until I was a few years older that I more fully understood just how much danger I’d been in. I send a silent thanks to the woman in the restroom, who may have saved my life, and to the crowd of people who had gathered around me when I was talking to the first man. They, too, played a part in my safety.

I’m just glad I wasn’t interested in convertibles.

Image Credits: Convertible © IG Digital Arts–stock.adobe.com; Hot Fudge Sundae © SuperPixel Inc–stock.adobe.com; Small Crowd © JuanM–stock.adobe.com.

I did it! I bought my new laptop. Now comes the setting up part, which I have no idea how to do. I’m trusting the laptop to walk me through it.

I couldn’t have done this without the help of my blogging buddy Lois and her husband. Thank you to both of you! They helped me find something that would meet my needs as well as fit my price range–in fact, Best Buy had just what I needed on sale!

This post is being written on my old laptop as I still need to set up the new one. But hopefully the next one will be on my new laptop!!

Thank you to all of you who encouraged me in this process.

Image Credits: Laptop © bongkarn–stock.adobe.com ; Friends © KodokStd–stock.adobe.com

The time has officially come for me to buy a new computer. My current laptop is eight years old and was a low-end model when I bought it. I couldn’t afford much then. I did my research and ended up with one that has served me well. but no longer has the capacity to meet all my needs.

I’ve put off buying a new laptop for some time. The one I have now has stopped working in the recent past, only to revive itself and function at its low level, which has suited me fine. However, I’ve gotten several messages from various apps I use that they no longer are being supported. When I try to upgrade, I can’t–I don’t have the memory.

I’ve also gotten the message that Windows 10–which is what I’m using–won’t be supported beyond October 2025. So, I’m giving in. The final straw was when a fellow writer in my writer’s group was shocked to learn I lost my novel because I didn’t save it on my computer, I saved it on a flash drive. I lost that flash drive and there went my novel. I was able to retrieve some of it from others in the group who’d kept my submissions, but not all of it.

Now I save it on One Drive. The theory being I can access it anywhere I log into Microsoft Word with my same login. I just hope that login is what I think it is. If it isn’t, well, I have everything I’ve written since losing the original manuscript in hard copy. I just hope there isn’t a fire. I’d have to give up on my novel and move on at that point.

So I’m off to buy my laptop–wish me well.

Image Credits: Laptop (header) © Rymden–stock.adobe.com