A Visit from The Dutch Boy

“Dutch Boy Tommy” Nederland, my old road partner, stopped by the other day. Just seeing him brought back memories of hundreds of pool room adventures and misadventures we shared. The day he showed up, we shot the shit till the wee hours.

Generally speaking, Miss Helen isn’t happy when my old pool playing friends stop by. Not so with Tommy. Tommy’s funny, plus he can be very polite when he wants to be. Miss Helen appreciates that. And, he always leaves us with something we can talk and speculate about for years to come. Like last time he showed up, he had a Russian girl with him. In our private conversations, we always refer to her as the “mail-order bride.” Not that she was – we never did find out how he came up with her – but that’s what we called her. Her most telling feature was her obsession with toilet paper. Tommy showed us the backseat of his Lincoln – it was crammed full of toilet tissue, every brand under the sun. Maybe, she was going to file a report with those assholes at the KGB. Who knows?

This time there was no Russian. His little chickadee was a beautiful young gal he found in the wilds of western Montana near Libby. He really hit the jackpot this time. It’s no wonder we haven’t seen him for a while. This girl has no strange obsessions though there does seem to be a mystery surrounding her name. He introduced her to us as Cora Beth, but a couple times we heard him refer to her as Kari. We didn’t question him about it – we just let it slide. Miss Helen formed a quick attachment to Cora Beth and they’ve been swapping emails ever since. I think they’re even planning a get-together up in Libby somewhere down the line. She so much as told Tommy that if he trades her in for another model, Russian, Chinese, whatever, he best not bother stopping by our hacienda next time he’s in the neighborhood. I think she meant it.

Of course, we did play some pool. He was dead set on playing me some one-hole. That’s why we wound up playing a couple cheap $50 sets of nineball. I beat him for a quick hundred and he moaned about not getting a chance to get square but the girls called us on the cell saying they were ready to get picked up at the mall. So, that was that.

Before they left, we took Cora Beth and Tommy out to the Outback Steak House in Port Richey for dinner. It was the perfect ending to a nice day. Especially since I paid for the whole thing with my winnings and still had twenty bucks left. Life is good.

Here are some pics we took that day:


(L to R) That's Miss Helen, Cora Beth and Tommy


Tommy, Kari and Me at Hudson Beach


The Girls and Tommy on the Gulf


Shooting One-handed at the Outback


Kari and Tom


Look at that pair, the three of us.

Pool?

I haven’t been thinking about pool much for the last few days. I’ve been busy taking care of my cat – she’s dieing.

My wife named her Katie, after Katharine Hepburn, more than 19 years ago when we adopted her from an animal shelter up in Kalispell, Montana. According to the adoption papers, her former owners had been calling her Zippy, a name, we were to learn later, that was quite appropriate. They also had noted that “she bites” which was also true, though, over the years, her biting most often made me laugh rather than cry out in pain. And, they claimed, six month old Zippy ate too much.

We originally acquired Kate in hopes that she would be a companion to our male cat, Jimmy. Helen had done some research on the matter of cat compatibility and she believed it would be more advisable to get a female than another male. Advisable or not, it didn’t work out – Jimmy just didn’t take to the competition. At best, he learned to tolerate her. I wrote more about those times in my short story The Story of Jimmy, A Native Montanan Cat.


Anyway, Jimmy passed away in 1997, and we’ve been a one-cat family ever since. Some time later this year, Katie was due to turn 20. In cat years, that would be 92 – quite an admirable achievement. As is, looks like we’ll have to settle for 90.

Up until just recently, she’s been her old zippy self, racing around the house, taking flying leaps from the stove to the top of the refrigerator to the top of the kitchen cabinets. Reminiscent of the times long ago when she and Jimmy used to wander into the garage late at night and leap from the cab of my pickup up into the rafters where they would sleep on a plywood platform I had built for them until they heard us stir in the morning. Then we would hear them thud, one at a time, back down onto the pickup. Oh, where has the time gone.

I’m not ashamed to say I love my Katie. I cherish all the times she sought me out for the warm comfort of my lap. I know there are those who might say she’s only a cat, but that school of thought doesn’t register with me. She’s my cat and I won’t soon get over losing her.

Note, Feb. 12, 2009: Katie (1989 – 2009)
With a last burst of energy, Katie joined me on the couch last night and, at 10:55 PM, lying beside me, she passed from this world. Having lived a full and happy life, for almost 20 years she was part of our home, our family, and our lives. We’re just going through the motions, today, remembering better days.


R.I.P. Little Girl