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Cooler in the Shop

I have a rather large workshop on my property. It’s about 1100 sq ft, a giant rectangle back there on the side of my 1 acre lot. It’s almost as big as my house. If you add in the studio building which is nearby, I actually have more square footage in my workshop/auxiliary than in my entire two story house.

The workshop, which we call “The Shop” has a lot of junk in it. Lots of valuable things, too—tools and furniture and such. It’s also holding as much as it can of what was in the studio for a while (art supplies and etc.) because we are rehabbing the studio and getting it dry and tight. The shop is an interesting place to cats and dogs. They like to go in and sniff around at all the things that have left the property and come back with foreign smells. There are probably rodents who pass through or nest in there as well. Whenever the shop doors are open, Cooler the black cat is sure to be striding through, sniffing around, sneaking into the dark places, exploring amongst the boxes that haven’t been unpacked since 3 or 4 moves ago. Naturally, Cooler has been locked up in the shop for days at a time. In fact, when he doesn’t greet me in the morning, I scroll through the Rolodex that is my mind to see if anyone’s been in the shop, and then I go open the door just in case.

Last night my son Jon had a car in the shop, replacing the radio, late into the night. When he was finished, I asked him to make sure he turned off the lights and closed the shop doors, which he did. He doesn’t live here all the time, so of course he wouldn’t remember to call Cooler out of there before he closed up, and the dogs will always follow or precede you out.

This morning I came down as usual and started the tea. Fizler, the black and white cat, came right in and started mewing at me. One little mew every 30 seconds or so. He kept walking to the 2-gallon water dispenser that all 4 animals share, and I looked and someone had licked it completely dry, dirt and all. There’s always dirt in it because my dogs are terriers and they don’t care that they eat dirt all the time. The cats sleep under the azaleas, so there are always tiny azalea leaves floating in the water, too. I don’t clean it when it gets dirty if the water is still full, because it will be dirty again in a couple of hours.

So Fiz is mewing at me every 30 seconds. He usually only mews at Charles, for his early morning scratch, so I know something is wrong and I realize the water is empty. I apologize to him and pick up the jug and carry it to the sink. Zeke the dog rushes into the inner chamber of the bowl to get a drink, because there is always a little water in there when I take the jug out. Fiz looks at me with the chagrin only a cat can muster. He’s thirsty, dammit. Get this dog out of here. I fill a pitcher and dump it in the bowl, which runs Zeke off, then set up the jug to fill, which takes a few minutes. I then check the cat food bowl (full) and, satisfied I have met Fizler’s needs for the day, I sit down to my tea.

I can hear Fizler’s petite little tongue lapping up the water and soon turn my attention to email and am not aware when he stops drinking. But, he’s not satisfied…he comes to my side and begins his mewing interval again, jolting me back to real life. He’s not the kind of cat who needs a lot of petting or holding. He usually gets his daily scratch from Charles, early in the morning before work. Charles picks up Fiz and holds him on his back, like a baby, and scratches his belly. This lasts only about 30 seconds before Fizler must get down, but they do it every day, and Fiz expects it. Then Charles rubs off the mass of black and white angora off his clothes with the lint roller. When Fizler rubs against my leg I enjoy it and turn to be present with him.

What’s up, Fiz? And where’s Cooler? Percy the dog is upstairs asleep with Will, Zeke’s sleeping with Jon on the couch in the living room. I check the windows. My 110 year old house has windows on every wall. Big wavy-glass windows, which I refuse to cover. I look to the west out the kitchen, glance out the front to see if he’s sunning in front of the gate, get up to check the back porch and look over the sink out to the back yard. No Cooler. Fizler continues his soft, occasional mews.

Ah, you’re right! Jon WAS in the shop last night. I go on a hunt for flip-flops…any pair will do, and I find them in the living room. There are too many broken acorns from the squirrels to walk barefoot. Zeke is alerted and hops down to see what’s up. I meet Fizler on the back porch and the three of us stride out to the shop.

I open the door and say, “Here Coo-Coo!” Instantly he comes running from his nighttime accommodations amid the boxes, around the partially assembled bookshelf, then slows to a walk when he sees Zeke in the doorway. Zeke retreats, knowing that he will get a cat paw to the face if he goes any closer. Fizler waits outside. Cooler strides out the door as if to imply his wake-up call was 5 minutes late. I close the door and the four of us walk back to the house, each maintaining their station.

posted by Karen Ann @ 7:28 AM