Yesterday I was sitting in a vineyard sipping bubbling wines in Temecula. Today, I was helping a distraught woman save her newly “fostered” cat “Garfield” from a tree.
That’s right my life is not boring to say the least.
Today, I set off for my daily walk down the Chandler Bike Path in Burbank. It’s a nice calm walk. I complete about four miles. I smell the rosemary mixed in with the jasmine. The sites of the blooming magnolia along with the hot guy walking his dogs invigorates my senses.
We cordially smile as we cross paths the first time. The second time, I notice him making a bee line for a woman holding a ladder next to a tree across the street. Immediately, I follow him.
A middle aged woman, a bit distraught, calling out “Garfield, come down” while holding up a ladder in the middle of the street was the point of interest. The guy with the dogs got up on the ladder while the middle aged woman held on to the two dogs leashes. The guy was trying to push the cat out of the tree with a broom.
Meanwhile, Garfield the cat, just sat on a large tree branch staring at the broom as if to say “go fuck yourself!”
Defeated, the guy climbed down from the ladder. I saw an opening to chit chat. I asked him what his dogs names were, he told me the names, I don’t remember them now.
He took the leashes and said, “sorry, but my dogs are getting nervous,” and he left.
I wanted to follow him, but the woman started to cry: “Garfield, why won’t you come down,” and I stayed behind to help her, waiving farewell to the hot guy and his dogs whose names I’ve forgotten.
I decided to asses the situation and found out:
- This woman knows nothing about cat’s
- The cat is a black cat
- He’s 5 months old
- The woman and her husband fostered the cat one day ago
- The cat lives in the garage
- The woman has a pool
I asked her to get me some supplies: a pool net, cat food, and the longest pole possible.By the way, I’m an expert cat tree rescuer. Growing up, we had several cats over the years. My brother and I were only allowed to have one, so we either had to wait till the cat ran away, or died to get a new one. For some reason, it felt like we had one new cat a year. Since my mother is Italian with OCD, the cats were never allowed in the house.
Yes, they tended to get stuck up trees quite a bit. My brother and I became expert cat tree rescuers grabbing our extra long pool nets to knock the cats out of the trees. And if the cats happen to break a limb, we would get popsicle sticks, some kerlix and make a splint.
Meanwhile, I kept trying to push Garfield out of the tree with the pool net, and his mother kept crying “He’s gonna get hurt if he falls!”
I gave her a brief cat anatomy and physiology lesson. Go figure, I never thought my anatomy cat dissecting days would ever come in handy. I can still smell the formaldehyde like it was yesterday. She was a bit calm after the lesson, but still called her husband.
“Randall, you need to come home now! The cat is stuck in the tree!”
I didn’t understand why she was calling her husband? What was he going to do? She then wanted to call the Fire Department. I told her they charge two thousand dollars. And of course she stopped dialing.
A man with several ladders on his truck stopped to help. We were able to talk the woman into climbing the tree. She did, I then told her to grab the cats tail and pull him down.She said: “It’s going to hurt him!” I convinced her to do it, and Garfield was saved.
My good deed for the day was done…. and I’m still notoriouslysingle!