Interpretation of ‘fun’ involves ‘Herald’
The interpretation of “fun” is different for everyone.
In a casual, superficial conversation with people I don’t necessarily know very well, I tend to wince when this subject comes up.
Maybe it’s because I feel “fun deficient” on some levels, unable to “wow” anyone with exotic destination vacations I’ve been on or am planning or any unusual hobbies sure to impress and generate questions and kudos, ooohs and aaahhs.
Honestly, I freeze up with a ready response. I mean, sometimes I wash my car for fun, or clean out a sock drawer, or take a nap or sit on my back porch and stare at nothing and everything and yawn a lot.
“I have a cat” doesn’t seem like the right answer either, especially in a dog crowd, but that’s one of the first things that come to mind.
I have Herald the Cat.
For those of you unfamiliar with her, here’s the Readers Digest version: Herald was a roam-the-neighborhood cat who ultimately adopted the Kiaski family. She is black and white, like a newspaper, so I named her “Herald” for Herald-Star, not to be confused with Harold Star, to whom I’ve had some newspaper correspondence addressed. “Harold” and I have never met.
But Herald and I are pretty close.
Granted, Herald isn’t a kitten with that crazy kind of kitten energy that’s hysterical to observe and tons of fun to watch. She doesn’t do vertical leaps or attack the air or race from one spot to the next.
Herald is a “mature” cat in age and action, but still amusing.
Sometimes she just imitates a statue or a doorstop and that makes me laugh, I don’t know why. (It’s not as if she’s telling me that she’s doing that — I’m merely assuming and jumping to my own cat conclusions.)
Or she snores when she sleeps and finds interesting spots in which to do so, in a closet, on a bathroom shelf on top of towels or sprawled out across an end table.
The other day I watched her climb the wall halfway to hoist herself down the laundry chute, the end of which has a suspended laundry basket. Talk about fun. And there she was, hunkering down for a bonafide cat nap.
“Oh, look at her!” I’ll often gush to Better Half, sounding like a proud mother watching a baby attempting to walk for the first time.
Not everyone is on the same page as if no other cat can compare in beauty, intelligence and other assorted esteemed feline features.
Better Half doesn’t always share in my enthusiasm for cat fun, but loves Herald unconditionally as I do.
Ditto for “the ponies,” as we tend to call Thunder and Tucker these days, despite their advancing in equine years and being more in the “mature-animal” category like Herald the Cat.
They’re big lawn ornaments, I tell people, that at this time of year are under my Christmas decorative scrutiny — to be adorned with a string or two or three of flashing lights or musical ones or, I don’t know, maybe both?
Better Half does appreciate other things I do for “fun,” including leaving him special notes.
I have one message in particular that’s printed on the back of an envelope I don’t dare throw away because it comes in handy most all the time.
I typically leave it in the mornings when I’m about to head for work and a little shy on cash for gas or “emergencies” or Janice funds or cat treats or strands of Christmas lights for horses.
I put it on top of his wallet, intentionally left open in case any moths want some fresh air.
It reads “Thank you for your donation!”
And as a gesture of good will, I leave him a sheet or two of address labels in appreciation of the contribution toward the greater good and my well being.
Here’s hoping you have a “fun” week.