C is for Cats and Chips

10:45 and I’m just now getting around to this. That probably means that this will be a very short entry.

C

Of course, C is for Cats.

When I was growing up, I had no pets. My uncle Ron had a rabbit, kept outdoors in a hutch (at least, I think I remember that). My Uncle Jack and Aunt Kaye had cats. But not me. My dad really liked animals but we were never allowed to have pets. My first was during high school, when I somehow talked them into letting me have a hamster. In truth, I already had a hamster but he lived at my friend Kathy’s house. I just brought him home.

My first cat came about when I was in college. Actually, about a week before my graduation. I was living in a dorm and no animals were allowed, but I heard about someone with kittens and claimed one. So I kept it in the dorm that week, hiding it from the authorities (something for which I had developed a real talent, but I’ll tell about that some other time), and presenting it to my parents when they arrived for the ceremonies.

So Ashley went home with me, though my parents — especially Mom — were none too thrilled about it. He was a strange cat. My brother and I liked to take him for rides in the car. My dad, too. He didn’t particularly like the car wash, completely freaked out when we went through it, but we took him there anyhow. Ashley stayed with me when I married. I’d put him outside on a leash when we lived in Highspire and he’d lunge at the chihuahua who lived next door, scaring the crap out of that obese pup. He was with us when we lived in an old schoolhouse in Middletown. And he moved to Juniata County with us, ranging the countryside, stopping by to meow, “Hello” to our neighbor at 4 a.m. and scaring the crap out of him. Sixteen years with him.

Living in the country, we had several cats indoors and bunches outside. Spock was with us for a long while. He earned his name because as a kitten he had ears that we doubted he could ever grow into. He was with us into his teens. We had other indoor cats with him. Savik, Max, Gray Clyde.

Pokey. She came from my in-laws house, complete with a broken leg. She also had her picture in the newspaper when we entered her in a Clinton’s-cat-Socks-look-alike contest. She didn’t win, but we loved her.

Buckwheat. He started out as Anjee’s cat, but ended up moving with me to Mifflinburg. He was around for many years as well.

And when Buckwheat passed away, I found Slink. I mention Slink a lot and have written an entire book about him, so I’ll just include his picture.

So much for cats.

I also want to include another C: Charles Chips. I could have just used “chips” but there’s a reason for this. Last week I stopped by a local thrift shop to look for small items to inspire me for short story writing. I came across this gem.

Ninety-nine cents.

Did I need a tin? No. But I remembered that we had cans like this around when I was growing up. This one is only a one-pound can and we usually had three or five pound cans, but it was very nostalgic. We didn’t buy potato chips in bags, but in tins. So yes, Charles Chips. So far I haven’t decided on a use for this tin, but it makes me smile to have it sitting where I can see it.